My Sister Slapped Me In Front Of 200 People At Her Wedding Because I Would…

For a brief while, the sound appeared to stop. Two hundred guests fell silent, their discussion breaking in mid-sentence as they turned to watch the sight unfold in front of them.

Then the laughter began.

It started with a few scattered giggles from Sabrina’s friends, who had always looked down on me for being too serious and focused on work. But it spread like wildfire among the audience.

Guests who did not know me were laughing, pointing, and muttering behind their hands.

“Did you see that? She actually slapped her.” One said.

“About time someone put Vivien in her place.” Another added.

“I always knew she was stuck up.” A guest muttered.

My cheek burned, but I did not cry. I would not offer them satisfaction.

Instead, I stood there feeling the pressure of 200 pairs of eyes on me, listening to their laughing, whispered comments and judgment. Sabrina smiled triumphantly.

“Maybe now you’ll start acting like a real sister.” She said.

Mom and Dad stood behind her, not apologizing for their daughter’s actions nor protecting me. They merely watched, waiting to see if I’d ultimately give in to their demands.

That’s when I realized something significant. This wasn’t only about the penthouse.

This was about them keeping me in my place, reminding me that no matter how successful I was or how hard I worked, I would always be the disappointment, the one who didn’t count. But they had made one critical error.

They had humiliated me in front of 200 witnesses, including some prominent figures from New York’s legal and commercial circles. People who knew me, respected me, and witnessed what I was capable of.

I reached into my bag and took out my phone, my hands remarkably still despite the wrath running through my veins. Without speaking, I began typing.

“Vivien, what are you doing?” Mom inquired uneasily.

I ignored her and continued to type. People around us began to laugh less as they noticed I wasn’t behaving as expected.

I wasn’t crying or running away in humiliation. I was doing something else totally.

“Vivien, put that away,” Dad said.

“You’re embarrassing yourself.” He added.

“No,” I said quietly, and kept typing.

“I’m not the one who should be embarrassed.” I said.

Sabrina attempted to grab my phone, but I moved aside and clicked send just as her fingertips touched the screen.

“What did you do?” She hissed.

I looked up at her, my parents, and the multitude of guests who were still watching us with unmistakable interest.

“I chose the revenge that would silence you forever.” I said.

Their confused expressions were nearly hilarious. They clearly expected me to either give in to their demands or burst out crying.

They did not expect me to fight back. My phone buzzed with an answer, followed by another, and then several more in fast succession.

“Vivien, what did you send?” Mom’s voice became shrill, panic setting in.

I gave the first genuine smile I’d felt all evening.

“I sent a message to my group chat. You know, the one with all my lawyer friends, the journalists I’ve worked with, the business contacts I’ve made over the years. The people who actually matter in this city.” I said.

Sabrina’s face turned white.

“What kind of message?” She asked.

“Just a little update about tonight’s events. How my family demanded I give up my penthouse to my sister and her new husband. How my mother screamed that selfish children don’t deserve success. How my father said my sister’s hypothetical children needed real homes more than I do. How my sister slapped me in front of 200 people because I wouldn’t hand over my life’s work.” I said.

The ballroom had gone utterly silent. Even the string quartet had ceased performing.

“I also mentioned how everyone laughed when I was assaulted,” I said, my voice clearly audible over the hush.

“How amusing they found it that a successful woman was being put in her place by her family.” I added.

“Vivien, you need to delete that right now,” Dad warned, his voice dangerously low.

I shrugged.

“Delete what? The truth? Too late anyway. It’s already been shared. You know how social media works, Dad. Once something’s out there, it’s out there forever.” I said.

My phone was now continuously vibrating with messages of sympathy, fury on my behalf, and pleas for additional information. The story was spreading faster than I had expected.

“You vindictive…!” Sabrina screamed, her voice wavering slightly.

“No, Sabrina. I’m just done being your doormat.” I said.

Derek, who had been mute during the argument, eventually spoke up.

