I never told my parents I paid the $2 million bill for my sister’s wedding on my private island. They believed the groom’s family was that rich.
The terrace had decorative lower gardens built roughly two meters beneath the main platform—beautiful to look at, deadly to fall into.
Vanessa was drunk before dinner even ended.
She spun around the dance floor demanding photos every five minutes, dragging the enormous cathedral train of her custom couture gown behind her like a queen displaying a flag.
Lily was playing tag with another child near the tables when it happened.
I saw it unfold in fragments.
Lily laughing.
Vanessa turning suddenly for another selfie.
The dress spreading across the floor.
A small sandal catching delicate lace.
And then—
RIIIIIP.
The tropical evening air over Saint Barthélemy smelled like sea salt, jasmine, and the kind of money people spend to prove they have too much of it.
I stood near the edge of the private marina, watching sunset pour gold across the water while resort staff rushed around preparing for my younger sister’s wedding. Crystal lanterns swayed from palm trees. Imported orchids floated in illuminated glass pools. Violinists tuned their instruments beside the infinity terrace.
Everything glittered with wealth.
