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The brilliant lights in the hall dimmed, leaving a concentrated glow upon the stage. The bride and groom stood bathed in radiance—she in her flowing white gown, he in his impeccably tailored suit. They were the perfect picture of beauty and elegance.

The background music shifted, rising into a crescendo, infusing the air with a palpable sense of excitement. The wedding ceremony had reached its peak.

Deidre clasped her left hand over her right, her palms damp with sweat beneath the delicate white gloves. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, each beat echoing like a drum in her ears. She was so nervous it felt as though her heart might leap into her throat.

Her gaze settled on the man before her, a mix of elation and unease swirling within her.

Micah Landon—one of Salve City's most eligible bachelors, heir to one of its most powerful families—was about to marry her.

It felt surreal, like a fairy tale come to life. A Cinderella marrying her prince, with all the incredulity that entailed.

Micah stood tall in his sharply cut suit, his handsome face composed, his demeanor radiating charm and distinction. The unframed glasses perched on his high-bridged nose softened the sharpness of his features, lending his eyes a gentle warmth that seemed deeper than usual.

"And now, let's have the bride and groom exchange rings!" The emcee's voice was vibrant, his enthusiasm infectious.

A poised bridesmaid stepped forward, carrying a tray with a red velvet base upon which the wedding rings rested.

Micah's gaze lowered to the open ring box, and for a fleeting moment, his calm façade faltered. His gentle, smiling expression froze ever so slightly.

The warmth and softness in his eyes disappeared entirely, replaced by an unfamiliar coldness.

Deidre followed his gaze to the rings, her brow furrowing in confusion. These weren't the rings they had chosen together.

What was going on?

Micah's hand hovered over the ring box but didn't move to pick one up. An awkward pause settled over the ceremony. The emcee hesitated, his expression reflecting the growing tension in the room.

Then a shout broke through the silence. "What's that on the screen?"

Heads turned toward the massive display behind them. Deidre instinctively followed their gaze.

The screen, which had been playing a slideshow of their sweet, romantic pre-wedding photos, now displayed a completely different set of images.

The pictures still showed a man and a woman, but the man wasn't Micah.

The first photo revealed Deidre being intimately embraced by a stranger outside a hotel. The next showed her leaning into the same man in a hotel room, their bodies close on a bed.

The lively background music continued to play, a jarring contrast to the now stifling atmosphere. Whispers swept through the crowd, their eyes darting toward Deidre.

Daring to humiliate Micah, the powerful and revered heir, on his wedding day? And this bride, from her modest family background, had the audacity to wear such a scandalous stain on her character?

Deidre felt as if lightning had struck her. Panic surged through her as she snapped her gaze toward Micah.

His attention was fixed on the screen.

The light from the display reflected off his glasses, making it impossible for Deidre to discern his expression. But the tight line of his lips and the vein bulging at his temple revealed enough. A cold blade seemed to pierce her chest, twisting sharply.

The once cheerful wedding music now felt like a cruel mockery.

"Micah, I didn't—" Deidre started, her voice trembling.

Micah's gaze finally shifted to her, his eyes icy and unreadable behind his glasses. The storm brewing in them made her heart sink further.

"I…" She wanted to explain, but no words came. The images on the screen were a mystery to her. She had no memory of them, no explanation for their existence.

Who would do this to her? Who would want to ruin her like this?

Micah's expression grew colder, a mocking glint appearing in his eyes. He didn't say a word. Instead, he glanced at the bridesmaid holding the tray of rings.

He picked up one of the rings, turned sharply, and walked away.

"Micah, don't go!" Deidre cried, lifting the hem of her gown as she rushed after him. She grabbed his hand, desperate to stop him.

He halted briefly, turning to look at her. His lips curved in a faint, mocking smile, his voice low and biting. "This wedding…"

He trailed off, his gaze flicking back to the screen where yet another photo appeared—Deidre asleep in bed, her features serene. Beside her, the same stranger propped his head on one hand, gazing at her with a tenderness that seemed all too intimate.

Micah's faint smirk turned into a derisive laugh. "…is off."

Each word struck Deidre like an arrow, sinking deep into her heart and leaving a searing pain in their wake.

He shook off her hand with enough force to send her stumbling backward.

She staggered, unable to steady herself, and fell to the ground, her pristine white gown pooling around her like a defeated flag.

Chapter 2
The wedding host, visibly flustered as the groom turned and walked away, hastily gestured to the sound engineer to cut the music.

