He sat back down.

Brielle crushed the bouquet in her hands until petals dropped onto the floor.

“You planned this,” she said to me.

“No,” I replied. “You planned it. I documented it.”

The guests murmured again.

Trevor looked smaller now.

Not poor. Not ruined. Just exposed.

That was worse for a man like him.

End of story — Part 3 of 3