Chapter 5 - THE OTHER BRIDE
The phrase followed me into every waking hour.
The other bride.
Trent had told me I was his first serious commitment.
His mother had said the same during our rehearsal dinner, praising my patience with a man who had never learned to trust love.
Daniel located a sealed divorce docket bearing Trent's former legal surname.
The court file was restricted, but an older public marriage index confirmed that Trent Mercer had married a woman named Camille Rhodes at twenty-four.
He had never told me.
Rebecca found Camille through her professional licensing directory.
She worked as an elementary school counselor in Flagstaff.
Our first conversation lasted less than a minute.
“Is Gloria involved?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then please don't call this number again.”
She ended the call.
A day later, Camille contacted Rebecca using a lawyer of her own.
We met in a quiet conference room with the blinds drawn.
Camille wore a gray cardigan, her hair pinned neatly behind her ears.
She looked at me and said, “I thought he'd stopped doing this.”
She explained that their brief marriage had begun with extravagant promises and ended when Trent demanded she refinance a house inherited from her grandmother.
Gloria had claimed the money would fund a family medical emergency.
When Camille refused, Trent accused her of refusing to support his suffering parents.
He grew cruel when she kept saying no.
Eventually she learned that the supposed medical provider was another company linked to Gloria.
“I left with my house,” Camille said.
“But he spent months trying to convince people I was unstable.”
I showed her the photograph of Brooke.
Camille drew in a sharp breath.
“That woman attended my wedding.”
“She was there?”
“As Gloria's assistant.”
The room tilted slightly.
Brooke had watched one bride walk down the aisle and years later prepared to replace another.
Camille laid a small leather diary on the table.
“I started documenting everything when Trent said I had imagined our conversations.”
Inside were dates, conversations, payments, and threats.
A yellow tab marked an entry from the week before their divorce.
Gloria says Trent must learn not to fall in love with the target.
I looked up.
“Target?”
Camille nodded.
“That was the word she used.”
Rebecca asked whether Camille would permit copies for the investigation.
She agreed, with the cautious bravery of someone returning to a nightmare she had already escaped once.
Before leaving, Camille touched my wrist.
“He'll try to make you feel ashamed because you trusted him,” she said.
“Don't let his shame become yours.”
That night I read every page of the diary.
Its last entry described a document Camille had glimpsed on Gloria's desk.
Three women's names appeared under a heading called projected households.
Camille's was crossed out.
The second name had been written in blue ink.
Harper Quinn.
My maiden name.
And the third name was one I had never seen before.
May you like
Natalie Brooks.
