Humiliated at My Own Wedding,I Walked Away From the Billionaire

I stared at him, dazed.

Five years together.

I'd thought Evan Gilbert, at the very least, understood how much my parents meant to me.

My father was the least articulate man alive.

When he was young, hauling rebar on construction sites, a beam crushed his fingers out of shape, and all he ever did was smile and say it didn't hurt.

To put me through school, my mother went to the produce market at four in the morning in the dead of winter to unload crates for people, and the cracks the cold split into her hands ached every time it rained.

They swallowed every bitter day whole.

Only on the day I got my acceptance letter did they say, eyes rimmed red:

"Sweetheart, from now on you hold your head high in this world."

"Your dad and mom aren't much, but we'll never let you be looked down on."

And yet today.

They stood there, awkward, inside a hall full of laughing guests.

Two red stamps on their faces. "Pork Quality, Grade A."

Humiliated until they couldn't even lift their heads.

Still carefully making excuses for Evan.

And Evan couldn't see any of it.

All he saw was Daisy Winfield's reddened eyes.

So every fault became my failure to know better.

I drew in a deep breath and walked over to my parents.

"Dad, Mom."

"Let me take you to wash it off."

My mother panicked at once.

"The tea ceremony's about to start. How can we leave now?"

She pressed down hard on my hand, her voice dropping low.

"Sweetheart, everyone here today is Gilbert family and Gilbert clients."

"Don't give them something to laugh at."

My eyes stung.

They were already being treated as a joke.

And still they worried that I'd be the one laughed at.

Then Daisy suddenly spoke up, softly.

"How about... I touch up your parents' makeup right now?"

My father, without thinking, actually nodded.

"Sure, sure."

Daisy picked up a powder puff and stepped over to my father.

But she'd barely dabbed twice before her hand jerked, and the puff jammed hard straight into the corner of his eye.

His eye swelled red on the spot from the jab, yet he still didn't flinch away.

He only murmured, "It's fine, it's fine."

I finally couldn't hold back, and seized Daisy's wrist.

"Enough."

She winced instantly, brows knitting.

"Jill, you're hurting me."

The next second, Evan clamped down on my hand, hard.

"Jill Sullivan."

"Don't push it too far."

"Daisy's already trying to fix it. What more do you want?"

I watched the way he shielded Daisy, and all at once he felt like a stranger.

Five years ago, the first time Evan came to my home.

My father was so nervous he could barely get his words out.

Pouring wine at the table, he accidentally spilled a little on Evan's cuff.

Evan stood up right away and steadied my father, smiling as he said:

"It was me, sir. I didn't have a good grip on it."

"Don't be nervous. We're all family now."

That night, my mother whispered to me:

"That Evan is such a well-raised boy."

I'd thought so too.

Thought he truly respected me, and respected my family.

But it turned out even a thing like respect could run dry one day.

Or rather.

When he wanted to protect someone else.

My parents' dignity wasn't worth mentioning.

The wedding coordinator hurried over.

"Mr. Gilbert, Miss Sullivan, the tea ceremony is about to begin."

"The elders are all seated."

Evan finally let go of me, lowering his voice.

"Jill, stop making a scene."

"Get up onstage first."

I didn't move.

I only turned my head toward the head table not far away.

The Gilbert elders sat under the lights, dressed impeccably.

Every one of them proper and dignified.

And my parents stood in the corner, red stamps on their faces, uneasy from head to toe.