“You are Mr. Warren’s sister,” she replied, confusion coloring her tone.

“Yes. But I am also Natalie Warren, the sole owner of Sapphire Luxury Hotels and Elite Catering. The venue they are booking? I own the deed. The food they plan to eat? My chefs are prepping it. The suites the guests are sleeping in? I designed them.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Oh my god. I… I didn’t know.”

“Tell the bride and my brother to cancel the entire wedding,” I commanded, the words tasting like ash and iron.

“But… but Miss Warren, you’re not the bride. You can’t just—”

“I can. Read section twelve of the contract regarding ethical violations and owner discretion. Tell them they have until 5:00 PM to fix this, or the Sapphire Grand goes dark.”

I hung up the phone and let the silence of the office swallow me. My name is Natalie Warren. I am thirty-four years old, a self-made hospitality mogul, and apparently, I was just rich enough to pay for a wedding, but too “working class” to attend it.