Chapter 2

The wedding host, visibly flustered as the groom turned and walked away, hastily gestured to the sound engineer to cut the music.

As the cheerful background tunes abruptly ceased, the atmosphere shifted, the murmur of the crowd swelling into an unabashed roar of judgment and speculation.

"They've been engaged for over a year, and now this scene unfolds at the wedding? Utter humiliation," someone remarked loudly.

"She looks so pure, doesn't she? But clearly, she's got other, shall we say, talents that hooked Micah. Guess she practiced those talents with plenty of others. Walk along the river long enough, and you'll get your feet wet. Someone probably got fed up and exposed her. Tsk, tsk."

That particular comment sliced through the air like a shard of glass, sharp and cutting.

"Nonsense! I didn't do any of that!" Deidre screamed, her voice raw with desperation.

Her outburst only added fuel to the fire. None of the attendees spared her even a modicum of sympathy. They were there for the prestige of the Landon family. Now that she had been abandoned by Micah, who was she to them? A nobody, someone to ridicule without consequence.

"Look at her, losing her temper. How unsightly."

"Exactly. Instead of finding a hole to crawl into, she's still yelling at others."

"Such shameless defiance. Playing the victim while pretending to be saintly—what a joke."

"If my daughter ever turned out like this, I'd beat her to death."

"Let's go. The wedding's clearly over."

The voices piled up, overlapping in waves of cruelty. Deidre's head buzzed with a hollow static. None of it made sense. How had the day turned into this nightmare?

No. It couldn't end like this.

She slipped off her high heels, hoisting up the heavy layers of her wedding gown, and ran after Micah.

Outside the hotel, Micah stood by the open door of his car, flipping through some documents. The sight of him brought a glimmer of hope to Deidre's heart, and she quickened her steps.

"Micah!" she called out, her voice trembling with both fear and longing.

His hand froze mid-turn, but he didn't look up.

Tears welled in Deidre's reddened eyes. "How can you just leave me like this? How can you believe those photos without even hearing me out?"

Micah finally lifted his gaze, his eyes cold and detached, like a winter wind slicing through her skin.

"One week ago," he began, his voice steady but unyielding, "Westin Hotel, Room 309. Was it you?"

The precision of his words hit her like a jolt. A specific time, a specific place—her memory stirred reluctantly to life. Her breath hitched as fragments resurfaced.

She had been there. It was her sister Valerie's 18th birthday party, and they'd forced a bottle of whiskey down her throat. The next thing she remembered was waking up alone in that hotel room with a splitting headache.

The images from the wedding screen replayed in her mind, overlapping with her fragmented recollection.

Could it be?

But no—when she had woken up that morning, she was alone. There had been no one else, she was sure of it.

Her silence spoke volumes.

"Can't answer, can you?" Micah's voice dripped with disdain, dragging her back to the present.

"I was there, yes, but—" she began, desperate to explain.

"Spare me your excuses," he cut her off icily.

He thrust the documents in his hand toward her. "Take a good look. No one's an idiot here."

Mechanically, Deidre accepted them, her hands trembling. Her eyes skimmed over the pages—photographs, so many photographs. Many were the same ones that had been displayed on the wedding screen, but these… these included more.

Her breath caught in her throat. Among the images, her sister Valerie appeared too, unmistakably linked to the events captured.

"This isn't real," Deidre stammered. "I'll call Valerie—she'll explain. This is all a misunderstanding. That night—she—"

Her frantic words were abruptly silenced as Micah seized her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"It's over, Deidre," he said quietly.

His gaze locked onto hers, unyielding. She saw her own desperation reflected in the lenses of his frameless glasses, his eyes devoid of warmth or mercy.

His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If only you'd stayed obedient. But there are no 'if onlys.' You hid it well these past two years. I almost believed in you, fooled by that face of yours. But you're tainted. In the end, it was my mistake for thinking you could ever compare to her."

Her mind stumbled over his words, catching on one fragment: "Her."

Who was he talking about?

Before she could grasp it, Micah let out a bitter laugh. With his free hand, he pulled a ring box from his pocket, opening it with a flick of his thumb.