Lies Written in ChampagneBy 2:00 AM, the trauma ward was hushed, save for the rhythmic beeping of my heart monitor and the dull thrum of the IV pump delivering pain medication. Dr. Vance, the senior neurosurgeon, had completed his secondary evaluation.

“The force of the fall fractured your L3 vertebra and displaced the spinal hardware from your previous surgery,” Dr. Vance explained, holding up a digital MRI scan on his tablet. “The swelling is severely compressing your nerve root. That’s why you’ve lost sensation in your feet. If we operate within forty-eight hours to relieve the pressure and re-stabilize the spine, there is a very strong chance of recovery. But if the inflammation persists past that window… the nerve damage could become permanent.”

“How much time do I have?” I asked softly.

“We need to operate by Sunday morning,” Dr. Vance said firmly. “However, your insurance policy is currently flagged.”

I blinked. “Flagged? Why?”

“Someone claiming to be your legal guardian—a Charles Winslow—called the hospital administration an hour ago,” Dr. Vance said, frowning. “He filed a dispute stating that you are mentally incompetent due to pain medication and instructed us to hold all non-emergency surgical procedures until a court-appointed conservator evaluates you.”

A cold rage, hotter than any pain I had ever felt, flared through my veins. My father wasn’t just trying to steal my money—he was actively trying to sabotage my medical care so I would remain bedridden, unable to stop him from liquidating my business assets.

Before Dr. Vance could say more, the double doors of the trauma unit swung open.

My mother strutted down the hallway as if walking a red carpet. She was still wearing her champagne gown, though she had added a designer mink wrap over her shoulders. Behind her walked my father, holding a thick leather briefcase, and Taryn, who was wearing an oversized hoodie over her rehearsal dinner dress, her eyes puffy from theatrical crying.

“Dr. Vance,” Vivian announced, her voice echoing off the tile walls. “I am Vivian Winslow, Audrey’s mother. We are taking over her care immediately. We’ve arranged for a private transport to carry her back to our estate in Hilton Head.”

Evan stepped out from behind the curtain, standing squarely between my family and my hospital bed. “She isn’t going anywhere with you, Vivian.”

Taryn gasped softly, clutching her mother’s arm. “Evan! What are you doing here? You left me alone at the venue! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to explain to the caterers why my fiancé disappeared?”

Evan looked at Taryn with pure disgust. “Your sister is facing permanent paralysis because you pushed her off an eleven-foot drop, Taryn. And all you care about is the caterers?”

“I DID NOT PUSH HER!” Taryn shrieked, squeezing out a rehearsed tear. “I reached out to grab her dress because she was swaying! She’s been taking heavy painkillers for weeks! She slipped because she was dizzy!”

“We have it on tape, Taryn,” Evan said quietly.

The air in the room instantly evaporated.

My father’s jaw tightened. “What tape?”

“The 4K unedited footage from Jules’s phone and the venue’s security system,” Evan replied, holding his smartphone in front of my father’s face. “The audio picked up everything. Taryn whispered, ‘Watch this,’ before she placed both hands on Audrey’s back and shoved her forward over the ledge.”

Vivian’s face paled for a fraction of a second before her cold, aristocratic composure snapped back into place. “That video is an obvious fabrication! A glitch! Taryn would never hurt her sister!”

“Then explain the money, Dad,” I said, my voice shaking with fury as I held up my banking app. “You transferred $62,000 out of my corporate account at 11:14 PM while I was bleeding on a stretcher. You changed my company’s tax registry. Why?”

Charles didn’t even flinch. He adjusted his silk tie and stepped forward, his eyes cold and transactional.

“You’re thirty-four, Audrey. You’ve always been unstable and overly dramatic,” my father sneered. “That money was originally an investment from our family funds years ago. I simply reclaimed what was mine before you destroyed your firm with your medical liabilities. And as for your surgery—you aren’t having it.”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Vance interjected, stepping forward. “Mr. Winslow, you have no legal authority to cancel a competent adult’s surgery.”

“I do if she’s declared financially insolvent and mentally incapacitated,” Charles replied smoothly. He pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “This is a temporary petition for emergency conservatorship filed online thirty minutes ago through our family attorney. Until a judge reviews it on Monday, Audrey cannot sign consent forms or authorize medical payments.”