Secrets Of The Neglected Wife: Now Shine

Emma Hardy POV:

Bryce, oblivious to the storm brewing around him, continued his performance. He turned back to Galilea, flashing her a dazzling smile, as if my shattered heart and dying mother were just background noise. He took her hand, squeezed it, and whispered something. He played the part of the adoring groom perfectly, a role he' d never once truly played for me.

My phone, still clutched in my hand, vibrated with Jonathan' s almost immediate reply: Done. Consider it handled, Emma.

I gripped the phone, my gaze unwavering. My eyes were no longer full of tears, but a cold, hard fire. The desperate, pleading Emma was gone. A new Emma, one forged in betrayal and grief, was taking her place.

I lowered my phone and clenched my jaw. My eyes swept over the gaudy wedding decorations. Strings of white silk, fake flowers, golden ribbons. Symbols of a lie.

I reached out, my fingers closing around a thick swath of white tulle draped over a garden arch. With a guttural growl, I ripped it down. The fabric tore with a satisfying shred.

Aisha shrieked. "What are you doing, you maniac?! Stop it!" Her voice was shrill, laced with disbelief. She stomped her foot, a childish display of helplessness. "She's jealous! She's trying to ruin everything! Don't let her, Bryce!"

I ignored her, ignoring everyone. My focus was absolute. I tore down another string of lights, then a bouquet of lilies. Each rip, each crash, a tiny release of the fury building inside me.

The crowd, which had started to murmur and point, now fell into an uneasy silence.

Bryce, finally noticing the commotion, frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Emma, stop this at once!" he commanded, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. "You're making a spectacle."

But I kept moving, a force of nature driven by a rage he couldn't comprehend. I walked straight towards the altar, scattering ripped decorations in my wake. The guests parted, their faces a mixture of fear and confusion.

Bryce and Galilea were a picture of sickening bliss. He had one arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She giggled, her eyes downcast, a blush on her cheeks. He' d never been shy with me, never shown that tender, almost shy affection. It was a new face, a performance for the public, for her.

The guests clapped, chanting, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

My stomach plummeted. The air grew thick with their anticipation, their joy a stark contrast to the hollow ache in my chest. My mind replayed every moment he' d denied me, every time he' d refused to make our marriage public. And now, this. This blatant display of affection for another woman.

A raw, primal scream tore through my mind. This was too much.

With a final, desperate surge of strength, I hurled the handful of torn decorations I still held. They sailed through the air, hitting Bryce square in the chest. White petals rained down around him like mocking confetti.

"What is this, Bryce?!" I shrieked, my voice cracking, cutting through the sudden silence. "What is this charade?! And who is she?!" My finger, trembling, pointed at Galilea. "Who is the woman you're marrying while your actual wife' s mother is dying?!"

Bryce' s brow furrowed. His lips thinned, a familiar sign of his impending anger. He was about to explode. But then his eyes, though still clouded with irritation, met mine. They widened slightly, taking in my red, swollen eyes, the tear tracks on my cheeks. The anger seemed to waver, replaced by a fleeting, almost imperceptible flicker of something else.

He paused, frozen, his hand still on Galilea' s waist. A whisper of regret? A hint of pity? My heart, despite everything, lurched. That tiny, almost invisible shift in his expression.

I took a shaky breath, my fists, which had been clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms, slowly relaxed. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. Just tell me. Just say it's all a misunderstanding. Give me one last reason to hope.