Brent's gaze grew colder. He took his phone and placed it on the table. "Do you know your current status?" he asked, holding back a growl. The muscles in his neck seemed to tighten. Obviously, he was furious.

Beverley glanced at Brent's cell phone only to see her picture on it—a photo of her still in her wedding dress, on the side of the road, messy and barefoot. Part of her face was covered by a veil, but her spectacular wedding dress was sure to be recognized by those in the business community.

"Why does it look like Mr. Oliver's bride's dress?"

"Did Mr. Oliver's wife run away from her...