Abigail Bowman's slender fingers traced the diamond-encrusted wedding dress. She'd failed to put it on nine times.

Clayton Frost hugged her from behind. "Bea said she wanted to play bride. I just needed to play along. I assured her parents I'd fulfill her needs ten times, whatever she required, and this is the last. Abby, you've always been the most understanding."

Understanding? This word struck like a dagger, piercing the softest part of her heart.

In the nine times before, every canceled wedding had come with that praise.

She was understanding, because she'd accepted him dashing from the wedding to fly abroad, fetching Beatrice, who'd lost her passport and sobbed.

She'd comprehended him rushing to the hospital on their wedding day, to be with Beatrice after a minor car crash.

She'd put up with Clayton delaying the wedding all because he was afraid of upsetting Beatrice, who'd threatened suicide after her boyfriend dumped her.

Those flimsy, absurd excuses had chipped away at Abigail's love, again and again, along with the promises that propped up her endless forgiveness.

A phone vibration shattered the stillness.

Clayton saw the name on the screen, his eyes flaring with urgency.

"Bea, don't cry. How could the dress not fit? It was fine when you tried it on."

He turned, lowering his voice. "Don't worry. I'm coming right over."

He hung up, turning back with an apologetic yet matter-of-fact look. "Abby, Bea needs me..."

"Go." Abigail cut him off.

"Take the dress. She'll like this one."

Clayton, startled by her bluntness, broke into a relieved and grateful smile. "Abby, I knew you were always understanding. I promise. This is the last time!"

He stepped forward to hug her, but Abigail sidestepped, avoiding him.

"Go. Don't keep her waiting."

A flicker of unease crossed Clayton's face, but it vanished quickly.

He grabbed the heavy, gorgeous wedding dress and pressed a hasty kiss to her forehead. "Wait for me. I'll be back."

With that, he strode out of the apartment, carrying the dress that had been meant for her.

Half an hour later, Abigail opened her Instagram. Beatrice had posted a minute ago.

It read: "The tenth time. Finally made it."

The photo showed her in the wedding dress, grinning at the camera. Clayton stood behind, adjusting her veil.

Comments from mutual friends stung even more. "What a perfect pair. Congrats!"

"I knew Bea had always been Mr. Frost's top priority. My instinct never lies!"

***

Abigail walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The sun blazed, but she felt no warmth.

She thought of that stormy night years ago: the runaway truck, the screeching brakes, the teenager Clayton shoving her aside without hesitation.

He lay in a pool of blood, smiling weakly, "Don't be scared. I'm here."

She'd repaid that life-saving act with ten years of silent pining, of loving him.

And she watched as he ran to Beatrice, again and again, bound by his promise to the Sloan family.

Abigail'd vowed to herself that no matter what, she'd forgive him ten times.

It was enough to settle that debt.

Today, the tenth time was done.

She lifted her hand, slid the engagement ring off her finger, and set it on the coffee table.

Then, she dialed the number, which she hadn't gotten in touch with for years.

"Hello, Prof. Conway, this is Abigail. I'm willing to take on the dispatch mission with GSMSG. The flight is scheduled for early the day after tomorrow, right? No problem. I'll definitely be on time at the airport."

The phone screen lit up, Clayton's name flickering in the darkness.

Abigail wondered if he finally felt guilty or noticed something was off with her.

Somehow, she answered.

Clayton's voice came through. "Have dinner with me tonight. Let's go to have your favorite French cuisine."

He still remembered that French cuisine was her favorite.

"Okay."

After hanging up, Abigail slipped into the champagne-colored dress he'd once complimented, applied careful makeup.

A faint hope flickered. She dreamed that maybe he'd say, "Bea's game is over. Let's get back on track."

At the restaurant, the waiter led her to the window seat with a city skyline view.

Then Abigail froze.

In the spot that was supposed to be just hers and Clayton's sat Clayton and Beatrice.

Abigail turned to leave, but Beatrice spotted her, springing up to wave. "Abby! Over here!"

