Chapter 11: The Wedding Everyone Wanted to Stop

The proposal photograph spread faster than the scandal ever had.

By morning, strangers had turned the moment into a love story.

Some called it romantic.

Others called it suspiciously convenient.

A few insisted I had planned everything from the beginning.

I read none of the comments after the first ten minutes.

Thayer took my phone from my hand and placed it face down on the table.

"You do not have to defend a happy moment to people who profit from doubting it."

"That sounds like something your public relations team wrote."

"They are far less poetic."

My mother entered with three folders, two fabric samples, and the expression of a woman who had waited years to organize a wedding.

"We need a date," she announced.

I looked at Thayer.

He looked amused.

"We became officially engaged yesterday," I said.

"Exactly. We have already wasted one day."

My father followed her into the room.

"Ignore your mother. She has contacted six hotels."

"Seven," she corrected.

Thayer leaned toward me.

"We could elope."

My mother heard him.

"You could also be removed from my house."

For the first time since the bar, laughter filled the room without effort.

Then my father's phone rang.

His expression changed as he listened.

"When?"

A pause.

"Send it to me."

He ended the call.

"Bastian has filed a civil claim against the Wilson family."

"For what?" I asked.

"Wrongful removal from the company and unlawful restriction of his inheritance."

Thayer's amusement disappeared.

"He is trying to force a settlement."

"He has no leverage," my father said.

"He has embarrassment," I replied. "People pay to make embarrassment disappear."

My father nodded grimly.

The claim named me as an interfering third party.

Bastian alleged that I had manipulated his parents into disowning him and used Thayer's influence to damage his reputation.

He demanded compensation, reinstatement, and a public correction.

The absurdity almost impressed me.

"He really believes consequences are something other people do to him," I said.

Thayer picked up the filing.

"He also requested an emergency injunction against the Wilson board."

"Can he win?"

"Not on the facts. But he can delay decisions and frighten investors."

That was enough.

The Wilson family had already endured public scandal and financial uncertainty.

Bastian was willing to injure the company simply to regain access to it.

Mrs. Wilson arrived before noon.

She looked smaller than I remembered.

"We are not asking you to get involved," she said immediately.

"You came here because you need something."

Her eyes filled.

"We need the truth on record."

The hearing was scheduled three days later.

Bastian entered the courtroom in a tailored suit borrowed from one of his old friends.

He looked polished again.

Almost like the man I had once planned to marry.

Gina sat two rows behind him under police supervision.

She had agreed to testify as part of her cooperation arrangement.

When Bastian saw her, his face went white.

His attorney argued that the Wilsons had acted emotionally and that I had used my family's influence to turn them against their son.

Then the recordings were played.

Bastian's own voice filled the courtroom.

"Meredith doesn't know how to walk away from me."

"After the wedding, she'll stop acting difficult."

The judge's expression hardened.

Gina testified next.

She admitted to hiding beneath the bed, recording me without consent, arranging the leaks, and helping Bastian deceive his parents about the bachelor party.

Bastian stared at her as though she had betrayed him.

She looked back without apology.

"You said we were in this together," he whispered when she passed.

Gina stopped.

"You were never with me," she said. "You just liked choosing me over her."

The words landed harder than any accusation.

The judge denied the injunction.

Bastian's civil claim remained open, but its foundation was already collapsing.

Outside the courthouse, reporters surrounded us.

A voice shouted, "Meredith, will this delay your wedding?"

I stopped.

Thayer's hand settled lightly at my back.

"No," I said.

The cameras flashed.

"Nothing Bastian does will control another decision in my life."

That evening, we chose a wedding date.

Six weeks.

Small ceremony.

Close family.

No public spectacle.

At least, that was the plan.

The next morning, an envelope arrived at Thayer's office.

Inside was a photograph of the church we had chosen.

A red X had been drawn over the doors.

On the back were five words.

There will be no wedding.