As the cheerful background tunes abruptly ceased, the atmosphere shifted, the murmur of the crowd swelling into an unabashed roar of judgment and speculation.

"They've been engaged for over a year, and now this scene unfolds at the wedding? Utter humiliation," someone remarked loudly.

"She looks so pure, doesn't she? But clearly, she's got other, shall we say, talents that hooked Micah. Guess she practiced those talents with plenty of others. Walk along the river long enough, and you'll get your feet wet. Someone probably got fed up and exposed her. Tsk, tsk."

That particular comment sliced through the air like a shard of glass, sharp and cutting.

"Nonsense! I didn't do any of that!" Deidre screamed, her voice raw with desperation.

Her outburst only added fuel to the fire. None of the attendees spared her even a modicum of sympathy. They were there for the prestige of the Landon family. Now that she had been abandoned by Micah, who was she to them? A nobody, someone to ridicule without consequence.

"Look at her, losing her temper. How unsightly."

"Exactly. Instead of finding a hole to crawl into, she's still yelling at others."

"Such shameless defiance. Playing the victim while pretending to be saintly—what a joke."

"If my daughter ever turned out like this, I'd beat her to death."

"Let's go. The wedding's clearly over."

The voices piled up, overlapping in waves of cruelty. Deidre's head buzzed with a hollow static. None of it made sense. How had the day turned into this nightmare?

No. It couldn't end like this.

She slipped off her high heels, hoisting up the heavy layers of her wedding gown, and ran after Micah.

Outside the hotel, Micah stood by the open door of his car, flipping through some documents. The sight of him brought a glimmer of hope to Deidre's heart, and she quickened her steps.

"Micah!" she called out, her voice trembling with both fear and longing.

His hand froze mid-turn, but he didn't look up.

Tears welled in Deidre's reddened eyes. "How can you just leave me like this? How can you believe those photos without even hearing me out?"

Micah finally lifted his gaze, his eyes cold and detached, like a winter wind slicing through her skin.

"One week ago," he began, his voice steady but unyielding, "Westin Hotel, Room 309. Was it you?"

The precision of his words hit her like a jolt. A specific time, a specific place—her memory stirred reluctantly to life. Her breath hitched as fragments resurfaced.

She had been there. It was her sister Valerie's 18th birthday party, and they'd forced a bottle of whiskey down her throat. The next thing she remembered was waking up alone in that hotel room with a splitting headache.

The images from the wedding screen replayed in her mind, overlapping with her fragmented recollection.

Could it be?

But no—when she had woken up that morning, she was alone. There had been no one else, she was sure of it.

Her silence spoke volumes.

"Can't answer, can you?" Micah's voice dripped with disdain, dragging her back to the present.

"I was there, yes, but—" she began, desperate to explain.

"Spare me your excuses," he cut her off icily.

He thrust the documents in his hand toward her. "Take a good look. No one's an idiot here."

Mechanically, Deidre accepted them, her hands trembling. Her eyes skimmed over the pages—photographs, so many photographs. Many were the same ones that had been displayed on the wedding screen, but these… these included more.

Her breath caught in her throat. Among the images, her sister Valerie appeared too, unmistakably linked to the events captured.

"This isn't real," Deidre stammered. "I'll call Valerie—she'll explain. This is all a misunderstanding. That night—she—"

Her frantic words were abruptly silenced as Micah seized her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"It's over, Deidre," he said quietly.

His gaze locked onto hers, unyielding. She saw her own desperation reflected in the lenses of his frameless glasses, his eyes devoid of warmth or mercy.

His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If only you'd stayed obedient. But there are no 'if onlys.' You hid it well these past two years. I almost believed in you, fooled by that face of yours. But you're tainted. In the end, it was my mistake for thinking you could ever compare to her."

Her mind stumbled over his words, catching on one fragment: "Her."

Who was he talking about?

Before she could grasp it, Micah let out a bitter laugh. With his free hand, he pulled a ring box from his pocket, opening it with a flick of his thumb.

Chapter 3
Deidre recognized the wedding ring—it was the same unfamiliar one that had appeared earlier at the ceremony.

Micah's voice broke through the heavy air, low and dripping with disdain. "You're not worthy of this ring."

Her heart shuddered at his words, and pain flared across her jaw as he harshly released her.

Without so much as a glance back, he stepped into the car, slamming the door shut with finality. His expression remained cold as he instructed the driver, "Drive."

Desperate, Deidre chased after the car, her bare feet burning against the scorching pavement. The southern Salve City was in the grip of a relentless summer heat, but she barely noticed. The pain in her feet seemed distant, insignificant compared to the ache in her chest.