She rushed over, linking Abigail's arm sweetly. "There are wedding details to hash out, so I bugged Clay to have dinner here while we worked through the details.

"Abby, you won't mind, right?" Her big eyes widened innocently.

Mind?

Abigail looked at Clayton. He ducked his head, avoiding her gaze.

She'd lost track of how many times Beatrice had butted in between her and Clayton just like this.

And she was always the one told to be understanding and considerate.

Before she could speak, Clayton cut in, "Abby doesn't mind. Even Grandma, picky as she is, says Abby always knows what to do."

Abigail's chest ached.

She'd gone out of her way to play up to Judith Frost, Clayton's grandma, sending Judith supplements, antiques, even homemade dishes. But Judith never spoke highly of her.

"Judith dotes on me the most!"

Beatrice lifted her wrist ostentatiously, revealing a translucent emerald jade bracelet. "Look. She said it's an heirloom and gave it to me. She even said if Clay and I really get married, she'll be over the moon!"

Clayton's expression changed a lot. "Bea! Enough. Grandma was just joking."

He turned to Abigail. "Abby, don't take it to heart."

Abigail stared at the jade bracelet, which she'd dreamed of but never managed to earn, and a tightness settled in her chest.

All her efforts felt absurd, pitiful.

By then, delicate dishes were served.

Her gaze swept over them: foie gras, Beatrice's favorite; lobster, Beatrice's preferred main course; and the nut-sprinkled pre-meal salad. All were Beatrice's loves.

Abigail couldn't stand a single one.

The "your favorite French cuisine" he'd mentioned had long switched protagonists.

"Abby, try this mushroom soup. It's amazing."

Beatrice ladled some and pushed it toward her.

Looking at the soup, flecked with mushroom bits, Abigail felt her stomach lurch.

She pushed it back gently. "Thanks, but I'm allergic to mushrooms."

Beatrice's eyes glistened with tears. She turned her pitiful gaze to Clayton.

"I knew Abby was mad at me. She won't even try the soup I served for her."

Clayton frowned at Abigail. "Bea is being kind. Just take a sip, won't you? Don't ruin the mood."

Abigail stared at him, stunned. Clayton knew better than anyone how severe her mushroom allergy was.

Once, she'd accidentally eaten pasta with mushroom sauce, nearly going into shock. He'd stayed by her hospital bed all night, terrified.

Now, he casually asked her to "take a sip."

"I'm allergic."

She repeated, her voice trembling.

Beatrice sniffled and stood up at just the right moment. "I knew I shouldn't have come. Forget about the wedding. I'll never get to wear a wedding dress in my life anyway."

After saying that, she made to leave.

Clayton rushed to pull her back, frantically coaxing, "Bea, don't go. It's not a big deal."

Beatrice wept bitterly. "Unless Abby drinks a sip of the soup to prove she's not mad at me, or I'll just walk out and let a car hit me!"

There it was again.

Abigail sneered inwardly. Crying, throwing a fit, and threatening suicide were Beatrice's routine. The same old tricks, every time.

Clayton took the bait, his face pale from fear.

He picked up the plate of mushroom soup and slammed it down in front of Abigail. "One sip. Worst case, you'll be in the hospital for a few days. You won't die."

Wouldn't die?

Abigail stared at him, horrified by the coldness in his eyes. For Beatrice, he'd turned into someone she barely recognized.

Since Abigail still clamped her lips shut, Beatrice started sobbing about killing herself again.

Clayton snapped. He grabbed Abigail's chin roughly and poured the entire plate of scalding mushroom soup down her throat.

Abigail struggled violently, the bitter mushroom taste mixing with searing pain scorching her esophagus.

She choked and coughed uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. She looked a mess.

Beatrice watched her agony, finally smiling through her tears.

Clayton let go of Abigail, her face flushed and contorted. "See? You're still alive."

Abigail collapsed against the table, coughing so hard she felt like she'd heave up her insides.

