My Fiancé Delayed our Wedding Nine Times

2

Margery’s POV

I didn’t open my eyes until the sound of lips and tongues entangling outside the door finally faded.

Everything Gibson and Wanda had just said—I had recorded it all.

The tenth wedding? I would not postpone it as they wished. I would hold it.

Not only would I hold it. In fact, I would hold it seven days from now. I would make it grand, extravagant even. I would make sure that at this wedding, they would be utterly disgraced!

A few hours later, Gibson finally returned to my hospital room.

His gaze softened as he looked at me. With careful hands, he began cleaning my wounds.

“Margery, don’t be afraid,” he murmured gently. “I’ll be careful. Just bear with it for a moment.”

I turned my head away from the concern in his eyes.

The perfume clinging to his body was like poison, seeping into my nose until it made me want to retch.

And when he leaned closer, I could still see the faint marks on the back of his neck—all left by Wanda.

The sight of it all filled me with unbearable disgust.

Without looking at him, my voice came out hoarse. “Have they been caught? The people who did this? My mother… how is she now…”

The mention of my mother made my throat tighten, my words breaking apart.

My mother had been the most innocent one of all. She treated Gibson so kindly, and she had done so much for his family.

If I hadn’t been so blind in trusting the wrong man, she wouldn’t have had to pay with her life.

Gibson’s eyes darkened with pain as he saw mine brimming red with tears. He carefully avoided my injuries and pulled me into his arms.

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “I’ve already handed them over to the police. They’ll be punished. Your mom will rest in peace.”

As he spoke, he even showed me photos of those people being arrested.

Hatred flashed in my eyes. “Why would they go after my mother? Who ordered them to do it?!”

I met his gaze without flinching.

His body stiffened, then—almost as if trying to cover something up—he forced a smile.

“No one was behind it. They were just a bunch of thugs lashing out at society. They’re already in jail. You don’t need to burden yourself with this anymore, baby.”

The false smile on his face made it impossible to conceal the anger in me.

The ones who truly killed my mother were still obviously free.

He had simply found scapegoats to bury the truth, as if he could so easily write off her death.

My eyes burned so red that they felt as though blood might drip from them. But Gibson mistook it for grief and reached out, wanting to comfort me.

Just then, his phone rang.

In the dim light, I saw his lock screen clearly—it was Wanda, smiling sweetly.

A sharp sting pierced my eyes. I had to turn my head away.

Her voice came through the receiver, slightly distorted but still coy.

“Gibson, Vautrain Company’s partners are already waiting at the office. Do you have time to come by now?”

At her words, I slowly looked back at him.

And at that moment, he understood.

A month ago, when I had gone to the Amenoff Corporation several times for wedding matters, I had almost always run into him and Wanda in compromising situations.

Back then, I still harbored feelings for him. And because he had promised me that he would dismiss her, I had chosen not to dwell on it.

But clearly, Wanda had never been dismissed. Even now, she was still his secretary.

Apparently, the lies had begun from the very start.

Seeing my cold expression, Gibson rushed to explain.

“She really was dismissed. But she still had a few days left in her internship. I just thought I’d be kind, do her a favor. Margery, you can understand that, can’t you?”

As he spoke, he took my hand.

I said nothing, only gave a faint nod before pulling my hand back.

“Didn’t she just tell you to hurry over? Go on. Work is important.”

A flicker of joy lit his eyes at my words. But it quickly gave way to doubt.

If this had been before, upon learning Wanda hadn’t actually been dismissed, I would have at least shown some anger.

But now, I had so easily let him go.

Unease obviously crept over him. He reached out as if to confirm something from me.

But before he could, his phone rang again.

He hesitated only a moment before leaving quickly.

As his figure disappeared through the doorway, I transferred the recording I had just saved onto a flash drive.

Seven days—that was all I needed.

That night, Gibson did not come back to see me.

Instead, Wanda somehow found my phone number and began sending me messages.

Each message contained a photo—her and Gibson locked in intimate embraces, lips tangled, clothes half undone, faces flushed.

She didn’t bother with taunts. She only sent a single sticker—a smiling face.

Without replying to her, I saved the sticker and copied all the photos onto the flash drive as well.

Thinking of my mother’s death, and everything I had endured, I did not sleep a single moment that night.