~ 53 ~
PEYTON
I froze on my way to the stage. Two men were standing guard there. One of them was Roman.
The other was Colson.
He smiled gently as they moved aside, ushering me upward. Roman reached out as I ascended the staircase, and pressed something into my hand. By the time I reached the top of the steps, I realized what it was.
The silver locket.
“Ladies and gentleman…” Donovan began, cheerily. “I—”
Halfway through his sentence, Theo cut the mic. The silence was instant. A few people laughed, softly, thinking it was a technical glitch. As the seconds stretched out, murmurs began in the crowd.
Donovan blinked a few times, tapping his microphone, looking annoyed and embarrassed. He searched for answers, looking left and right. Trying to find his people.
Then he saw me, and his face went utterly slack.
“You’re on,” Theo said softly, into my ear.
I didn’t need to speak into the microphone. One was already installed, right in the broach, pinned to my dress.
“Hello everyone. My name is Peyton Kingsley.”
My voice filled the room from all directions. Clean. Clear. Impossible to ignore.
The crowd gasped, in unison. All eyes turned away from Donovan…
… and onto me.
“Technical difficulties,” I smirked, nodding toward Donovan. “Hey, shit happens.”
A few scattered laughs rose from the crowd. They were nervous laughs, though.
“I haven’t seen you since the wedding,” I began. “Sorry about that. I’ve been… busy.”
For the first time since the altar, I turned to face Donovan. As his initial confusion turned into a murderous glare, I widened my smile.
“Was the cake any good?” I asked him directly. “I’m pretty sure it was the best part of that wedding.”
More scattered laughter. More murmurs.
“You came here tonight to celebrate generosity,” I said loudly, turning back to the crowd. “Vision. Leadership.”
I paused between each word. With the sound system, they fell like thunderclaps.
“Integrity.”
The crowd shifted beneath me. I saw the glow ofscreens reflected on faces as phones started coming out.
They were recording this.
Good.
“Donovan Prescott built his reputation on these things,” I kept going. “You invested in them.”
A hand touched my arm. Donovan’s hand.
