“She locked me in to ruin the big day, but forgot I’m the one who installed the smart home system. 📹🔓 Revenge is a dish best served in 4K.”

My stepmom locked me in so I’d miss her wedding with my dad — but she forgot one “tiny” detail.

I stared at the note on the kitchen counter, my hands shaking. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just NOT YOUR DAY.”

The silence in the condo was deafening. I ran to the front door again—deadbolted from the outside. I checked the windows—locked tight, and we were on the 15th floor. No phone. No keys. No shoes. Dana had been thorough. She knew my dad wanted me to be his “best woman,” and she knew that if I didn’t show up, he’d think I was pulling a stunt to protest the marriage. She wanted to drive a wedge between us that would never heal.

I slumped against the kitchen island, tears stinging my eyes. But then, I looked up at the ceiling corner, at the small, blinking blue light of the motion sensor.

A slow, cold smile spread across my face.

Dana had missed one tiny, FATAL detail.

What she forgot was that I was the one who installed the Smart Home system for my dad two months ago.

Dana was old-school; she barely knew how to use Netflix, let alone a complex integrated security network. She thought taking my physical phone was enough. She didn’t realize that my old iPad was still tucked between the mattress and the box spring in the guest room where I’d been reading the night before.

I sprinted back to the bedroom and fished out the tablet. 12% battery. Enough.

I bypassed the lock screen and opened the “Home” app. Front Door: Locked. Override? Yes.

Click.

I heard the sweet mechanical whir of the deadbolt retracting down the hall. But I wasn’t just going to leave. I needed ammunition. Dana was a master manipulator; if I just showed up late and barefoot, she’d spin it. She’d tell my dad I was on drugs, or that I’d lost my mind. I needed proof.

I opened the “Security History” tab. The cameras had been rolling all morning.

There it was. 6:00 AM. The footage showed Dana tiptoeing into my room while I slept. She grabbed my phone from the nightstand. She grabbed my heels. Then, the kitchen camera caught her writing that hateful note, a smug grin plastered on her face as she left it on the counter. She even looked directly into the camera lens and winked before walking out and locking the door.

Gotcha.

I downloaded the clip to the cloud and emailed it to my dad, his best man, and—just for good measure—the wedding planner. But knowing Dana, she might have my dad’s phone, so I had to get there in person.

I used the iPad to hail a ride-share. When the driver arrived, he looked confused seeing a girl in a silk bridesmaid dress running out of a luxury condo barefoot.

“Emergency,” I panted, jumping in. “Get me to the St. Regis. Fast. There’s a huge tip in it for you.”

We hit every green light. I ran into the hotel lobby, ignoring the gasps of the staff as my bare feet slapped against the marble floor. I could hear the organ music swelling from the ballroom. The ceremony had started.

I burst through the double doors just as the officiant asked, “If anyone here knows of any reason why these two should not be wed…”

“I do!” I screamed, breathless.

The entire room turned. My dad looked shocked, hurt flashing in his eyes. Dana, standing at the altar in her white lace gown, didn’t look scared—she looked furious.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Dana sighed into the microphone, her voice trembling with fake concern. “Honey, you’re obviously unwell. I told you the stress was too much. John, get her some water, she’s clearly having an episode.”

My dad took a step toward me, looking torn. “Sweetheart, where have you been? You look…”

“She locked me in the condo, Dad!” I yelled, walking down the aisle.

“That is a lie!” Dana shrieked, dropping the act for a split second. “She’s lying, John! She hates me! She’s trying to ruin our happiness!”

I held up the iPad. “I’m not lying. And I brought receipts.”

I didn’t just show the screen. I walked straight to the A/V booth at the side of the room. The tech guy, who I’d met at the rehearsal dinner, looked at me wide-eyed. “HDMI,” I commanded. “Now.”

He plugged it in.

Suddenly, the massive projection screen behind the altar—which was displaying a slideshow of the happy couple—flickered.

The video played.

Every guest watched in silence as giant, high-definition Dana crept around the condo like a thief. They watched her steal my things. They watched her write the note. And then, the pièce de résistance: the camera audio picked up her muttering to herself as she locked the door.

“Finally. Once I get that ring, that little brat is never setting foot in my house again.”

The video ended with a freeze-frame of her winking at the camera.

The silence in the ballroom was heavier than before.

Dana stood frozen. She looked at the screen, then at the crowd, and finally at my dad.

My dad wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the screen, his face draining of color. He walked over to the altar table where the rings were sitting. He picked up the bride’s ring, looked at it for a moment, and then dropped it back into the box with a loud clack.

“John?” Dana whispered.

My dad turned to her. His voice was dangerously calm. “You’re right about one thing, Dana.”

He pointed to the frozen image of her note on the screen.

“It is not your day.”

He walked down the aisle, took off his tuxedo jacket, and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Let’s go get you some shoes, kiddo.”

We walked out of the ballroom together, leaving Dana screaming at the altar as her guests awkwardly shuffled toward the exits.

We ordered pizza that night. The wedding was off, the condo locks were changed, and Dana was blocked on everything. It was the best day I’d had in a long time.