She ran with abandon, her cumbersome wedding gown tangling around her legs, until she tripped and fell hard onto the unforgiving ground. Her knees and elbows scraped against the rough asphalt, bleeding slightly. She looked utterly disheveled, a far cry from the radiant bride she had been moments ago.

The driver, catching sight of her pitiful state in the rearview mirror, hesitated. His foot eased off the gas, and he ventured cautiously, "Young Master Micah, Miss Deidre is—"

"Did you not understand what I said earlier?" Micah's tone was sharp, cutting.

"Yes, sir!" The driver stiffened, not daring to say another word. He pressed harder on the accelerator, and the car sped away.

For a fleeting moment, Deidre thought she saw the car slow down. A glimmer of hope ignited in her eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

The car roared forward, disappearing into the distance, leaving her behind.

She sat where she had fallen, her meticulously applied bridal makeup now smeared and ruined. The oppressive summer sun bore down on her, but she didn't care. Perhaps if her body suffered enough, her heart might hurt a little less.

The sound of approaching heels broke through her haze. A shadow loomed over her, and Deidre slowly looked up to see Casey Landon standing before her, her elegant face frosty with disdain.

Casey crouched down, bringing their gazes level. Her lips curled into a cold smile as she produced her phone, unlocking it and flipping through her photo album. She held it out for Deidre to see.

"Take a good look. This is my brother's first love."

Deidre's face drained of color the moment her eyes landed on the photo. The girl in the picture was young, no older than eighteen or nineteen. Her delicate features radiated joy, her hand raised in a playful gesture that highlighted the ring on her slender finger—a ring identical to the one Micah had just dismissed as unworthy of Deidre.

Her breath caught. The resemblance was uncanny. The girl's eyes, especially, bore a startling similarity to her own.

"This photo," Casey said coolly, "is why my brother took an interest in you."

Deidre's mind reeled. 'You're not worthy of this ring.' Micah's words came rushing back, sharper than ever.

"So, I'm… her—" Deidre began, her voice trembling.

"Her replacement," Casey finished mercilessly. Her tone was detached, but each syllable landed like a dagger to Deidre's heart.

"No… that can't be," Deidre murmured, her voice barely audible. Yet her body betrayed her denial, trembling uncontrollably. Though the summer heat was oppressive, she felt as if she had been plunged into an icy abyss.

She was a joke. Right from the start, she had been nothing more than a substitute.

Casey watched Deidre descent into despair with evident satisfaction, though her anger hadn't quite abated. She raised her hand and struck Deidre across the face.

The slap echoed sharply.

Deidre's head snapped to the side, her cheek instantly stinging with heat. A vivid red mark bloomed across her pale skin, the outline of fingers clear and unrelenting.

"Today, you humiliated my brother in front of everyone," Casey said coldly. "You turned this wedding into the laughingstock of the entire Salve City's elite. You should be thankful my parents left in disgust early on. If they were still here, you wouldn't have gotten off with just a slap."

Deidre bit her lip, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. Slowly, she turned her face back to Casey, her eyes red-rimmed but resolute. Tears welled up but refused to fall.

"I didn't do anything to betray him," she said through clenched teeth.

"Spare me the pitiful act," Casey sneered. "Who do you think you're fooling?"

Her disgust was unmistakable, simmering just beneath the surface. She straightened, slipping her phone back into her pocket. With a final disdainful glance, she added, "You're just a shameless woman clinging to lies and excuses. Disgusting."

Without another word, Casey turned on her heel and walked away.

Chapter 4
The reporters had trailed after Micah's car for a good while, hoping to intercept him, but when it became clear that their efforts were futile, they shifted their attention. Like a tidal wave, they surged toward Deidre instead.

Vincent Winsley, who had also rushed out, caught sight of Deidre slumped on the ground, her hair disheveled, her expression blank. A surge of fury erupted within him.

"You've disgraced me completely!" he spat, his teeth clenched in rage. Without waiting for a response, he stormed over and yanked her up forcefully.

Deidre stumbled as he dragged her toward the parking lot, his movements sharp and brimming with frustration.

Like a discarded, soulless rag doll, Deidre let herself be shoved into the car. Her mind was elsewhere, caught in an unending loop of Micah's cold words and Casey's venomous taunts.

A replacement.

The phrase clung to her, refusing to loosen its grip.

Deidre's lips curled into a silent, bitter smile.

Of course. It all made sense now.

