The man was none other than the groom–Grayson.
The woman beside him, recognizable to many in their social circle, was none other than his assistant, Ruby, the woman always at
his side.
The hall erupted. Shock flashed across every face.
“My God. It’s Grayson. He’s cheating?”
“Isn’t he madly in love with his fiancée? Why is he involved with his assistant?”
The press wasted no time. Cameras zoomed in on the screen, capturing every scandalous detail. This was gold, the kind of
explosive news no journalist would let slip away.
Online, the video spread like wildfire. Nearly five million viewers flooded the livestream, the comment section a relentless storm.
[So Grayson is just another unfaithful scumbag. Disgusting.]
[I can’t believe I used to call him the perfect man. I feel sick.]
Only one thought consumed Grayson now: he had to keep Violet from seeing this.
He was convinced this was an attack by his rivals, that someone had hacked into his home’s surveillance system to sabotage his wedding. Without hesitation, he ordered his secretary to shut down the video and cut the media feed. Grabbing the microphone,
he demanded silence.
1/3
Chapter 11
+15 BONUS
Someone in the crowd whispered, “Didn’t the emcee say this was a gift from the bride? Maybe she already knew.”
His blood ran cold. That was the one possibility he couldn’t bear to face.
Desperation clawed at him. He reassured himself: Violet couldn’t hear, she never checked the surveillance at home, and as long as
no one told her, she would never know.
But she was nowhere to be seen. And the longer she stayed absent, the more his heart pounded.
He pulled out his phone and sent a message. [Violet, are you here?]
A minute passed. Then two. No reply.
Sweat dampened his palms. Just as he was about to call her, the grand doors of the wedding hall creaked open.
All eyes turned toward the entrance.
Relief flooded Grayson’s face. She was here. She hadn’t seen the video. He tightened his grip on the bouquet, stepping forward to
welcome his bride.
Then he froze.
It wasn’t Violet.
Instead, several men dressed in black mourning attire entered, carrying a coffin.
Fury ignited within him. First the video, now this? This was his wedding. Who would dare bring a coffin here?
He signaled his men to remove the intruders, but one of them stepped forward, face solemn, voice steady.
“Mr. Warhol, your fiancée passed away yesterday. Our condolences.”
The words barely registered.
Impossible. He had just video–called Violet the night before. She had smiled at him, told him she was preparing a surprise for
their wedding. How could she be dead?
A laugh, sharp and cold, escaped him. “First the video, and now you expect me to believe this lie? Who sent you? Who’s behind
this?”
The man only looked at him with deeper sympathy. He gestured toward the coffin. “If you don’t believe us, you can see for
yourself.”
Grayson scoffed, then strode toward it. His movements were aggressive, ready to rip apart whatever scheme this was.
But when his gaze landed on the face inside the coffin, his entire body lost strength. His knees buckled.
