The Class Beauty’s Wedding Shocked Us All

Unexpectedly, this turned into Bianca’s chance to boast and soak up praise.

The classmates who had just been fawning over her instantly frowned when they noticed me, their faces twisted with disdain. One of her hangers-on, spotting the car behind me, sneered loudly:

“Elena, after ten years of work, you’re driving this domestic piece of junk?”

The others erupted in laughter:

“Hilarious! I’d rather walk than drive such a trashy car!”

“But look at all those zeros on her license plate. That’s a rare plate money can’t even buy!”

“Obviously fake. How could a clunker like hers have a plate like that?”

“No wonder she dared to show up. She’s flaunting a fake plate! Absolutely ridiculous!”

I stayed composed and replied evenly: “The license plate is real. And this car isn’t junk—it’s a Red Flag state gift.”

The moment I spoke, Bianca strode over and slapped me hard across the face.

“Of course, the plate is real, because it’s my husband’s car!” she snapped.

“I’ve long suspected he had a mistress, but I never thought it’d be you, you shameless whore!”

“How dare you drive my husband’s car to my wedding to provoke me, his rightful wife?”

Her outburst left everyone stunned.

“Bianca, is this really your husband’s car?” someone asked.

“How could it be fake?” she replied proudly.

“My husband used to pick me up in it. I even thought the plate looked so special, I took pictures!”

She pulled out her phone and displayed several photos—her and Adrian cuddling in the car, cheek to cheek, and others embracing on the hood. The pictures captured every detail of the interior, the plate clear as day.

It looked identical to my car.

Seeing this, everyone sighed in unison. “It really is Bianca’s husband’s car! No wonder the license plate looks so impressive!”

“So Elena must be the mistress!”

Bianca’s brows arched with fury as she snarled, “No wonder you’ve stayed silent on social media all these years. Turns out you were busy being the other woman.”

The classmates turned on me viciously.

“I can’t believe Elena, who always looked so proper, is nothing but a mistress.”

“That’s right. Back in high school, I thought she was so aloof and brilliant. I even wrote her love letters. Now I feel sick thinking about it!”

“Some people act pure and untouchable, but secretly they’re eager and cheap. The moment they see money, they throw themselves at it!”

“And to drive the sponsor’s car right in front of the wife? She’s obviously jealous that Bianca married rich and came here to sabotage the wedding!”

Even the old homeroom teacher joined in, glaring with disgust.

“Elena, from this day on, never say you were my student. I never taught someone so morally rotten!”

Their scorn drew a crowd. Onlookers pointed, whispered, and hurled criticism.

Some raised their phones, snapping photos and recording videos, while others spat in my direction.

I slipped off my coat and tossed it into a trash can. Then I turned to Bianca and said coldly:

“You strike me in public without even knowing the truth. You really are lawless.”

Bianca smirked arrogantly.

“So what if I hit you? So what if I’m lawless?”