No wonder Micah had believed those photos, no wonder he had so readily embraced such absurd accusations.

Trust? There had never been any between them.

How could there be trust when all along, he had seen her as someone else? To him, she was merely a shadow, an echo of his lost love. A stand-in needed no trust—only convenience.

When she no longer suited his mood, he could cast her aside without hesitation, without remorse.

After all, she was just a replacement. Nothing more.

For two whole years, she had been ensnared in the illusion of Micah's tenderness, his feigned affection.

Even until this very day, she had dared to dream of a future together, of growing old by his side.

But now, the illusion was shattered. The truth lay bare, unrelenting in its cruelty. She was nothing but a substitute. And if she had paid closer attention, she might have seen it all along.

The signs were there.

The way Micah would often stare at her, lost in thought—as if seeing through her, seeing someone else entirely.

The pain clawed at her chest, raw and relentless.

Why? Why did Micah have to do this to her?

Just because she happened to resemble his first love? Did that alone condemn her to this undeserved heartbreak, this torment?

"You still have the audacity to cry after committing such shameless acts!" Her father's enraged scolding pierced her thoughts.

Deidre didn't even have the strength to argue anymore. Exhaustion weighed down every fiber of her being.

She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall silently.

But behind her closed lids, she couldn't stop the image from resurfacing—Micah's cold, disdainful gaze, those eyes filled with nothing but contempt.

Again and again, the memory replayed, refusing to fade.

Her heart felt as though it were being torn apart, over and over, each tear exposing fresh wounds, each wound bleeding pain she couldn't contain.

…

The moment Deidre stepped into the house, pushed forward by Vincent, she stumbled through the doorway into the entryway.

As soon as the door clicked shut, his palm came down hard across her face.

It struck the same spot Casey had hit earlier—her left cheek—and the sharp sting of pain flared up once more, searing and numb all at once.

Deidre's expression didn't even flicker. She had no tears left to shed; the journey home had wrung her dry. All that remained was the dull ache behind her eyes.

She stood there like a wooden doll, her gaze hollow and detached, staring at Vincent without truly seeing him.

"How dare you humiliate the Landon family like this? How dare you cheat on Micah!" he roared.

There was no questioning, no attempt to understand—just an immediate verdict of guilt, a judgment passed without trial.

This was her father, Vincent. He had always been like this.

The rage that had been simmering within him on the way home boiled over entirely now, erupting with full force. He raised his hand again, his voice thunderous.

"I'll beat you to death today. That way, the Landon family won't come after me for this disgrace!"

Deidre didn't move. She didn't even flinch. She knew better than to try. It wouldn't make a difference.

Another slap landed squarely on her cheek, hard and unrelenting. The pain was distant now, buried under layers of numbness. Her expression remained as lifeless as before.

"Look at you! Always that dead, useless look!"

Her passive indifference only fueled Vincent's anger further, like oil thrown onto an open flame. His veins bulged at his neck, his face twisted with fury.

"Fine! I'll end your life right here!"

He glanced around, his eyes landing on a shoehorn resting by the entryway. He grabbed it without hesitation and swung it at her.

Blow after blow rained down on her, relentless and furious. The shoehorn struck her arms, leaving bright red welts on her pale skin, each mark stark and startling against its canvas.

The door opened again, and Kiera Winsley, her stepmother, appeared. She took in the scene, her voice laced with feigned concern as she exclaimed, "What's going on here? Why are you hitting Deidre?"

"Stay out of it!" Vincent snapped, his grip tightening on the shoehorn. "This disgraceful wretch deserves it. end her life would be doing us all a favor."

"Now, now," Kiera replied, stepping between Vincent and Deidre, her tone calm yet firm. "She's still your daughter. You can't say things like that."

Her words seemed protective, but her eyes betrayed her indifference. There wasn't the faintest glimmer of worry in them.

Deidre's gaze drifted to the silhouette of Kiera standing in front of her, shielding her from further blows. For the first time in what felt like forever, her empty eyes focused again. Her voice, hoarse and strained, broke the silence. "Where's Valerie?"

Kiera blinked, startled by the unexpected question. She hesitated for a moment before responding, "Your sister and brother took a different car. They'll be home soon."

Deidre said nothing more. Without another word, she turned and walked toward the living room.

"Look at her! Look at the way she acts!" Vincent fumed behind her, his rage still simmering.

Kiera stepped closer to him, her voice soothing as she tried to calm him down. But even as she murmured words of comfort, her gaze followed Deidre, scrutinizing her retreating figure with a calculating glint in her eyes.

