Chapter 2

Early the next morning, I got a call from Michael Henson.

"Renata, Myrtle and I both drank too much last night and can't get up. Go to the hotel yourself and greet the guests first."

"Oh, and get the equity transfer agreement ready today, along with Myrtle's employment letter, or don't blame me if I call off the wedding."

I stared at the message coldly for a good fifteen minutes, then suddenly laughed.

Michael Henson—an orphan my Vaughn family had sponsored, the boy who once held out pastries and swore he'd protect me for life—now took it for granted that he could demand Vaughn family shares and humiliate the Vaughn family's only heir.

Who gave him the nerve?

The flattery of those hangers-on, or Myrtle Donaldson's cheap worship and compliments.

Or maybe the billion I'd poured in to back the two patents he was working on.

I checked the time. Eight thirty.

Calmly, I stood and went downstairs.

The world's top makeup artist, stylist, and emcee were already lined up in the hall, waiting.

Four makeup artists came forward at once and helped me sit down—cleansing, skincare, foundation…

An hour later, I stood resplendent in the living room, wearing a wedding gown covered in diamonds.

Everyone stared at me, dazzled.

"Ms. Vaughn, you're so beautiful—it's like a fairy come down from heaven."

"Deputy Director Henson is going to freeze on the spot when he sees you. He's a lucky man."

As everyone was offering their praise and congratulations, my phone chimed—a voice message from Michael Henson.

"Renata, how can you be so vain? Who told you to wear a gown that extravagant?"

"I've already sent over a new gown. Change into it right away."

Hearing the frantic anger in Michael's voice, everyone exchanged awkward glances.

The door swung open, and Butler James walked in dragging a drab, gray wedding dress, and said furiously,

"Ms. Vaughn, this is the dress Mr. Henson sent over. He made a point of saying you absolutely must wear this one."

Smiling, I walked over and shook the dress out.

Everyone immediately covered their noses and started coughing.

The tattered gown was caked with dust, with several holes torn in it.

Everyone started talking at once.

"What does Deputy Director Henson mean by this? A dress torn up like this—how is anyone supposed to wear it?"

"Michael Henson goes too far. He's always ordering Ms. Vaughn around, and now, on the wedding day, he actually makes her wear a dress like this."

Candice was the first to want to storm out and have it out with Michael.

I caught Candice by the arm and gave a serene smile.

"Bring it along. I'll probably need it at the wedding later."

Candice looked at me, stunned.

"Ms. Vaughn, it's one thing that you usually give in to Mr. Henson, but today he's plainly bullying you. Are you just going to let him humiliate you like this?"

I lifted the hem of my skirt and strode outside.

"Candice, he's just an outsider, nothing to us. It's a joyful day—don't let him spoil the mood."

I drove the wedding car myself, floored it to the hotel, and without hesitation had the venue redo the decorations and change the groom's name.

At ten, Myrtle Donaldson posted on social media. She was leaning on Michael Henson's shoulder, her eyes wet, her lips red and swollen.

The caption read, "Let me be selfish one last time. At noon, you'll be someone else's groom."

Michael Henson was the first to like it and comment,

"There is no noon—I will always be your guardian angel."

Below, Michael's hangers-on chimed in one after another.

"Michael and our sweet Myrtle are a match made in heaven. Some old woman throwing her weight around to bully people—otherwise, why would Michael ever want her?"

"If Michael weren't so loyal and devoted, he'd have dumped her ages ago. If she had any sense, she wouldn't have become a mistress muscling in and wrecking a golden couple."

I sneered again and again. So my Vaughn family's support had turned me into someone tearing lovers apart.

Ever since Michael got famous, all these orphanage hangers-on of his had crawled out of nowhere and become his good buddies.

And their darling Myrtle Donaldson had somehow become Michael's childhood sweetheart.

Supposedly she'd once given Michael a dinner roll as a child, saving his life.

I commented right away,

"A golden couple out of a garbage heap? If you all can't stand the sight of me, then just let Michael marry Myrtle."

The comment had been up for one second when Michael called.

"Renata, what nonsense are you spouting? Apologize to Myrtle right now."

"Myrtle and I have a perfectly innocent brother-sister relationship. She's just a little upset about my wedding today, so I was comforting her."

I was done coddling him, and hit back straight.

"Michael, how did you comfort her—with your mouth? No wonder it's all swollen from the effort."

"It's fine, keep it up if you like. You don't need to come to the wedding today."

Michael suddenly snorted a laugh.

"Renata, jealous and sulking?"

"I'm telling you, threaten me like this and I really won't come."

"No one controls Michael Henson's freedom, and Myrtle is a friend from my poorest days—there's no way I'd be so heartless as to abandon her."

"At the wedding, you apologize to Myrtle properly. You don't want to be standing up on that stage all alone, do you, with everyone laughing at you?"

I couldn't help laughing at his shamelessness.

"Fine. When you get to the wedding, I'll apologize to her."

I had just hung up when one luxury car after another came speeding up and stopped in front of the hotel.

Behind the luxury cars stretched a line of bride gifts that ran all the way to the end of the road.

A car door opened, and Scott Gilbert—in a bespoke suit, a groom's boutonniere pinned to his chest—walked over, smiling.

"My beautiful bride, I've come to snatch you away."

I stared at Scott Gilbert in shock, stammering,

"Scott Gilbert, where did you get all these luxury cars and bride gifts?"