On Her Wedding, She’ll Run Away with Her Groom’s Brother

Solenne didn’t want to explain. She casually made something up. “Weren’t you going to fake our deaths and elope with me? I figured I’d get a head start on packing and get rid of what we don’t need.”

Rockwell’s expression relaxed, and he smiled. “Oh, I see. I see.”

After that, neither of them spoke. The air turned quiet.

Maybe he sensed that her mood wasn’t great. Rockwell thought for a moment, then he reached out and gently took her hand.

“Don’t be upset. Let’s go to an art exhibit, clear your head. There’s one downtown right now, and they’ve even put up some works by that famous Russian painter you love.”

Solenne had planned to say no—but when she heard that last part, she hesitated.

She really did love that artist’s work. His paintings rarely made it into exhibitions. It was a rare chance—she didn’t want to miss it.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Seeing her agree, Rockwell let out a quiet breath of relief.

Without wasting time, they got into the car together.

At the exhibit, Solenne finally managed a smile. Rockwell followed behind her, smiling too.

Whenever she stopped in front of a painting for more than two minutes, he would quietly call over a staff member and buy it for her on the spot.

Around them, many visitors who loved art but couldn’t afford to buy any could only admire the works on display. When they saw what Rockwell was doing for Solenne, they couldn’t help but cast envious glances her way.

“She’s so lucky,” someone murmured. “That man must love her so much to buy all those expensive paintings just for her.”

“Every single painting here costs at least a million,” someone else whispered. “And he’s already bought more than a dozen!”

Solenne heard all the quiet, admiring whispers—but felt nothing.

Maybe the funniest joke she’d ever heard in her life… was that Rockwell loved her.

After about an hour, she had seen the entire exhibit. She told Rockwell she was going to the restroom.

But when she came back, she saw Rockwell locked in a fight with a French guy in his late 30s or early 40s.

The blue-gray-eyed guy with dark brown hair had already taken a brutal punch to the face—his cheek was swollen.

All she heard was Rockwell’s threatening voice. “If you dare slander Chesca again, I swear I’ll beat you to death!”

At first, the French guy fought fiercely with Rockwell. But the former soon lost stamina and began to falter. Realizing he was no match, he started yelling in frustration.

“Do people here all like to solve things with violence? I was just telling the truth, and you beat me up for it?

“Chesca married me for my money—then had the nerve to cheat on me! Every time I wasn’t home, she’d invite four or five men over for hookups!

“If I hadn’t come back early one day and caught them, she would’ve kept me in the dark forever!

“I’ve got surveillance footage and pictures to prove it. See for yourself!”

He shoved his phone in Rockwell’s face.

On the screen, Chesca was clearly engaged with five men. One in front, one behind, and the others using her hands and feet. Her expression was one of overwhelming pleasure—completely immersed, even speaking in French, whispering filthy words meant to arouse them.

There was no sign of resistance. No trace of being forced.

As Rockwell watched, his expression reddened.

Seeing that Rockwell was finally starting to believe him, the French guy snapped, “Now you believe me, huh? And you still beat me up like this? How are you going to make it up to me?”

Suddenly, Chesca burst in from outside, seemingly having heard what happened.

She froze at the sight of her ex-husband—and the unmistakable disappointment in Rockwell’s eyes. In an instant, she understood.

Tears spilled down her face as she threw herself into Rockwell’s arms.

“Rockwell, please, believe me! He’s lying. He forced me to do those things—to satisfy his sick fantasies. He made me sleep with those men, made me say those things to please them!”

Rockwell stood stiffly, letting her hold him without saying a word.

The footage had shaken him. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to instantly trust her again.

Seeing that he still wasn’t convinced, Chesca panicked. Her crying became even more pitiful.

“Rockwell, please… Don’t you remember the bruises you saw on me? Those were from him! That bastard used to beat me!”

Looking at the fragile woman in his arms, Rockwell’s heart softened.

“Alright,” he finally said. “I believe you.”

Then he pushed her gently aside, grabbed a nearby painting he had just purchased, and smashed it over the French guy’s head.

“If I ever hear you slandering Chesca again, I won’t let you off so easily.”

With that, Rockwell swept the sobbing Chesca into his arms and carried her out.

Watching this unfold, Solenne found it laughable.

‘If this isn’t true love, what is?’

Rockwell loved Chesca so blindly, he forgave her even after knowing she had cheated on him.

When the spectacle was over, the crowd began to disperse.

Solenne was about to leave when a staff member from the gallery called out loudly, “Ma’am! The painting Mr. Stettheimers just bought for you… He didn’t sign for it. You need to take it with you!”

Upon hearing this, Chesca’s ex-husband—who was still lying on the floor from the blow—suddenly gathered all his strength and stood up. He grabbed the same painting that had just been used to hit him.

The frame was made of solid wood—heavy, painful if used as a weapon.

From the staff’s words, the French guy inferred that Solenne had some connection to Rockwell. Enraged, he charged at her and swung the painting.

“He smashed me. Now? I’ll smash this bitch who’s close to him!”

Solenne didn’t have time to dodge. She could only raise her hands to shield her head.

Before she knew it, the painting came crashing down on her hands, and the searing pain turned her face ghostly pale. Her vision blurred, and she collapsed to the floor.

Before walking away, Chesca’s ex-husband even spat at Solenne.

All of this happened in just a few short minutes. Rockwell, busy with Chesca, had completely forgotten Solenne was even there. He didn’t look back to see her get hurt. He didn’t see the painting strike her down.

Solenne tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out. The next thing she knew, she collapsed again.

‘M-My h-hands… I-I can’t… I can’t move my hands at all!’

The horrifying realization hit her like ice water. It was as if the blood in her body suddenly froze.