Chapter 5
After a long string of coaxing and placating, Kiera finally managed to calm Vincent's seething anger to a simmer. She tugged at his arm, steering him towards their room to change out of the formal attire they'd worn for the wedding.

As they reached the stairs, Kiera glanced back and saw Deidre sitting quietly on the living room sofa. Her gaze was fixed on the front door, unblinking, her expression unreadable but for the faint furrow in her brows.

Kiera hesitated, then called out, "Deidre, go change into something else, won't you?"

Deidre didn't move. It was as if her ears had turned deaf to the sound of her stepmother's voice.

"That girl's just like her mother—a cursed woman through and through!" Vincent spat as he ascended the stairs. "What bad luck it's been to have a daughter like that!"

Deidre's eyes flickered for a moment, a ripple disturbing their stillness. Her hands clenched tightly, nails digging into her palms.

It wasn't long before Valerie and Johnny returned. The atmosphere in the house had barely settled when their chatter filled the space again.

"What a disaster today turned out to be," Valerie muttered as she stepped inside, slipping off her shoes. She paid no attention to the figure rising slowly from the living room sofa. "I told you from the beginning—this match was doomed from the start. Why force it? Marrying into wealth, what a joke..."

Johnny trailed behind her, nodding absentmindedly as she spoke. But before she could take another step, she found herself face-to-face with Deidre.

Startled, Valerie took a step back, her eyes scanning the figure before her. Deidre stood there in her wedding dress—filthy, tattered, with her hair in disarray. The left side of her pale face was swollen.

For a brief moment, Valerie froze, as though she'd seen a ghost. Then her expression twisted into irritation. "What are you doing, standing there looking like that? Trying to scare someone to death?"

Deidre's voice was calm, so calm it was unnerving. "It was you, wasn't it? On your eighteenth birthday, you forced me to drink, sent me to that hotel. And the pictures on the wedding screen—those were your doing too."

The tone carried no inflection, just a straightforward certainty. It wasn't a question. It was a fact laid bare.

Valerie faltered, her bravado wavering under Deidre's steady gaze. "You… I…" Her voice stumbled, and her eyes darted away, the guilt she tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

Before she could stammer out a denial, Deidre's hand moved swiftly. The slap landed on Valerie's cheek. Johnny snapped to attention, rushing forward to push Deidre away.

"Don't hit my sister!" Johnny shouted, his fourteen-year-old frame trembling with indignation. The shove was forceful, and Deidre stumbled back several steps before regaining her balance.

Valerie, clutching her cheek, finally processed what had happened. Her shock quickly morphed into rage. "Even Dad has never hit me! How dare you?!" she shrieked, rushing toward Deidre with hands outstretched, aiming for her face.

But Deidre caught her by the wrist, her grip unyielding. Another slap followed, sharp and deliberate. Her voice, low and icy, cut through the chaos. "You deserve it."

"You… you hit me again?!" Valerie's voice cracked into a wail. But before she could retaliate, Deidre's hand moved for the third time, another slap echoing in the room.

"Stop hitting Valerie, you useless freak!" Johnny yelled. He rushed over, intending to help his older sister. But when his eyes met Deidre's gaze, he froze. As a fourteen-year-old boy who had been pampered his whole life, he had never seen anyone with such a murderous look in their eyes. Terrified, he hesitated.

"Stop it this instant!" Kiera's voice rang out as she descended the stairs, her heels clacking rapidly against the steps. Her sharp eyes took in the scene—her daughter red-faced and wailing, Deidre standing unmoved, cold as stone. "How dare you hit your sister? Have you lost your mind?"

Vincent wasn't far behind, his fury reignited at the sight of his precious daughter's reddened cheeks. He stormed down the stairs, his voice shaking with anger. "Hitting your sister like this? I'll end you life myself!"

Deidre watched them all—the righteous fury on her father's face, the manufactured concern in her stepmother's eyes, and the unbridled hatred radiating from Valerie. Her chest tightened, the ache so deep it numbed her.

Valerie broke through the cacophony with a scream, her voice shrill with rage. "Yes! I did it! I made you drunk that night and sent you to that hotel! And those photos on the screen—I had those taken! You think you deserve to marry into wealth? You're nothing! A crow pretending to be a phoenix—know your place!"

Chapter 6
Vincent had been spewing curses at Deidre just moments ago, but upon hearing Valerie's confession, his lips pressed into a rare, tight line. He said nothing.

