The sound of my mother’s cane striking the marble floor was sharper than the wedding bells outside.

Sirens echoed outside the grand stained-glass windows of the St. Regis.

Within minutes, four paramedics rushed into the cream-colored corridor carrying a stretcher and medical bags. They immediately took over my mother's care, stabilizing her hip and gently lifting her onto the gurney.

"Ethan..." my mother whimpered softly, reaching out to grasp my hand as they strapped her in. "Don't... don't make a scene..."

"I'm not making a scene, Mom," I said, kissing her cold forehead. "I'm finishing what should have been done four years ago. Go with the paramedics. I'll be right behind you."

As the medical team wheeled my mother down the hallway toward the private exit, Claire stepped into my path, her eyes wild, her hands clutching the bodice of her dress.

"Ethan, listen to me!" Claire pleaded, her tone shifting violently from rage to desperate manipulation. "It was an accident! I lost my balance! My heel caught her cane! I didn't mean to hurt her! We can still go out there! We can take the vows, and then we can go straight to the hospital!"

"You're a sociopath, Claire," I said plainly.

I brushed past her, walking straight toward the heavy double doors that led into the main cathedral ballroom, where 250 high-society guests, corporate executives, and press reporters were seated.

"Ethan, stop!" Richard yelled, running after me. "Don't you dare open those doors!"

I shoved the heavy oak doors open with both hands.

The grand cathedral ballroom was breathtaking—adorned with thousands of imported white orchids, flickering crystal chandeliers, and a massive LED display wall behind the altar designed to play a romantic montage of our relationship during the reception.

As I stepped out onto the altar, the string quartet trailed off. Two hundred and fifty heads turned toward me, smiling, waiting for the ceremony to begin.