Not dead, not yet.

But the Abigail who'd loved him for ten years and forgiven him countless times? She died at his hands in that instant.

Abigail lifted her arm with great effort, reaching for Clayton, who was just steps away.

Her eyes were filled with the terror of impending death, a final plea: Clayton, save me...

Clayton saw her agony and leaned forward instinctively, as if to pull her up.

But just as his fingers were about to brush hers.

"Clay!"

Beatrice cried out, clutching her chest. "Abby is just pretending! She can't stand you caring about me, so she's faking this to get your attention."

Clayton froze mid-movement.

Beatrice's tears fell fast, her voice barely a whisper. "My heart hurts. It must be from the excitement earlier. Clay, I feel so terrible."

Any flicker of concern for Abigail vanished from Clayton's heart, washed away by Beatrice's feigned distress.

Without hesitation, Clayton turned, lifted Beatrice into his arms, and didn't spare a glance at Abigail, whose breathing grew weaker by the second on the floor.

He walked past her, leaving a cold warning. "If anything happens to Bea, even if I don't hold you accountable, Grandma will never let you get away with it."

***

When Abigail woke up, the sharp smell of hospital disinfectant filled her nostrils.

Abigail lay in an emergency room bed, with a tracheotomy tube in her throat, thick gauze wrapped around her neck.

She tried to speak, but only a faint, hoarse gurgle escaped.

The curtain next to her wasn't soundproof. Clayton's familiar voice drifted over. He'd rarely used such a warm and anxious tone with her. "Doctor, are you sure Bea doesn't need a full-body check? Use the best medicine, whatever it takes. No aftereffects, not even a trace."

The doctor sounded helpless. "Mr. Frost, Ms. Sloan's vitals are normal. She's perfectly healthy."

"I don't care. Run the checks again!"

A nurse whispered in a sympathetic tone, "You know the patient in bed 36? She needed an urgent tracheotomy, yet not a single family member was reachable. All the while, the patient next to her was surrounded by love and care."

Abigail closed her eyes. Tears slid down her cheeks, soaking the pillowcase.

Beatrice's coquettish voice followed. "Clay, I want to go back to the Frost's manor. I'll only feel safe with Judith around."

Chaos clouded her thoughts, and physical exhaustion pulled Abigail back into darkness.

The next day, Abigail insisted on being discharged, ignoring the doctor's objections.

She came back to the new apartment she'd live with Clayton after their wedding, where she'd decorated with care. She lifted her bruised finger to the fingerprint lock.

"Verification failed."

She froze, trying again.

"Verification failed."

On the third try, the door clicked open from the inside.

Beatrice leaned against the doorframe, wearing a bathrobe, her hair still damp, smiling faintly, "I had the lock reset. I'm staying here for a while. Naturally, I needed to delete the fingerprints of irrelevant people."

Abigail's gaze drifted past her to Clayton, who was sitting on the living room sofa.

He pulled a hotel key card from his pocket and tossed it to her. "Bea's not feeling well. She wants a change of environment for a few days. Go stay at the hotel. Just make do."

Abigail was already numb. She picked up the card silently and headed to the cloakroom, planning to grab a few clothes.

But when she opened the door, chaos greeted her.

Her clothes, shoes, and bags were scattered across the floor. Jewelry boxes lay overturned, their contents spilling everywhere.

A thought struck her. She rushed to the back of the wardrobe, yanking out a wooden box.

That was her mother's only legacy and the dowry she'd cherished.

She sighed in relief and removed the lid gently.

In an instant, her breath caught.

The high-quality jade bracelet and its matching necklace inside were shattered into pieces.

A hoarse, miserable scream tore through the room.

Clayton and Beatrice rushed in.

"What's going on?"

Clayton saw Abigail clutching the wooden box. He knew it was her mother's only memento.

His gaze fell on the shattered jade, and he froze. "Why are they broken?"

Abigail suddenly lifted her head and glared at Beatrice, tears streaming down her face.

