Each word felt heavier than the last, but the smirk on Grace's face told me this was her intention all along. She wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone. The worst part? Bobby—my husband—stood there, doing nothing. He looked uncomfortable, as if being near me was a disgrace.
I couldn’t take it anymore. With steady steps, I returned to my spot behind the catering table. But Grace, her smirk never faltering, followed me.
"What do you want?" I asked, trying to sound professional, though my voice trembled with suppressed rage.
Grace's smile turned sweeter, yet her eyes were filled with malice. "Just a small favor. Would you mind delivering that cake to the altar?" She gestured toward the towering, intricately decorated cake being pushed in by one of my colleagues, who looked visibly nervous.
This was another trap, I knew it. But for the sake of professionalism and Paman Jack’s reputation, I stepped in for my colleague. Pushing the cake-laden trolley toward the altar, I moved through the crowd that didn’t hesitate to throw more hurtful remarks my way.