Tiffany: Why is everyone staring at me?! She was standing in my way!
Marcus: Tiffany, what did you just do?! Are you completely out of your mind?!
Tiffany: Marcus, do not yell at me on our wedding day! She was a nobody getting in my shot!
Marcus: A nobody?! Do you have any idea who you just put your hands on?!
Tiffany: I do not care if she was the caterer's assistant! She had no right to breathe near my dress!
Marcus pulled at his black bow tie, his face turning pale under the bright chandeliers. Guests whispered urgently behind their hands, pointing at the shattered glass soaking into the beige rug.
Guest 1: Did she really just slap that woman in front of two hundred people?
Guest 2: She has no idea who that woman actually is, does she?
Guest 1: Clearly not! This is going to be an absolute disaster!
Tiffany: Marcus, stop making a scene and help me fix my veil! You are ruining my pictures!
Marcus: You just slapped my mother, Tiffany!
The arrogant bride froze, her arms mid-air as she tried to adjust her long white veil. Her sneer wavered for a brief second before she forced a dismissive laugh.
Tiffany: What? That was a joke, right? That woman in the plain dress was not your mother.
Marcus: Yes, she is! My mother hates big flashy clothes! She dresses simple on purpose!
Tiffany: Well... well, she should have said something! She should have introduced herself!
Marcus: She tried to talk to you three weeks ago at the rehearsal dinner, but you refused to meet her!
Tiffany: Because you said your mother lived in a rural farm estate! I thought she was poor!
Marcus: She owns thirty thousand acres of commercial real estate across three states, Tiffany!
Tiffany swallowed hard, her face twitching slightly under her heavy bridal makeup. She looked toward the hallway where Margaret had walked away.
Tiffany: Okay, fine! So she has a little farm money! She still ruined my mood!
Marcus: She did not ruin your mood, Tiffany! You just physically assaulted her!
Tiffany: It was a little slap! She will get over it once we cut the five-tier cake!
Marcus: My mother never forgets a disrespect, Tiffany. Never.
Tiffany: Whatever! Tell the staff to clean up this broken glass before my dress touches it!
Tiffany spun around, her long white train dragging over the damp rug where the champagne had spilled. She gestured wildly at the catering staff standing near the white floral arch.
Tiffany: Hey! You with the broom! Get over here and sweep this right now!
Staff Member: Ma'am, we need to wait for the event coordinator to clear the floor safety report.
Tiffany: I do not care about a report! I am the bride! You work for me today!
Marcus: Tiffany, stop order people around! Go to the bridal suite and calm down!
Tiffany: I am not going anywhere! This is my hundred-thousand-dollar wedding, and everyone will obey me!
Meanwhile, down the pristine marble hallway, high-heeled footsteps echoed steadily toward the luxury vanity room. Margaret pushed open the heavy white door, her expression cold and unreadable. She walked up to the lighted mirror, leaning over the polished marble sink to look at her sore, bruised cheek. The red mark was swelling slightly under her fair skin.
Margaret: Ungrateful, arrogant child.
She opened her designer leather purse, pulled out her smartphone, and dialed a number she knew by heart. She did not hesitate for even a single second as the line connected on the second ring.
Manager: Good afternoon, Mrs. Sterling. Is everything proceeding well with the wedding setup?
Margaret: Cancel every service under my name. Right now.