Chapter 7 - The Counter-Attack Goes Viral
By noon, the internet had completely exploded.
Ethan and I were sitting at a sunlit corner table at Husk, one of Charleston’s finest restaurants, sharing a plate of artisanal biscuits and local seafood while scrolling through our phones.
True to Ethan’s word, Calder Systems’ legal department hadn't just filed a lawsuit; they had unleashed a legal nuclear bomb. By 10:00 AM, Jack Conway had been formally served with federal injunctions for data theft, breach of non-disclosure agreements, and attempted industrial espionage with Apex Tech.
And then, at 11:15 AM, the unedited security footage from St. Matthew’s Chapel dropped online.
Within forty-five minutes, it had gone viral across Twitter, Reddit, and Facebook.
The video showed Jack standing in the side corridor, frantically whispering sweet nothings to Chloe while I stood ten feet away in a $7,800 silk wedding gown holding wilting roses. It showed my quiet dignity, his arrogant dismissal, and finally, my dramatic dropping of the bouquet.
The internet, which loves nothing more than poetic justice, turned Jack into public enemy number one.
"Look at this comment," Rachel texted me, forwarding a screenshot of a viral Facebook post with over 50,000 shares. The caption read: *‘Imagine losing a stunning bride, a six-figure tech job, and your entire dignity because you couldn't hang up the phone on your side piece. Absolute clown behavior.’*
I laughed out loud, passing the phone across the table to Ethan.
Ethan glanced at the screen, took a sip of his iced coffee, and smirked. "People love a satisfying conclusion. Jack wanted attention. Now he’s getting it from every federal prosecutor and tech blogger in the country."
"Do you think Apex Tech will touch him after this?" I asked, buttering a warm biscuit.
"Touch him?" Ethan chuckled darkly. "Apex’s CEO called me personally at 11:30 to apologize and assure me they've already blocked Jack’s IP address. No one in their right mind hires a corporate saboteur who documents his own stupidity on national gossip blogs."
Our phones buzzed simultaneously.
Mine was a notification from my bank account, reflecting a very large, very satisfying transfer from Ethan’s personal holding account—a wedding gift he called "petty cash for emotional damages."
Ethan’s phone was a text from his head of security: *‘Conway has been located at his parents' house in Mount Pleasant. Federal marshals are serving the papers now.’*
Ethan locked his phone and slid it across the table, his grey eyes softening as he reached out to take my hand.
"Well, Mrs. Hayes," Ethan said softly, a warm, genuine smile breaking across his face. "It seems our initial drama has been successfully resolved. Now, are you ready to board my private jet and actually begin our honeymoon?"
I looked at the platinum ring sparkling on my finger, then up at the billionaire who had turned my ruined wedding day into the greatest adventure of my life.
"Only if we make one stop first," I said with a challenging grin.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"A Louis Vuitton boutique," I replied smoothly. "If I’m going to be a ruthless corporate billionaire’s wife, I need the appropriate luggage."
Ethan threw his head back and laughed—a rich, genuine sound that drew the attention of everyone in the restaurant.
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"Consider the store bought, darling," he said, pulling me in for a kiss across the table.
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