I Faked Bankruptcy Before The Wedding Chapter 2

The polished mirror in the elevator reflected a face I barely recognized. Sallow, hollowed out, drained of color.

Louis leaned back in the corner of the cab, one hand shoved in his trouser pocket. "Scared?"

"Not scared."

"Then what is it?"

The floor indicator blinked downward, floor by floor.

"I just can't wrap my head around how naturally it comes to her," I muttered. "How she can say those things without blinking."

Louis’s mouth curved into a cynical line. "You can wrap your head around it just fine. You just don't want to admit you picked a parasite."

The elevator chimed open on the ground floor.

Three people stood in the center of the lobby.

Lauren was dressed in an ivory cashmere knit dress, her makeup immaculate, clutching the designer bag I’d bought her for her birthday last month.

Beside her stood Brandon. He wore a muted gray wool jacket, his face arranged into an exquisite portrait of wounded exhaustion—as though the entire universe owed him an apology for existing.

Behind them stood Lauren’s mother, Patricia.

The moment she spotted me stepping out of the elevator bay, Patricia’s face twisted into an immediate scowl. "Joel! You finally decided to show your face?"

A couple of receptionists tucked their chins down, pretending to be utterly consumed by paperwork.

Lauren marched over to me, extending a manicured hand toward my chest. "Give me your phone. Show me the transfer confirmation."

She had always done this. Rifling through my texts, monitoring my call logs, deleting female clients whose messages she deemed too polite. I had always swallowed it, telling myself that compromise was the price of building a marriage.

This time, I took a half-step back, tucking my phone into my jacket pocket.

Her hand caught empty air. Her expression instantly fractured.

"Joel?"

"There was no transfer," I said, meeting her eyes. "But I don't have sixty thousand dollars to give you."

A flicker of panic crossed her gaze—not concern for me, but raw, unfiltered irritation.

Patricia stepped in immediately, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. "You don't have it? Didn't you swear two weeks ago that the down payment was fully secured?"

"The company ran into catastrophic trouble," I said evenly.

"If there was trouble, why the hell didn't you say something sooner?" Patricia’s voice echoed across the open marble lobby. "My daughter gave you three of her best years, and this pathetic failure is what you hand her?"

Brandon placed a gentle, performative hand on Patricia’s elbow. "Mrs. Barrett, please, don't be too hard on Joel. He's under a lot of pressure."

He turned to me, offering a look steeped in condescending pity. "Joel, forget about the money. I'll figure out another way. Lauren’s just worried about me—don't hold it against her."

Lauren’s eyes instantly welled with theatrical tears. "Brandon, you always do this. You carry every burden alone. How am I supposed to just sit back and watch?"

She wheeled around, glaring at me with raw disgust. "Do you see this, Joel? Do you see the difference between you two? When he’s drowning, he refuses to burden me. But you? You dump all your garbage right onto my lap."

The words landed like an open-handed slap across my face, leaving my ears ringing.

Louis moved to step forward, but I raised a hand, stopping him.

"Lauren, I only want to ask you one question."

"Go ahead," she said, folding her arms.

"If I truly owe five hundred thousand dollars, are we still getting married?"

The entire lobby went dead silent.

A tear clung to the tip of Lauren’s mascara-coated lashes. She looked everywhere except at my face.

Patricia broke the silence, scoffing loudly: "Married? Are you out of your mind? You’re drowning in debt, and you think you’re going to drag my daughter down into the gutter with you?"

"Mom!" Lauren gasped, but there was no conviction in her voice, no protest against the sentiment itself.

Brandon kept his head tilted down, suppressing a subtle smirk.

Behind me, Louis let out a sharp, amused bark of laughter.

Patricia rounded on him. "What are you laughing at?"

"I’m laughing because this cast looks so familiar," Louis said smoothly, taking three slow steps toward Brandon. "Last month, outside the Park Hyatt downtown—the guy wrapping his arms around Lauren’s waist as they went up the private elevators... that was you, wasn't it?"

Lauren’s face drained of every ounce of blood.

Brandon’s head snapped up. "Watch your mouth. Don't make slanderous accusations."

"My dashcam caught the whole thing in 4K," Louis said, his tone impossibly calm. "Should I pull up the cloud archive right now on the lobby monitor?"

Patricia froze.

Lauren whipped her head toward me, her voice shaking with outrage. "Joel... you had me followed?"

No denial. No shock at the accusation.

Her immediate instinct was to blame me for finding out.

The very last ember of warmth in my chest burned out, turning to cold gray ash.

I reached into my pocket, tapping my screen awake.

Lauren lunged forward, her fingers clawing into the sleeve of my jacket, digging through the fabric until her nails bit hard into my forearm.

"Don't you dare play it," she hissed.

Just then, the heavy glass entrance doors swung open, accompanied by the distinct, rhythmic thud of a wooden walking cane.

"Lauren! What in God's name is going on here?"

Thomas Barrett walked into the lobby, his face as dark and stormy as a mid-summer thunderhead.