Chapter 2Hijacking My Hijacked Bride

It only took a two-hundred-dollar Venmo transfer to get the address of Tiffany’s other engagement party from one of her bridesmaids, Courtney.

The ultimate insult? The venue was a luxury hotel just a block away from where my family sat waiting.

I marched into the lobby, and through the glass doors of the grand ballroom, I saw her immediately. She was wearing a stunning crimson cocktail dress, her arm looped tightly around a man in his early thirties. He had a prominent beer belly and a thick gold chain hanging over his collar.

I pushed past the double doors.

Tiffany noticed me first. Her smile vanished, replaced by an icy, dismissive glare. "What are you doing here, Wyatt?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" I demanded, my chest heaving. "Is this how your family operates? Standing us up without a single word of warning? I came for an explanation."

The beer-bellied man looked me up and down, a smug smirk spreading across his face. "Babe, who's the kid?"

Tiffany let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Just some guy who couldn't afford me but keeps calling."

"Couldn't afford you?" I laughed, the sound dry and bitter. "We agreed to every single one of your demands. The cash was sitting in our banquet hall today. And instead of showing up, you and your family sneaked over here to sell you to the highest bidder. If you wanted out, you could have told me. But treating my parents like garbage? I won't let you get away with this. I'll ruin this party before I let you walk out of here."

By the end of my rant, I was shouting. Guests began to turn, whispers rippling through the crowd.

"You broke loser, shut your mouth!"

A loud, shrill voice cut through the room. It was Glenda, Tiffany’s mother. Caked in heavy makeup and dripping in cheap rhinestones, she stepped between us, her eyes flashing with pure malice.

"Let me tell you something, Wyatt. We didn't tell you because we wanted to spare your feelings. You couldn't afford our Tiffany, and any real man would have taken the hint and slunk away. Do we really need to spell it out for you? You're too poor for my daughter."

She pulled Tiffany close, patting her shoulder like she was showing off a prize heifer.

"Look at her. She’s a masterpiece. You thought you could have her for peanuts? Don't make me laugh." She pointed proudly at the man beside Tiffany. "This is Trent. He runs a massive logistics firm. When we asked for three hundred and eighty-eight thousand, he didn't even blink. He's got real money. Who would you choose in our shoes?"

Trent puffed out his chest, sliding a possessive hand onto Tiffany’s waist. She didn't flinch; she leaned into him.

"Just go, Wyatt," Tiffany said, her eyes filled with mock pity. "Don't embarrass your parents any more than you already have. You and Trent are in different leagues. Standing here is just sad."

Trent shook his head, looking bored. "Look, buddy, her mom laid it out for you. It's a free market. You didn't have the capital, I did, and she came with me. Cry about it somewhere else. Security! Get this clown out of my venue."

Two burly guards appeared, grabbing my arms and dragging me toward the exit. I thrashed against them, but it was useless.

Behind me, the jeers of their guests followed me out.

"If you don't have the cash, don't play the game..."

"Our Tiffany is the prettiest girl from our town, did he really think he could get her on a discount?"

"Good riddance."

When they threw me out the front doors, I saw my parents standing by our car, having followed me there. I tried to push back inside, but my mother caught my arm. Her eyes were red, her face wet with tears.

"Wyatt, please, just let it go. For me. Please," she whispered, her voice breaking.

The fight drained out of me. Looking at her, I finally stopped. I squeezed her hand tightly. "Okay, Mom. Let's go home."