Terrified by her glare, Beatrice hid behind Clayton, pouting defensively. "I accidentally knocked the box over while looking for something yesterday. It broke. Clay, I didn't mean to!"

Accidentally?

The wooden box was thick and sturdy. Merely knocking it couldn't break the jade so completely. It had clearly been smashed hard against the floor.

Abigail roared, lunging at Beatrice. "I'm ... gonna kill you!"

Sharp as Clayton, he grabbed her tightly. "Abigail, have you lost your mind?"

Beatrice peeked out from behind him, a faint smirk flashing in her eyes.

Clayton feigned anger. "Bea, apologize to Abby."

"Why? I didn't do it on purpose!"

Beatrice began to cry, pulling her usual trick. "That stuff belongs to a dead person. It's unlucky to keep around. Breaking it might be a good thing! Clay, she's attacking me over some junk. I can't go on like this!"

"That's enough!" Clayton snapped, cutting her off.

He turned to Abigail. "Calm down. They're just worthless old trinkets. If they're broken, forget about them. I'll buy you new, better ones. You'll marry into the Frost family soon. You deserve something nicer."

Looking at the man she'd loved for ten years, Abigail thought how utterly ridiculous everything felt.

She broke free from his grasp, raising her hand to slap Beatrice behind him.

Clayton reacted instinctively, stepping in front of her.

A crisp sound echoed as her palm struck Clayton's cheek. The force even numbed her hand.

The air froze.

Beatrice was the first to recover, snatching up her phone and shouting sharply. "Judith! Abby's gone crazy. She hit Clay!"

Clayton touched his stinging cheek, his eyes turning icy cold.

"Abigail, you're unreasonable."

Abigail didn't look at him, nor at the triumphant Beatrice.

She squatted, gathered the broken jade shards back into the box, then stood up straight and walked out of the apartment, step by step.

Abigail wandered aimlessly down the street when a black van suddenly pulled up beside her.

Several bodyguards in black suits jumped out, forcing her into the trunk.

The car stopped in the Frost's manor courtyard, and she was dragged inside, thrown onto the cold marble floor of the family chapel.

The gauze around Abigail's neck was stained with blood. She looked up, only to see Beatrice sobbing in Judith's arms.

"Judith, you have to stand up for me! She hit Clay, and she even tried to hit me!"

She held up her wrist, showing off the jade bracelet. "She's just jealous you love me more."

Judith's face hardened. She slammed her wooden cane down sharply.

"Bea's parents died saving my son and daughter-in-law. She's the Frost family's greatest benefactor! You dare bully her before even marrying in? Disobeying our family rules means punishment!"

Her sharp gaze fixed on Abigail. "What do you have to explain for yourself?"

Explain? How could she?

Abigail shook her head frantically, tears pouring down.

She raised her trembling hand, pointing to her throat, then to Beatrice, gurgling hoarsely as she tried to tell the truth.

Judith frowned in disgust. "What's she doing? A performance?"

Clayton stood by silently, not even saying a word of defense for her.

Beatrice nestled closer to Judith with a vicious glint in her eyes. "Judith, easy. No need for serious punishment. If Abby gets on her knees and begs for my forgiveness, I'll let it go."

Abigail stared at her in disbelief. Kneel and beg? That was an absolute humiliation.

Clayton finally stepped forward. "Abby, apologize to Bea, then you won't suffer physical pain."

His eyes held no concern, only reproach.

Abigail shook her head violently. No. She would never.

Judith lost her patience. "Stubborn! Break the family rules, and you'll pay!"

The Frost family's punishment for such insolence was silencing, slapping, and copying family rules.

Two servants stepped forward, roughly tied a cloth around Abigail's mouth, and pulled it tight at the back of her head, completely sealing her hoarse, barely audible cries.

She was forced to kneel before a low table, where thick family rule booklets, a pen, and an ink bottle lay spread out.

When she refused to pick up the pen, a servant raised his arm.

