The catering staff began clearing plates before anyone officially told them to, and the soft clatter of porcelain against the rolling carts filled the edges of the ballroom while guests kept their voices low in that careful way people use when they are pretending nothing unusual is happening.

  At table seven, an older man folded his napkin into a tight square, then unfolded it again, then folded it once more with slow deliberate fingers as if the exact shape of the cloth mattered more than the conversation happening around him.

  Across the room, one of the junior videographers crouched beside a tripod, wiping the lens with the corner of his shirt even though it already looked clean, and every few seconds he glanced up toward the large projection screen at the front of the hall.

  The screen was blank now.

  It stayed blank.

  Near the stage, the wedding planner stood with her phone pressed against her ear while she nodded too many times in a row at whatever the person on the other end was saying, and her free hand kept smoothing the front of her blazer in small restless motions.

  At the main table, Preecha had not touched the water glass in front of him, though condensation had begun to pool around the base and spread slowly across the linen cloth in a thin uneven ring.

  He stared at the glass for a long moment.

  Then he turned it a few degrees clockwise.

  Then back again.

  Beside him, Madam Lian sat very straight, her hands resting lightly together as if she were waiting for a meeting to begin rather than sitting in the middle of her son’s wedding reception.

  She did not look at the screen.

  She did not look at the guests.

  Instead her attention remained fixed on the small plate in front of her where the cake slice sat untouched, the fork placed neatly to the right.

  Across the ballroom, Anya stood near the back service doors with one of the makeup artists who kept dabbing lightly at the corner of Anya’s eye even though nothing there needed fixing.

  Hold still just one second, the makeup artist murmured.

  I am still, Anya replied quietly.

  The artist hesitated, then gave a small apologetic smile and lowered the sponge.

  Sorry.

  It is habit.

  Anya nodded once.

  From somewhere outside the ballroom doors, the low murmur of raised voices drifted in, followed by the sharp electronic buzz of a phone receiving too many notifications at once.

  The junior videographer stood up abruptly.

  Uh, maam, he called toward the planner.

  The planner turned, still holding her phone to her ear.

  Yes.

  He hesitated, then held up his own phone with the screen facing her.

  It is already everywhere.

  The planner’s mouth tightened.

  Give me one moment, she said into her call, then lowered the phone.

  What do you mean everywhere.

  The videographer stepped closer, his sneakers squeaking softly against the polished floor.

  People clipped the stream, he said.

  They are reposting it.

  The planner took the phone from his hand.

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  Her eyes moved quickly across the screen.

  Her shoulders dropped just slightly.

  Across the room, two guests leaned toward each other.

  I told you someone was recording.

  They always are.

  Their conversation cut off when Madam Lian’s gaze shifted briefly in their direction.

  They straightened in their chairs.

  The planner handed the phone back.

  Keep all equipment running, she said quietly.

  We proceed as scheduled.

  The videographer blinked.

  Even now.

  Her smile returned, thin but steady.

  Especially now.

  Near the service doors, Anya’s own phone began vibrating again inside her clutch.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times in quick succession.

  The makeup artist glanced down.

  Do you want to check.

  Anya did not move for a moment.

  Then she opened the clutch and turned the phone face up.

  The screen was crowded with alerts.

  Tags.

  Mentions.

  Clips.

  Her thumb hovered above the screen but did not touch it.

  Behind her, a waiter pushed through the service doors carrying a tray of fresh glasses, and the door swung back on its hinge a little too slowly, as if something on the other side had brushed it on the way past.

  The waiter frowned slightly and looked back.

  Then he kept walking.

  At the main table, Preecha finally picked up his water glass and took a small sip, though his eyes remained fixed on the blank projection screen.

  Madam Lian spoke without looking at him.

  You should stand straighter, she said quietly.

  The cameras are still here.

  Preecha set the glass down with careful precision.

  Yes, Mother.

  Across the ballroom, the planner clapped her hands softly once.

  All right everyone, she called.

  We will resume shortly.

  A few guests shifted in their seats.

  Chairs scraped.

  Someone coughed.

  Near the back wall, the large screen flickered once.

  The videographer stiffened.

  I did not touch it, he said quickly.

  No one answered him.

  The screen went dark again.

  Then, very slowly, the livestream interface reappeared on its own.

  Muted.

  Paused.

  But active.

  The planner’s smile did not move.

  Keep it off the main feed, she said quietly.

  The videographer swallowed.

  I am trying.

  His fingers moved quickly over the control panel.

  The screen froze.

  Then refreshed.

  Then froze again.

  At table four, a woman lifted her phone and angled it slightly toward the stage.

  Beside her, her companion whispered, Are you seriously recording right now.

  She did not lower the phone.

  Near the service doors, Anya finally tapped one of the alerts.

  A clipped segment of the earlier broadcast filled her screen.

  The angle was wrong.

  Lower than the official camera.

  As if filmed from the floor.

  The audio crackled.

  In the reflection of a polished surface behind Madam Lian, something small and dark moved across the frame.

  Anya’s thumb stopped mid scroll.

  The makeup artist leaned closer.

  Is that from earlier.

  Anya did not answer.

  At the main table, Madam Lian reached for her fork at last and cut a precise bite of cake.

  She lifted it.

  Paused.

  Then set the fork back down without eating.

  Across the ballroom, the planner was speaking again in that calm professional tone that sounded almost normal if someone did not listen too closely.

  Just a brief technical delay, she said.

  We appreciate your patience.

  Near the back of the room, one of the servers bent to pick up a dropped napkin.

  When he straightened, he glanced toward the projection screen and went very still.

  Uh.

  No one heard him.

  On the large screen, the paused livestream flickered once more.

  Then the progress bar moved forward on its own by exactly three seconds.

  The audio remained muted.

  But in the silent footage, visible to everyone now watching closely, a black cat stepped slowly across the stage behind Madam Lian’s chair.

  No one in the ballroom had seen a cat enter the room.

  The planner stopped speaking mid sentence.

  The videographer’s hands froze above the controls.

  At the main table, Preecha’s fingers tightened around the edge of the tablecloth.

  And Madam Lian, very slowly, lifted her eyes toward the screen for the first time.