The Dance of Vengeance

I had no idea what Julian was trying to accomplish.

But I had no other choice but to agree.

When I changed into the gown Julian sent over and arrived at the venue, chauffeured by his driver, I realized I had underestimated his cruelty.

This wasn’t a private gala at all.

The red carpet was lined with media reporters and cameras, while fans holding flowers and banners screamed the names of their idols.

I barely had time to process it before someone noticed me.

"Look! Isn’t that the fake marriage fraudster?"

Ever since Julian used my account to post that forced apology, I’d been labeled as the "fake marriage fraudster."

I had seen countless insults online, but no amount of text could compare to the humiliation of hearing the taunts whispered directly in my ear.

"Victoria Dean, how do you even have the nerve to show your face here?"

"Look at her dress. Averil’s wearing white, and so is she. Typical attention-seeking move."

"Don’t even try to compare her to our idol, Averil. She’s not worthy!"

"Exactly. Averil’s dress is haute couture, straight off the runway, and hers? Looks like a two-year-old knockoff."

The vicious jeers flooded my ears. I tried to turn and escape, but a "staff member" grabbed my arm.

Looking up, I recognized him instantly—it was Hank, Julian’s bodyguard.

He smiled at me, his eyes glinting with malice.

"Miss Dean, Mr. Ford said you must enter the venue."

Hank was a distant relative of Averil. Last time at the hospital, he had purposely gripped me so hard that bruises bloomed all over my arm.

Julian had seen it but only gave a cursory reprimand. Now, he had unleashed him on me again.

The Julian who once cherished me like I was his whole world was long gone.

Bitterness welled up inside me, sharp and sour, but there was no escaping. Hank dragged me forward, half-pulling, half-shoving.

"Look at Victoria’s awkward walk! Doesn’t she look like a lame old mule?"

"She’s probably trying to crash the red carpet and got shut down by the bodyguard!"

"Victoria, you’re a trashy parasite!"

Before I could react, a sharp insult was followed by a sudden blow—a drink bottle hurtled toward me out of nowhere, hitting me squarely.

I tried to dodge, but Hank deliberately blocked my way, even shoving me toward the incoming bottle.

“Ah!” Purple grape juice splattered all over me, soaking my white gown and leaving it stained and blotchy.

"Ha! Doesn’t she look like she’s on her period?"

"Fake marriage fraudster, don’t you have any shame? Get out of here!"

"If I were you, I’d just jump off a building and be done with it. The thicker the skin, the cheaper the person!"

Amid the harsh laughter, I struggled to wrench free from Hank’s grip. "Let me go! I need to change!"

Hank gave me a mocking glance. "Sorry, but even if you’re barely breathing, you’re going into the venue tonight. Mr. Ford said if you want the divorce, you’ll get through tonight’s event first. Otherwise, you’ll face the consequences."

I froze in place.

Of course. How could I forget? Julian was now the rising star of the Harbor City elite.

And me? A woman whose very identity couldn’t even see the light of day—what leverage did I have to fight him?

I let out a bitter laugh. "Fine. Let go of me. I’ll walk myself."

Hank had no intention of making things easy. Not only did he refuse to let go, but he also quickened his pace, deliberately dragging me along.

Stumbling and disheveled, I was hauled through the venue, drawing more jeers and mocking stares with every step.

By the time we reached Julian, Hank had transformed back into his obedient and unassuming self.

Julian’s cold gaze swept over me, taking in my ruined dress. "What happened?"

I glared at him, seething with anger. "Why bother pretending? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted to see?"

His brow furrowed, just as a slender, pale arm reached out from behind, curling around his own.

"Victoria, I’m so sorry! It was one of my fans who spilled juice on you."

Averil, dressed in a flawless white couture gown, clung tightly to Julian’s side.

"She probably got upset seeing you wear a dress so similar to mine. Surely you wouldn’t mind, right, Victoria?"

In the past, her deliberate provocations would have ignited my anger.

But now, all I wanted was to leave.

"Julian Ford, you wanted me here. I showed up. You set me up for humiliation, and I endured it. You’ve made your point. Can I go now?"

Though framed as a question, I had no intention of waiting for his response.

I turned away, desperate to escape.

"Don’t leave."

Someone stepped into my path, blocking my way.