A heavy blow landed on her cheek. Her ears rang, and darkness clouded her vision.

Judith's cold voice cut through. "Copy them!"

Abigail lifted the pen tremblingly. Her handwriting turned jagged under the double torment of physical pain and mental despair.

Every wrong stroke or every moment of slowness brought another ruthless slap.

The crisp sound echoed through the silent chapel, mingled with her muffled sobs behind the cloth.

Abigail's cheeks swelled red and purple, the corners of her mouth were split open, and even her breath tasted of blood.

After being slapped repeatedly, she at last completed the required copies.

But the punishment didn't end there.

She was forced to hold the pages covered in her alleged "crimes" high above her head and read them aloud word by word.

She could only manage broken, gurgling sounds. Each botched syllable earned another heavy blow.

As consciousness faded, Abigail used her last strength to crawl to Clayton's feet, clutching his trousers tightly.

"Clayton... Save ... me..."

Clayton looked down at her. His eyes flickered for a split second.

However, he knelt slowly, prying her fingers loose one by one.

"Think of it as getting familiar with the family rules. So you won't mess up again after marrying in."

That sentence was the final straw.

The light in Abigail's eyes died completely.

What followed was a hell of blood and agony.

Slaps, endless copying, and malicious taunts ground her last affection for Clayton and her final fantasies of fitting into this family into the dirt.

When it finally ended, she collapsed on the chapel's cold floor.

Clayton pulled Abigail up roughly. "Stand. Grandma's satisfied with you today. Seems these rules work. Behave, and you'll marry in smoothly."

Abigail ached all over. At his absurd words, a hoarse, inhuman laugh rumbled in her throat.

Just then, Judith tossed a pair of tarnished silver bracelets at her feet with a clang.

"It's your reward. The Frost family now recognizes you as an eligible candidate. But remember: you'll always be beneath Bea."

Rough and outdated, the bracelets were cheaper than any trivial trinket one could find in a roadside jewelry stall.

Clayton urged her eagerly. "Abby, thank Grandma."

Thank her? For the punishment that nearly killed her? For this shabby "reward"?

Beatrice slipped her arm through Clayton's, perfectly timed. "Clay, didn't you promise to pick wedding jewelry with me? Let's go."

Faking delicacy, she leaned against him, shooting Abigail a glance brimming with pride and contempt.

Clayton's tone softened instantly. "Of course. Let's go."

He supported Beatrice and walked out of the chapel, surrounded by servants, never glancing back.

The chapel door slammed shut, leaving Abigail swaying alone on the floor.

Abigail didn't know how she endured that night.

The searing pain in her body, the suffocating tightness in her throat, and the burning on her cheeks all paled next to the memories replaying in her mind.

When they first met, Clayton rushed to save her; after they got together, his awkward yet genuine care marked the early days of their love.

To marry into the Frost family, she'd endured Beatrice's provocations time and again, swallowing the injustice of nine canceled weddings.

After the night passed, Abigail staggered to her feet and stumbled out of the chapel.

The early morning sun dazzled her eyes. Then her phone buzzed.

"Abby, GSMSG will depart tomorrow on schedule. Be ready. A car will send you to the airport."

The call ended. Her mentor, Roland Conway's message lit the only path left.

Survive tomorrow, and she'd escape this twisted place for good.

The phone lit up again. Clayton was calling her.

Abigail answered calmly.

Clayton's voice came, as commanding as ever, "Abby, you'll be Bea's bridesmaid tomorrow. Get prepared."

Even already having no more illusions about Clayton, Abigail felt the absurdity of the request.

She let out a soft laugh. "You want your legal fiancée to be a bridesmaid for the 'fake bride' who stole her place? What's wrong with..."

She didn't even finish. On the other end, Beatrice's sobs drifted over, followed by Judith's coaxing, "Clay, can't you handle such a small thing? Bea has only one wish."

Clayton's voice dropped. "Abby, to marry into the Frost family and win Grandma's true acceptance, won't you compromise just once more?"