Deidre let out a derisive laugh, her gaze shifting from Valerie to settle on her father. "You heard her, didn't you? You know now who orchestrated today's wedding fiasco. Weren't you so eager to beat me to death earlier? Why aren't you laying a hand on Valerie now?"

Vincent remained still, his brows furrowing deeper as he finally spoke. "She's your sister. Watch your tone."

"And when she humiliated me in front of an entire banquet hall, did she ever stop to think that I was her sister?" Deidre's voice cracked as she shouted, her anger no longer contained. "She's your daughter. Am I not your daughter, too?"

"You're the older one. You should let her have her way," Vincent said, as if his words were carved in stone.

"Yes, that's always your answer. Whenever there's a conflict between me and Valerie, you tell me I'm the older one, so I have to give in to her," Deidre said quietly now, her tone steeped in irony. She stood a few steps away, staring at the four people before her, her eyes cold, filled with disdain.

Her mother had passed away before she was old enough to form memories. Not long after, Vincent had remarried, bringing Kiera into their home. With her came Valerie and Johnny.

In the suffocating silence that followed, Deidre let out a bitter laugh. "I'm just an outsider, aren't I? You're the real family here."

Her words pierced through the thin veneer of harmony that had barely held their household together. It shattered like glass.

"What kind of look is that? Don't forget, I'm your father!" Vincent barked, enraged by the unmasked contempt in Deidre's eyes. "Following the passing of your mother, you ate my food, wore the clothes I bought. Did you call yourself an outsider then? Don't think earning a scholarship every year makes you someone special. If you're so capable, get out of this house right now and see how far you get without my support! Starve for all I care—just don't come crawling back!"

Kiera's eyes gleamed at his words, though her tone remained measured, even gentle. "Why say such harsh things? Deidre is only twenty, and she's still in university. You can't talk to a child like that."

Turning to Deidre, she added with a hypocritical kindness, "Deidre, don't take your father's words to heart. Apologize and make peace."

"Fine," Deidre replied curtly. Her compliance startled Kiera, who hesitated, unsure what to make of it.

This girl had never shown her any respect before, and now, all of a sudden, she was so obedient? The thought didn't sit well. If Deidre were truly driven out of the house, Kiera would no longer have to keep up the facade of a benevolent stepmother. Yet, despite herself, she felt unsettled, as if she had just swallowed a fly.

Vincent was equally taken aback by his daughter's uncharacteristic acquiescence. He paused, his expression softening slightly.

Clearing his throat, he assumed a more commanding tone. "The matter with the photos at the wedding—Valerie is still young and made a mistake. You've already hit her. Let's put it behind us. If you've done nothing to wrong the Landon family, find a time to clear things up and reschedule the wedding."

Running a construction materials company, Vincent's business had been thriving, especially with the Landon family connection. A marriage alliance with the Landons would secure even greater opportunities. Naturally, he hoped Deidre would still marry into that family.

The thought of returning the Landon family's generous bride price gnawed at him. That money alone had already covered the cost of raising Deidre for twenty years, and then some. It could ever cover her living costs for another forty years. The idea of losing it was unbearable.

"You were engaged to Micah a year ago," he continued, his voice laced with warning. "You've been a part of the Landon family ever since. If they decide they don't want you after this mess, don't think anyone else will have you."

"Reschedule the wedding?" Deidre repeated, as though the suggestion was the most absurd thing she'd ever heard. She began to laugh—a deep, bitter laugh that only grew louder, carrying with it a sadness so profound it filled the room.

This was her father. A man so blinded by favoritism, he had lost all sense of reason.

"What are you laughing at?" Vincent snapped, his brows knitting together tightly.

Chapter 7
"I'd rather never get married in this lifetime than marry Micah. Never!"

Deidre stopped laughing, her face freezing over, her voice sharp: "I think you've misunderstood something. When I said 'fine,' I meant I'll leave this house, and you can all go ahead and live your happy little lives."

Since middle school, Deidre had been a boarding student, and the bond between her and her father, Vincent, had always been tenuous. The estrangement between them was as thin as the paper separating two worlds.

In a blended family, when there are children from previous marriages, someone always ends up hurt. Vincent's fatherly love had been doled out almost entirely to his other children, Valerie and Johnny, leaving only the scraps for her. It was like charity, barely a gesture.

Now, standing on the edge of her limits, she had had enough. Absolutely enough.

"Fine! Fine then!" Vincent, enraged, his face contorted, pointed toward the door and bellowed, "I'll cut ties with you today! Get out! Get out of this house—now!"

