My wedding day. My fiancé, Graham Whitmore, was in the garden, dancing with his best friend, Sloane. She was wearing a white gown. That was supposed to be my first dance. From the livestream in the bridal suite, I heard the guests cheering them on. I heard the wedding planner’s strained voice asking him when he was going to come for me. And I heard his easy laugh. “Let her wait. Sloane is my ‘practice bride.’” I killed the livestream, grabbed my tablet, and walked into the reception hall. The room went dead silent. “Congratulations, Graham. Congratulations, Sloane.” I caught the eye of the technician and signaled for him to switch the main screen from the wedding video to my tablet. On it was the wedding gift I’d prepared for the Whitmore Foundation: an exclusive licensing agreement for my personal patent. In front of every donor and board member, I tapped “Revoke.” A massive “Notice of License Termination” filled the screen. “First, I will ......