Abigail's fingers tightened around the phone, her knuckles whitening. But she no longer wasted her energy on anger.

Everyone in this family was insane.

Since tomorrow was the day she'd leave, she'd love to witness the wedding she'd waited ten years for and see just how ridiculous it could get.

"Okay, I'll come."

"Then get to the banquet hall for rehearsal now. Don't waste time."

When Abigail stepped into the hall that should have been her wedding venue, everything felt like a distant dream.

The blue-and-white décor she'd carefully chosen was gone, replaced by an overwhelming flood of rose pink.

In the center of the hall, Beatrice leaned on Clayton's arm, her face glowing with excitement and pride as they ran through the ceremony.

As soon as she spotted Abigail, Beatrice's voice oozed exaggerated warmth. "Abby! You made it! I was scared you were still mad at me!"

She grabbed Abigail's hand abruptly, leaving her no time to get a word in. "Come, let's try on your bridesmaid dress. Clay and I picked it out just for you!"

They were alone in the fitting room.

Beatrice held up a rough, outdated pink dress, holding it against Abigail. "Abby, look how perfect this color is on you. You know, Clay and I grew up together. When we were kids, he promised me the grandest wedding ever."

She chuckled, glancing at Abigail sharply. "Alas, some people waited ten years and got nothing. Me? I just threw a little tantrum, and here we are."

Abigail watched her performance and said calmly, "Beatrice, are you really going through all this just to 'experience' being a bride? Or have you been trying to ruin my wedding with Clayton, over and over again?"

Beatrice's smile froze. Then she dropped the pretense entirely.

"So what if I am? Abigail, haven't you figured it out yet? Clayton and his grandma are so easy to manipulate, just like how my parents used a little trick then and became the Frost family's saviors."

Used a little trick?

Abigail grasped that key information sharply. She stared at Beatrice. "What do you mean by 'a little trick'? Was that life-saving favor fake? Don't tell me your parents aren't even dead?"

A flash of panic crossed Beatrice's face, then she forced calm, changing the subject sharply.

"What are you rambling about? I warn you, Abigail. Clay canceled your weddings for me. He never really wanted to marry you."

Anger, the humiliation of being fooled, and hatred for the destruction of her mother's relics erupted all at once.

Abigail grabbed a glass of water from the dressing table and splashed it hard at Beatrice's face.

Beatrice screamed, her face soaked.

At that exact moment, the fitting room door was thrown open.

Clayton stood in the doorway, just in time to see Beatrice's embarrassed expression and Abigail holding the empty glass.

"Clay!"

Beatrice threw herself into Clayton's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, "Abby hates me for 'stealing' her wedding venue!"

Clayton stared at Abigail, confused and annoyed. "How many times do I have to say this? This wedding is fake! After it's over, I'll plan ours right away. Why can't you be patient?"

As she listened to his self-deceptive statements, a cold smile tugged at Abigail's lips. "I'm not impatient, Clayton. Don't worry."

She turned to Beatrice, who was hiding in Clayton's arms, shooting her a smug glance. "I promise tomorrow's wedding will be unforgettable for you, Ms. Sloan."

As the door closed behind her, Abigail pulled out her phone and stopped the recording.

The phone screen glowed in the dark. Roland's message was crisp and to the point: "Tomorrow morning, be ready. The car will take you to the airport."

Abigail glanced at the night outside, then stood to finish her final preparations for leaving.

At the pre-wedding photography studio, the clerk held out ten sets of unused pre-wedding photos. They were carefully taken, yet hidden away and never shown to anyone. "Ms. Bowman, are you sure you want to destroy them?"

In the photos, Clayton wore different suits, his smile gentle and resolute.

Abigail leaned beside him, her eyes shifting from initial longing to forced grins, finally settling into numb emptiness.

"Yes, destroy them all."

Abigail picked up scissors, cutting her own half out of each frame before crumpling the pieces away.

She went back to the apartment she'd once called "home" and used the backup password to get inside.

