Treat Me Like A Dog, My Bride Will Never Be Her

My eyelids twitched heavily at the thought of what might be happening.

I rushed upstairs—and the scene that greeted me made the blood in my body surge violently.

Davis stood in front of the mirror, wearing the wedding suit my mother had designed for me with her own hands. He was adjusting his collar, striking poses, his face full of smugness.

“Giselle, will I look handsome wearing this at our wedding?”

“Of course,” Giselle purred beside him. “Our Davis has such a good figure. In this suit, you’ll be the most handsome groom in the world.”

My mother had been an internationally renowned fashion designer. Before she passed away from illness, her only regret was not living long enough to see me get married.

So, despite her failing health, she insisted on designing and hand-sewing a wedding suit just for me.

It was her final gift. My last link to her.

During the two years Giselle and I were together, she’d often curl up in my arms, tracing the fabric with her fingers and whispering,

“When our Adam wears this suit, he’ll be the most handsome groom in the world.”

Now, those same words came from her mouth again—but for another man.

It felt like someone had slapped me. My head rang.

“Who gave you permission to touch my things?” I said, my voice razor-sharp. “Take off the suit.”

Giselle’s face darkened instantly.

“Adam, you already bullied Davis by snatching that wristwatch. Letting him have this suit is the least you can do to make up for it.”

“I said—take it off,” I repeated, each word colder than the last.

Giselle’s composure cracked.

“Enough, Adam! If you keep acting like this, I swear—even if you kneel and beg on the day of your birthday banquet, I won’t show up. And when that happens, you’ll be the one who loses face.”

“This is your last chance. Back off, or you’ll regret it.”

Davis, always the peacemaker when convenient, tugged at her arm.

“Forget it, Giselle. Since Young Master Orson doesn’t want to share, I’ll give it back.”

He disappeared into the dressing room and returned holding a mangled pile of fabric in his arms.

“Oops. My bad. Didn’t realize the quality was so cheap. Just tugged a little and it ripped right apart. Luckily, I don’t want it—who’d want to walk into a wedding venue wearing trash like this?”

He dropped the shredded remains of my mother’s final creation into my hands.

My heart twisted as I stared down at what used to be a piece of her love.

Giselle looked at me, her expression full of smug condescension.

“Since it’s ruined, forget it. It wasn’t worth much anyway. Now—get ready. In a week, transfer all of your father’s assets to me. Not a single cent should be left in your name. Once Davis and I get married, you can be my official little lover. I’ll give you three hundred a month to spend. Consider it my mercy.”

They turned and walked off together, laughing.

I stood motionless, my eyes cold.

A week from now… Let’s see if the two of you are still laughing.

The day of the banquet arrived.

My father had spared no expense, hosting the grandest birthday celebration the North Capital had seen in years. The other three major families attended. So did countless business partners and dignitaries.

The moment Giselle walked in, the crowd swarmed her with flattery.

“Miss Giselle looks destined for wealth. You and Young Master Orson are a perfect match.”

“From today on, you’ll be the top noble lady in the North Capital. Just remember us little folk—leave us some soup when you’re eating meat!”

Giselle beamed, her chin raised proudly as she basked in the praise.

Then I entered, dressed to the nines in an elegant suit. Her smile immediately faltered.

She rushed to me, hissing in a low voice.

“Why are you dressed like this? Aren’t you supposed to be sick? I brought sleeping pills for you—take two, no wait, take five. It won’t kill you, just knock you out for a couple of days.”

I didn’t even glance at her.

Her face darkened.

“Adam, if you dare ruin my wedding with Davis, I swear I’ll never look at you again.”

Just then, my father emerged from the study, a lawyer by his side. He looked at me with a warm smile.

“Adam, since you personally chose your bride, go ahead and announce it yourself.”

Giselle watched me walk toward her, a triumphant smile already blooming on her lips.

But in the next second, I stepped past her—without even a glance—and placed my hand on the shoulder of the woman standing behind her.

“Dad,” I said clearly, “the woman I choose for this marriage union… is Sophia.”