Trash Groom, Stolen Gown

I had an old injury in my leg. The pain pierced straight to the bone, and I shoved her away instinctively.

She fell to the floor and immediately burst into tears, sitting there and wailing.

Annoyed, I pulled out my phone and called Alistair.

He answered quickly enough, but his tone was thick with impatience. "Sheila, I'm busy right now. The company just landed a major project. Didn't you say you were going to look at the wedding dress? Why are you calling me?"

"Alistair," I snapped, "get your ass to the bridal shop right now. The woman you're keeping—what right does she have to touch my wedding dress?"

He paused for a moment, then brushed it off without a second thought. "What woman are you talking about? Who's been filling your head with nonsense again? I know you're upset I didn't go dress shopping with you, but this isn't the time to throw a tantrum. I'm busy. I'm hanging up."

With that, he actually ended the call.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

'Fine. Since you're treating me with such indifference, then I won't wear this tainted wedding dress ever again,' I decided.

But Alistair would have to give me an explanation.

I struggled to my feet, my heart aching for my mother's painstaking effort. Now that the dress had been sullied, I would never keep it.

The gown lay on the floor. I stepped forward and casually lifted a corner of it, gripping the most delicate part of the hem. With one hard pull, I ripped it clean off.

That woman's eyes turned red with fury. She lunged at me like a madwoman.

"How dare you ruin my wedding dress! You bitch! I'll kill you! Do you know who my husband is? He's the heir of the Huxley Group! I'm calling the police! Now!"

I sneered and dialed the police before she could.

The dress was worth a million, making it a serious case. The police arrived quickly.

After they came, I learned that the woman's surname wasn't even Huxley. Her name was Lisa Smith, a poor college student sponsored by the Huxley family. After graduation, she had stayed by Alistair's side as his assistant.

Everyone knew what kind of relationship they had. But since I was about to return home, Alistair publicly claimed Lisa was his adopted sister. That was why outsiders all called her Miss Huxley.

"Officer," Lisa sobbed to the police, "a month ago, my husband told me he ordered a wedding dress for me at this shop and asked me to come take a look. That dress has been altered to fit my body for over a month. My husband even paid the deposit! Today, this crazy woman destroyed my wedding dress the moment she walked in. Lock her up!"

The bridal shop manager rushed forward to back her up.

"That's right. This lady is Mr. Huxley's girlfriend. He often brings her to our shop. This wedding dress has been altered to Miss Huxley's measurements for a long time. We never expected something like this to happen. The damage has nothing to do with our shop—it was all done by this woman."

The manager pointed straight at me.

The police stepped up in front of me.

"Miss, you claim this wedding dress belongs to you. Do you have any proof?"

"Of course I do," I replied calmly. "This shop is a personal brand founded by the world's top designer. My wedding dress was personally designed by him. To prevent counterfeiting, there's a chip embedded inside the gown. A simple scan will reveal the owner's information."

I raised my wrist.

"And this bracelet is the matching device used to scan that chip."