I shook my head.

“No.”

Her face twisted with fury.

“THE VENUE IS MINE NOW, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER!”

Before I could react, she slammed both hands against my shoulders.

I stumbled backward.

My heel caught the edge of the curb.

Then I fell directly into the street.

A truck’s brakes shrieked.

Someone screamed.

I remember looking up at the enormous vehicle, unable to move quickly enough.

Then came the impact.

The next thing I remember was lying on the pavement, staring at the gray November sky.

People were shouting around me.

Someone knelt beside my head.

“Don’t move! The ambulance is coming!”

I tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

My chest hurt, and every breath felt impossibly difficult.

I searched the faces surrounding me.

Jennifer was gone.

**She had shoved me into traffic and disappeared while strangers struggled to keep me alive.**

***

The paramedic’s name was Williams.

He leaned over me inside the ambulance, asking questions and encouraging me to remain conscious.

“Do you know what happened?”

I tried to nod.

“Witnesses say a woman pushed you into the road. Is that correct?”

I nodded again.

“Do you know her?”

Another nod.

It was all I could manage.

At St. Catherine’s Hospital, doctors immediately rushed me into the emergency department.

Scans revealed devastating injuries.

My pelvis was fractured in four places.

Several ribs were broken.

I had internal bleeding and a serious injury to my spleen.

A physician named Dr. Mitchell explained that multiple surgical teams would be needed.

The operation could take six hours or longer.

While staff prepared me for surgery, I struggled to speak.

“The venue,” I whispered.

Dr. Mitchell leaned closer.

“What venue?”

“Riverside. I own it.”

He looked confused.

“We can discuss that later. Right now, we need to treat your injuries.”

I forced out a few more words.

“She wanted it. She pushed me.”

His expression changed.

He immediately instructed a nurse to contact hospital administration and the police.

When someone asked which family member should be notified, I shook my head.

“Sarah Kinn,” I whispered. “My attorney.”

I didn’t want Marcus making decisions for me.

He’d sat beside Jennifer while she threatened me.

I didn’t know what he understood about her intentions, but I wasn’t prepared to trust him.

Sarah Kinn knew the property, the ownership records, and the contracts Jennifer had demanded I violate.

If anyone could protect Riverside while I was hospitalized, it was her.

As the anesthesiologist prepared to put me under, one thought kept returning.

The Morrisons.

Their wedding was only weeks away.

I’d promised them the venue.

And even now, I didn’t want that promise broken.

When I regained consciousness, I was in intensive care.

A breathing tube prevented me from speaking.

Machines monitored my condition.

My attorney stood beside the bed talking with a detective.

The surgery had been successful, but my recovery would be long.

Sarah noticed that my eyes were open and approached.

“Sarah, there’s something you need to see.”

She held up her phone.

On the screen was a photograph of Jennifer standing inside Riverside Estate.

She was smiling beneath the cathedral ceiling, her arms spread wide as though celebrating a victory.

The caption read:

**“Finally secured our dream wedding venue! Family always wins. December 14, here we come!”**

I stared at the picture.

Below it were dozens of congratulatory comments.

Amber had posted hearts.

Marcus had written, “So proud of you, babe.”

Other relatives had celebrated the announcement.

My own brother was congratulating Jennifer while I was undergoing emergency surgery.

Sarah explained that Riverside’s security system had recorded an unauthorized entry at 6:47 p.m.

Jennifer, Marcus, Amber, and his mother had entered the estate.

They spent nearly two hours measuring the event hall, taking photographs, and discussing decorations.

While surgeons were trying to save my life, they were planning a wedding in my building as though it already belonged to them.

I couldn’t understand how people who called themselves family could behave that way.

Then the detective stepped forward.

“I’m Detective Morris,” he said. “We have significant evidence regarding the incident.”

He explained that a traffic camera had recorded the confrontation.

The truck driver’s dashboard camera had captured another angle.

And forty-two witnesses had given statements.

He showed me part of the footage.

Jennifer was clearly visible near the curb.

I watched her move toward me.

Then her hands struck my shoulders.

I couldn’t bear to watch the rest.

The detective lowered the tablet.

“You don’t need to watch it again. The recording is preserved.”

He told me Jennifer had been arrested on attempted-murder and related assault charges.

Marcus, Amber, and his mother were being questioned about their possible involvement.

The unauthorized entry into Riverside was also under investigation.

I felt both relieved and devastated.

Relieved that the evidence existed.