Joanne Smith stood by the window of the bridal suite in the Royal Hilton, staring at the shimmering city lights below.
She was getting married the next day!
The warm, ambient glow from the room enveloped her, but the reflection in the glass felt foreign. Long blonde hair, carefully styled, and artful makeup masked the face of a woman she no longer recognized. She felt like a child playing dress-up in a costume that didn't belong to her.
Once, she had been a small-town girl, pedaling down dusty roads and daydreaming of being a princess in a fairy tale. Every step she took in life had been calculated, deliberate, driving her closer to those dreams of a wealthy life.
Yet, standing now at the threshold of what should have been her crowning moment, all she felt was a hollow ache.
Her gaze drifted to the wedding gown hanging elegantly on the wall, its lace and silk mocking her from a distance. It was a symbol of a fantasy turned bitter, an illusion of happiness bought at too steep a price.
She was about to marry a stranger—Jeffrey Winchester, because it was the only way to settle her late grandfather's crushing debts. The arrangement had been orchestrated by Philip Winchester, Jeffrey's grandfather and her own grandfather's unlikely friend.
How her hillbilly grandfather, who raised sheep in the hills, befriended the formidable Philip Winchester—the uncrowned king of business—who owned the greatest logistics company with his fleets of ships and planes, remained a mystery.
Initially, the wedding had seemed like a source of hope, a lifeline thrown into the chaos of her life. The weight of $12 million felt overwhelming for her. As a recent college graduate who had just landed an entry-level job at the age of 23, she couldn't even fathom how to tackle such a massive sum.
Her chest tightened. Why had her grandfather left her with this crushing burden? Why did he have to die and leave her to pick up the pieces?
The sharp sound of boots stomping down the hallway snapped her out of her thoughts. The Winchester security team was preparing for the wedding, their movements brisk and unrelenting.
Her mind wandered to Jeffrey. Philip's words echoed in her memory, laden with disappointment: "He's like a racehorse raised in a petting zoo—bred for greatness, but utterly untrained. The unfortunate byproduct of too much money and too little discipline."
This was the man she was to spend her life with? A man who hadn't even bothered to show up at the rehearsal dinner?
She sighed, her thoughts a turbulent mix of anger and sorrow.
She hadn't even seen Jeffrey in person, nor did she know what he looked like. She had his social media handles, but she had hoped for a genuine meeting to ground this surreal situation. His absence left her feeling deflated.
Maybe this was an answer in itself—perhaps she shouldn't pursue this any further.
"I can't do this! How do I stop this?" Joanna thought.
She quickly gathered her essentials. But then she paused, reflecting on the old man's kindness. He had been there for her after her grandfather's death when she felt lost and didn't know what to do. Running away on the eve of her wedding felt like a betrayal. She realized she needed to talk to him and end this properly.
Her gaze shifted to the cityscape again. The sky was a canvas of murky gray, devoid of stars. She stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cool evening breeze caress her face. The distant hum of traffic filled her ears, mingling with the faint bitterness of exhaust fumes. The city felt suffocating, its weight pressing against her chest as she wrestled with her emotions.
From inside the suite next door, muffled voices drifted out, their mocking tones clear through the open window. Joanne tilted her head, instinctively listening.
"Did you see her?" the voice sneered, full of disgust. "With that fake blonde hair and all her Ivy League credentials? She's got everyone fooled, but not me. She's just another girl looking to marry rich." The voice was unmistakable—Philip's daughter.
"She's a Harvard Business graduate, at the top of her class, yet she still can't stay out of debt," said another voice. "All that education—what good has it done her? I'll tell you: nothing. She could have stayed on that stinky family farm. No, she had to go to college and now she's just here, hoping that some charitable fool will rescue her."
A third voice joined, dripping with judgment, "She's got that look, you know? Like she's smarter than everyone else and outsmarting us…"
The laughter rang out, cruel and biting.
"And with her fake valley girl accent," someone added, cutting through the tension. The room erupted in mocking laughter.
"Ultimately, she's just a woman with a bank account full of problems and no dignity to match," came the final insult.
Joanne's breath caught in her throat. Each word felt like a stone thrown at her chest, and she could hardly bear to listen. But she did. She heard it all.
"Twelve million?" a voice scoffed. "That's all it took for that gold digger to sell herself? I get Jeffrey's not all that, but still… at least be expensive if you're going to play the part, right?" The laughter that followed was venomous. It was one of Philip Winchester's grandsons, she was sure of it.
"Oh, she's nothing more than a scheming glory goblin," the groom's mother hissed, her voice dripping with disdain. "A polished predator, using that poor old fool's kind heart as her weapon. And yet, when he falls for the charms of that wretched gold digger, I'm the one who gets called names."
The words hung in the air, sharp as shards of glass, but she wasn't done. "Women like her give real gold diggers a bad name," Nicole—Joanne's future mother-in-law—spoke with a biting edge, her voice dripping with a toxic mix of mockery and malice. "At least they have the decency to be subtle about it."
Each syllable felt like a lash, a cruel symphony of judgment and malice. Joanne hugged herself as the air seemed to grow colder, and Nicole's voice—measured, deliberate—cut deeper than any raised fist.
But then, as if her words hadn't already bled the air dry of compassion, Nicole continued, "I hope she dies tonight."
Joanne staggered back, the words a visceral blow. The laughter still echoed in her ears as tears stung her eyes.
Ever since she could remember, Joanne had fought for everything she had. She'd grown up on a farm, lost her parents as a toddler, and had no safety net to fall back on. She had clawed her way through life, becoming the first in her family to graduate high school, and then earning her place at a prestigious university.
She had adapted—changed herself—to fit the mold of a world that wasn't made for people like her. Her accent, her demeanor, her very appearance had been shaped by the need to survive.
But this? This is how they see me? A gold digger? A glory seeker? Is this how Jeffrey feels about me as well?
Her chest burned with a mix of fury and despair. They knew nothing of her struggles, her sacrifices, her unyielding determination to rise above her circumstances. Yet they had reduced her to a caricature.
Joanne grabbed her backpack, the straps biting into her fingers as her resolve hardened. She had to leave this place—this toxic, suffocating world of 'elites'. But as she leaned over the balcony, surveying the streets below, she hesitated. The alley was dark and cluttered, the fire escape across the way too far to reach.
*Knock* *Knock*
A loud knock at the door startled her, sending her heart racing. She froze, her breath quickening.
Who could it be?