Mourning Interrupted: A Scandal Laid Bare

I sighed and put my phone away.

There went another unfortunate soul wounded by love.

If I ever had a chance to help him in the future, I thought, maybe I would.

Rosalie still hadn't replied to any of my messages or calls.

Around me, her relatives had already split into small groups and started a game of cards, leaving piles of peanut shells scattered across the floor.

I sat far away. Seeing they weren't interested in bothering me and were even ignoring me, I relaxed a bit.

The stale, foul smell in the room was starting to give me a headache. Lips pressed into a tight line, I contemplated escaping to the outdoors just as chaos erupted beyond the walls.

Opening the door, I came face-to-face with Lester.

He had a crowd of seven or eight people behind him, a phone in one hand and a stick in the other, looking ready to start trouble.

"Lester?" I was taken aback. "What are you doing here?"

He froze for a moment before he waved his stick around and loudly announced to his group, "This is the guy! How else would he know my name if he wasn't my fiancée's boy toy?"

Before I could react, Lester punched me square in the face.

Exhausted from several sleepless days of funeral preparations, I saw stars as I fell to the ground.

Lester smirked and grabbed me by the collar.

"Hey pretty boy, my fiancée isn't even here yet, and you're already acting all weak and innocent!"

With that, he pulled out a small knife from somewhere.

Its sharp edge which grazed the corner of my eye instantly drew blood.

Satisfied at the sight of my blood, he smirked. "You've got the face of a freeloading man. Guess it's that face that's got my fiancée hooked, huh?"

Before I could even process what was happening, he swung the knife at my face again.

"Let's see if any rich lady would want you when I'm done with that face!"

Having been caught off guard and disfigured while being repeatedly called a pretty boy, I eventually lost my temper. I got to my feet and landed a solid punch, sending Lester sprawling onto the ground.

Lester and I were clearly mismatched in strength. He landed hard on the ground, clutching his face and staring at me in disbelief.

"How dare you hit me? You, a sneaky side piece, dare lay a hand on the real boyfriend! My fiancée is the CEO of Clarke Group! And you, a country bumpkin living out here in the boonies, dare mooch off Rosalie? Are you tired of living?"

It dawned on me then—his so-called fiancée was actually my legal wife, Rosalie. At first, I thought Lester had mistaken me for someone else, but now it was clear he had the right person. The real irony was that he was the very sneaky side piece he was accusing me of being.

Trying to avoid further conflict, especially with a funeral underway, I decided to calmly suggest, "There's a funeral going on. It's bad luck to cause trouble here. Why don't you leave, and we'll deal with this after it's over?"

Lester froze, finally noticing the house's setup. There was a portrait hanging in the living room, a small, diamond-encrusted urn shining on the table beneath it.

The relatives around us had paused their card game to watch the scene unfold with curious expressions.

Growing more nervous, Lester raised his stick defensively. "Stay back! This guy seduced my fiancée; I'm just doing what's right! If any of you come closer, I'll take you all on!"

The group of older ladies, however, stayed put. They clearly showed no intention to set the record straight about my identity.

After a long pause, Lester suddenly seemed to understand something and began laughing, pointing at me.