"Don't worry, I'm leaving."

The deepest sorrow wasn't in the confrontation itself but in the stillness that followed it. Deidre had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was happening, she felt a strange tranquility—almost a sense of release.

Like her presence in this house had always been superfluous, an eyesore. She should have left long ago.

Calmly, Deidre turned and went upstairs to her room to pack her things.

Kiera, thrilled on the inside, masked her joy with an expression of feigned concern and helplessness. She muttered, "Don't be so upset. Why argue with a twenty-year-old? I'll go check on her."

When Valerie heard Deidre's words, the sting of the slap on her face lightened. A wicked smile spread across her face, and sweetly, she said, "Dad, you still have me. I'll be a good daughter from now on."

Vincent had been angry with Valerie earlier, but seeing her with that slap mark on her face, now with her pitiful, submissive expression, all the anger drained away. His tone softened as he looked at her, a far cry from the venomous words he had thrown at Deidre.

He spoke gently, as a father would to a daughter he cherished, his voice full of indulgence. "Yes, having you is enough, my dear."

Johnny watched Deidre walk up the stairs, his face contorted with disdain and contempt. This burden had been long overdue to leave.

Upstairs, Deidre entered her room, changed out of the wedding dress, and began packing her suitcase.

She heard footsteps stop at the door. Turning, she saw Kiera leaning against the doorframe, a smile plastered on her face.

It was clear to Deidre that Kiera's smile was full of unmasked triumph, as if her goal had been achieved.

"You don't need to stand there. Don't worry, I won't take anything valuable."

Kiera chuckled lightly. "What valuable things could you even have in this room? Compared to Valerie's, yours is barely furnished. Take whatever you want—it's all just the last little bit of charity our family has given you."

Deidre eyed Kiera for a moment, then silently walked past her and slammed the door shut.

Kiera raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the gesture. Her mood was too good to argue with the brat now. She turned, adopting a concerned expression, and went downstairs.

…

Inside the room, Deidre slid down to the floor, leaning against the door, her eyes closed, her face etched with sorrow.

From this moment on, she would be alone.

She was only twenty, but why did it feel as though she had already lived an entire life?

She didn't want to stay in Salve City anymore. She needed to leave, to disappear far away.

But now, she had no money. Where could she go?

Would she ask Vincent for money?

She had to keep living, to prove to everyone who had mocked her that one day, she would slap their faces with her achievements.

But what other choice did she have? How could she escape this place, this city, if not through death?

Her eyes still closed, Deidre's mind scrambled through every possible future, searching for some shred of hope.

Then, suddenly, a thought flashed through her mind. She opened her eyes, her gaze trembling slightly.

Perhaps she still had one chance left.

She stood up, found her phone, and dialed her mentor's number.

After a few beeps, the call was answered, and her mentor's voice, warm with a smile, came through the receiver. "Deidre?"

"It's me, Professor." Deidre's voice was hoarse.

"Congratulations on your wedding today. If I hadn't been abroad for an academic exchange this week, I would have definitely come to your wedding."

Deidre's throat tightened, her nose burning. Her voice cracked as she responded, "Professor, I… I want to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

Deidre took a deep breath, summoning all the strength she had left before speaking, "Is it… possible for me to reclaim my study-abroad spot?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by her mentor's surprised voice. "Didn't you say you were planning to stay in Salve City after marriage? What's changed? Has your husband agreed to it?"

The wedding had been canceled. She didn't have a husband.

Deidre barely managed a smile, her lips twitching silently, before speaking as calmly as she could. "No… I just think the opportunity to study abroad with a full scholarship is too rare."

"Yes, it is. There are only three spots in the whole school, and you were the top choice. You know, for your field—finance—the offers from top international universities are extremely precious. This means you could stay in a foreign country and work there after graduation."

Deidre opened her mouth but couldn't find the words.

What was there to say?

She had given up a brilliant future for a man she had believed was her one true love, only to end up as a fool, tossed aside in a fleeting illusion.

"Deidre?"

Her mentor's voice cut through the silence, noticing the quiet on the other end.

"Professor, is there still a chance?"

"Well, that's hard to say. The spot you gave up has already been filled by someone else."

Deidre bit her lip, and the sharp pain in her mouth made her bite down harder, blood filling her mouth. She gripped the phone tightly, her voice laced with desperation.

"Really... no chance at all?"

Chapter 8
It seemed that the professor had sensed the unease in Deidre's voice. After a moment, the warm, familiar tone of her mentor returned over the phone.