It was still the mess she'd left the day before. She grabbed the largest suitcase, packing all her documents and valuables inside.

She scanned the space she'd been eager to live in for years, ensuring no trace of her remained, then dragged the suitcase and closed the door firmly behind her.

Next, she contacted a top private investigator, transferring a large sum of money along with details about Beatrice's parents, who were supposed to have "died saving others."

Before dawn, the detective found Beatrice's parents in a distant foreign country, alive and well.

He wove a careful lie and soon obtained a video of them sending warm, sincere wedding blessings.

By the time everything was done, the sky was lighting.

Abigail changed into a sleek, tailored black Chanel dress. Because she was attending a funeral for her ridiculous ten-year romance.

She slipped on sunglasses and drove to the wedding venue.

At the banquet hall entrance, a huge welcome photo stood front and center.

Early guests lingered, whispering among themselves.

"Huh? That's not the bride on the invitation, is it?"

"Last-minute change. I heard she's his savior's daughter."

Abigail blended into the crowd, pretending to be an ordinary guest, as their voices drifted over. "Mr. Frost dumped his ten-year girlfriend to marry Ms. Sloan."

Soon, the murmurs turned sharp. "You never know someone's true colors. I didn't expect Clayton to be such a bastard."

"Total scumbag!"

Abigail's lips curved into a cold arc, listening as Clayton's reputation she'd once defended so fiercely crumbled.

She slipped away from the crowd and snuck into the fitting room. There, on a mannequin, hung the gorgeous wedding dress she'd once loved, now meant for Beatrice.

Without hesitation, she pulled out the scissors she'd hidden, slashing and ruining the dress's inner structure.

On the surface, the dress still looked flawless. But once worn and walked in, the dress would collapse, tear, or even slip off entirely.

Anything she couldn't have, she'd destroy completely.

The dress, and Clayton, too.

As she stepped out of the fitting room, she crossed paths with the wedding emcee.

Abigail smiled perfectly, pulling out a USB drive. "The bride's parents asked me to deliver this: their wedding blessing videos. They're abroad and can't make it, so they recorded this to surprise their daughter."

The emcee didn't doubt her, taking the drive with pleasure. "I'll surely play it at the highlight of the ceremony!"

Abigail nodded gratefully, then walked toward the side door, which was opposite the banquet hall's main entrance. Her high heels clicked sharply.

The phone vibrated. Roland's message popped up: "The car's at the side door."

The emcee called after her, confused. "Madam, aren't you staying for the wedding?"

Abigail didn't look back, just waved casually.

"No. Tell the bride and groom I'll bless them every single moment."

She reached the side door, where an unremarkable black sedan waited quietly.

As she pulled the door open, her gaze flicked to the main entrance. Clayton was standing there, with his arm around Beatrice, greeting guests.

Clayton's eyes unconsciously swept the side door, catching sight of the familiar black figure.

He froze, a flash of hesitation and confusion crossing his face.

But Abigail gave him no chance to confirm.

She bent down and slid into the back seat. "Sir, let's go."

She took off her sunglasses, stealing one last glance at the hotel shrinking in the rearview mirror.

Goodbye, Clayton.

Farewell, those ridiculous ten years.

At the banquet hall entrance, Beatrice clung to Clayton's arm, greeting guests warmly with a contented smile.

She'd fought so hard to stand beside Clayton as his bride.

Yet Clayton seemed distracted.

The black figure that had flashed past the side door looked eerily like Abigail.

But shouldn't she be in the dressing room, doing bridesmaid makeup and waiting to hold up Bea's wedding dress?

He wondered if he'd made a mistake.

Abigail's readiness to put off their wedding for the tenth time had been too effortless, leaving him uneasy.

But her earlier outburst at Beatrice seemed to confirm she was just acting out of pique.

Ten years of knowing her told him Abigail wasn't one to say one thing and do another.

"Clay!"

Beatrice tugged his arm, annoyed. "The guest is talking to you. A wedding is the most important thing for a girl. How can you zone out?"