“Vivien, maybe we can work something out. We didn’t mean for things to go this far.” He said.

I stared at him with pity.

“You married into the wrong family, Derek. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” I said.

“What do you mean?” He inquired, his tone betraying genuine confusion.

“I mean your new wife and in-laws just made some very powerful enemies. Do you know who Judge Margaret Chen is? She was here tonight. She saw everything. She’s already texted me expressing her disgust at your wife’s behavior.” I said.

Sabrina’s face changed from white to green. Judge Chen was one of New York’s most recognized judges, known for having no tolerance for entitled conduct.

“And David Rodriguez from the Times? He’s been following me around all evening trying to get an interview about my latest case. He saw the whole thing. He’s asking if I want to comment on how successful women are treated by their families.” I said.

“Vivien, stop!” Mom urged.

“You’re going to ruin Sabrina’s wedding.” She said.

“Sabrina ruined her own wedding when she decided to assault me in front of 200 people.” I said.

“It was just a slap!” Sabrina insisted.

“You’re being dramatic!” She added.

“It was an assault, Sabrina, and it was witnessed by 200 people. Including several lawyers, a judge, and apparently a reporter. You want to know what I deserve? I deserve not to be physically attacked by my own family.” I said.

My telephone rang. I looked at the screen and smiled.

“Oh, this is interesting. It’s Amanda Walsh from Walsh and Associates. You know, the law firm that handles high-profile reputation management cases? She’s offering her services pro bono.” I said.

Sabrina’s face became drained of blood. In New York society, reputation management was synonymous with controversy control, and if Amanda Walsh called, it meant the tale had already moved beyond my small circle.

“Vivien, please,” Sabrina said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. I was just emotional.” She said.

“You’re sorry?” I chuckled, but it wasn’t funny.

“You’re sorry that there are consequences to your actions. You’re sorry that you can’t just take whatever you want from me without pushback. But you’re not sorry for what you did.” I said.

“I am sorry!” She insisted.

“I’ll apologize publicly. I’ll tell everyone it was a mistake.” She said.

“Too late for that. The damage is done.” I said.

And it was. I could see it on the faces of the people surrounding us.

The laughter had stopped completely, replaced by uneasy whispers and pointed stares. People who had previously considered my humiliation humorous now looked at Sabrina with disgust.

The social media posts had already gone viral, and in New York’s affluent circles, reputation meant everything.

“What do you want?” Dad said calmly, defeat evident in his voice.

“I want you to leave me alone,” I stated plainly.

“All of you. I want you to stop treating me like an ATM. Stop expecting me to sacrifice my happiness for Sabrina’s convenience. And stop pretending that family means anything to you beyond what you can get from me.” I said.

“Vivien, we’re still family,” Mom murmured softly.

“No, we’re not. Family doesn’t demand you give up your home. Family doesn’t scream at you in public. Family doesn’t assault you at a wedding. Family supports each other, celebrates each other’s successes, and treats each other with respect. You’ve never done any of those things for me.” I said.

My phone vibrated again. This time it was an SMS from my assistant.

“Vivien, TMZ is calling. They want to know if you are the lawyer who was assaulted at the Ritz Carlton wedding. What do I tell them?” The message read.

I held the phone up so that everyone could read the message.

“TMZ is calling. This is about to become a very public story.” I said.

Sabrina started crying, her flawless makeup spilling down her cheeks.

“Vivien, please. This is my wedding day. Don’t ruin it.” She said.

“I’m not ruining anything, Sabrina. I’m just refusing to be your victim anymore.” I said.

“What can we do?” Derek asked, desperate.

“How do we fix this?” He asked.

I looked at him, then at my parents, and last at my sister who was sobbing in her wedding dress.

“You can’t fix this, Derek. This is who they are. This is what they do. They take and take and take until there’s nothing left. And when you finally say no, they attack you for it.” I said.

The ballroom was beginning to empty now. Guests were making excuses and slipping away from what was obviously a family disaster.