"There could still be a chance. Let me make a call and try to secure it for you."

Deidre had always been a top student. Even though she hadn't finished high school, she had been exempted from exams and directly enrolled in the prestigious university in Salve City, completing both her undergraduate and master's degrees in one continuous stretch.

Her mentor, who had always kept a close eye on such promising talent, was not one to let someone like Deidre miss out on such an opportunity.

"Thank you. I'll wait for your call," Deidre said, her fingers tightening around the phone, turning pale as she bit down hard on her lower lip. Her heart pounded, the anxiety spreading like fire.

She waited for an answer.

Each second dragged on painfully, like she was being fried alive in a pan. She gripped her phone, staring at the screen, willing it to bring some resolution.

Finally, the screen lit up. It was a call from her mentor. With a nervous breath, Deidre answered.

"Good news," came the professor's voice. "A spot's available, and it's yours. Deidre, cherish this opportunity. Remember, no matter what others do, your future is yours to hold in your hands. That's the safest bet."

Tears welled up in Deidre's eyes, and she started to cry, her joy so overwhelming that it spilled out of her like a river. She bit her lip, trying to control her shaking voice, and spoke each word slowly and deliberately. "Thank you... Thank you, Professor."

"Alright, we'll talk later. I've got a lecture to begin."

The screen darkened as the call ended, and Deidre, eyes still brimming with tears, looked out the window.

Through her blurred vision, she could make out the faint blue sky, the soft white clouds.

The vast expanse of the heavens stretched out before her.

There was a way after all. The road had not been completely closed off.

…

Time passed swiftly. Seven years slipped by unnoticed.

In Zemenia City, a bustling commercial hub neighboring Salve City, the evening descended, and the lights flickered on in their dazzling array.

In the heart of this prime real estate stood the prestigious Wilton Grand Hotel, a symbol of high society, where the city's elite gathered for their business soirées.

Outside the hotel, a barrier of security personnel kept the press at bay, forcing the journalists to crane their necks, helplessly watching the spectacle from a distance.

This particular business banquet, however, was by invitation only.

Among the luxury cars parked outside, one stood out above the rest: a limited-edition car, the kind that only the ultra-wealthy could afford. Its gleaming body spun gracefully before coming to a halt right in front of the hotel, catching the attention of all those gathered.

The door to the driver's side opened, and the man who emerged was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, the kind that made his figure appear long and sharp. He pushed up his rimless glasses, and his finely chiseled face caught the light, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. His eyes shimmered behind the lenses, and the sight instantly drew gasps of admiration from the women in the crowd.

"That's Micah Landon from the Landon Group in Salve City, isn't it?"

"He's even more handsome and refined in person than in his photos!"

Micah glanced around, his gaze cool and detached, masking a momentary flicker of impatience. A smile, barely perceptible, touched his lips as he adjusted the buttons of his suit jacket, walking swiftly around the car to open the door to the passenger side.

A slender, pale hand emerged from the car, resting lightly on Micah's arm as a woman gracefully stepped out.

Her custom-made gown, an extravagant piece from this season's collection, hugged her slender form. She smiled as she looked up, her face radiant with the kind of poise that made everyone around her hold their breath.

The man was elegant, the woman, stunning.

They were the perfect picture of grace and beauty, drawing all eyes.

"Look! A limited-edition extended Luxury car! My goodness!"

The crowd's attention quickly shifted from Micah and the woman beside him to the new arrival.

Micah, too, turned his gaze in response to the sound.

Soon, a tall, imposing figure emerged from the luxury car.

As he looked closer, Micah recognized the man immediately—Connor Halls, the young heir to the Halls family from a country called Milwarke.

But just as quickly, Micah's gaze turned to one of astonishment.

Standing by the car, the distinguished and handsome man offered a gentlemanly smile, bending slightly as he extended his hand.

From the extended luxury car, a graceful woman emerged. Her delicate arm raised, her soft hand resting in Connor's as she descended.

Her gown, a hand-crafted European design, clung to her figure, accentuating every curve, while the blue fabric highlighted her fair skin.

The simple pearl necklace around her neck caught the light, and Micah—being an expert in jewelry design—immediately recognized it: a rare, limited-edition piece by renowned European designer Laire, a treasure impossible to acquire.

But all Micah could feel was shock, as the woman's appearance completely stole his attention.

How could it be her?

A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd as people wondered about the identity of this poised and beautiful woman.

Micah's gaze finally fixed on her face, her flawless features, the delicate oval of her face framed by perfect makeup.

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