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"At the altar, my fiancé had just slipped the ring onto my finger. ""Seventy th0usand do11ars,"" he whispered. ""I spent the whole night picking it out."" I covered my mouth in feigned bliss, playing the part of the overwhelmed bride. During the intermission, the cacophony of the ballroom was suddenly p!erced by a sharp, jarring question: ""How much did you spend on her ring?"" It was Cecilia’s voice—my best friend. ""Not much. Seventy thousand,"" my fiancé replied, his tone casual. ""And the three hun//dred tho0sand for you, babe."" ""Oh, darling... you’re the best."" Then came the unmistakable sounds of intimacy, w/e/t and lingering, broadcasted with clinical clarity to every corner of the hall. Every pair of eyes in the room shifted to me, heavy with pity and shock. I stood there, my face a mask of cold indifference. After all, I was the one who had turned on the microphone. " "The sound system suddenly blared a woman’s voice, amused. Three hun//dred and twenty guests all je//rked their heads toward the speakers flanking the stage. Julian Astor’s voice followed, crisp and clear. “Sixty-eight th0usand.” “Only sixty-eight th0usand?” Cecilia Rhodes laughed, her voice tripled by the microphone. “The one I got? A hund//red and twenty th0usand.” “No contest.” Julian dropped his voice,but the wireless mic broadcast every syllable to the farthest corners of the hall. “Yours was picked out with my year-end bonus. Hers... just grabbed off the shelf at the counter.” I stood at center stage, my champagne flute quivering. Three hun//dred and twenty pairs of eyes swept from the speakers to me. I didn’t move. Because I was the one who activated that microphone. Silence blanketed the hall for a full four seconds. Then my m0m was the first to rise. “What’s that sound?” She glanced at my d@d, then at Julian’s mother at the head table. Mrs. Vivian Astor’s face drained of color instantly, her joy evaporating into a look I knew too well: calculation. She was as