"A wedding is the most important thing for a girl?" Clayton murmured, his gaze unfocused.

"Of course it is!" Beatrice replied instantly.

Clayton finally refocused. "What about Abby? This was supposed to be her wedding. And the nine times I stood her up as a groom and postponed our wedding. Is she heartbroken?"

Beatrice froze. She had a bad feeling.

She'd never imagined Clayton would think of Abigail now.

She forced a smile. "Clay, Abby is so sensible and understanding. She'd never hold this against you."

Hearing Beatrice call Abigail "sensible and understanding" only amplified Clayton's unease.

He grabbed Beatrice's wrist sharply. "Where's Abby? I need to see her."

Beatrice, flustered and furious, tried to yank her hand free.

"Clay! The wedding is about to start. Why do you need to see her?"

But Clayton didn't listen.

He ran toward the dressing room, leaving Beatrice standing there, pale with rage.

Clayton sprinted to the door, his heart racing.

He pushed it open.

"Oh, Mr. Groom, you can't come in now!"

The makeup artist hurried to block him. "The bridesmaids are still changing!"

Clayton's eyes darted past her. He saw several figures in pink bridesmaid dresses bustling around the mirrors.

One was tall, and her long hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her silhouette looked just like Abigail's.

As soon as he saw that familiar back, Clayton's anxiety melted away.

He believed he'd been overthinking.

Abigail loved him enough to wait ten years. She'd never leave.

He called out over his shoulder, "Abby, as soon as this wedding's done, I'll marry you. I'll give you the grandest wedding ever!"

With that, he hummed a cheerful tune and turned to leave.

The door clicked shut behind him.

In the dressing room, the girl resembling Abigail turned around, confused. She asked another bridesmaid next to her, "Who was that man talking to just now? What was he on about? I didn't understand."

The bridesmaid sized her up. "Sorry, do we know you? You're not one of the bridesmaids, are you?"

She shrugged. "Well, someone paid me to fill in for a day."

***

Meanwhile, at the airport gate, Abigail, dressed in crisp casual wear, took her boarding pass.

"Your flight will depart in an hour. Have a nice trip."

Inside the banquet hall, several bridesmaids stood with their heads lowered on either side of the stage, including the stand-in whom Clayton had mistaken for someone else.

Backstage, Beatrice finally put on the luxurious wedding gown she had dreamed of for so long.

She sneered inwardly: Abigail, oh Abigail, you really are foolish, giving up such a precious wedding dress so easily.

She wanted not only this gown, but also Clayton, and even the entire Frost family behind him.

It was all worth it, considering the elaborate scheme her family of three had set up years ago, which forced her parents to hide abroad and remain in exile to this day.

Thinking of the wealth and glory soon to be hers, Beatrice couldn't help but let the corners of her mouth lift in a smile.

She had Clayton completely under her control now; as long as today's wedding went smoothly, she would have a way to secure the title of Mrs. Frost.

Afterwards, if she shed a few more tears in front of Judith, that old woman, so eager to repay kindness, would surely force Clayton to marry her.

By then, she could find a way to 'bring back to life' her 'deceased' parents, and once everything was settled, what could the Frost family possibly do to her?

"Ms. Sloan."

The stylist beside her crouched down and carefully touched the hem of the wedding dress. "The lining seems a bit loose. Should we check it?"

"Shut up!"

Beatrice snapped impatiently, casting a haughty glance at the stylist. "What do you know? This is a pure handmade creation by a famous Italian designer. Who are you, someone who's never seen the world, to criticize? If you damage it, can you afford to pay $1,000?"

Chastened by her rebuke, the stylist fell silent, embarrassed.

At that moment, she had no idea that she would soon pay a painful price for her arrogance and pride.

As Beatrice waited at her designated spot by the banquet hall entrance, the emcee happened to pass by.

He wore a flattering smile. "Ms. Sloan, rest assured, the blessing video from your parents will be played at the most appropriate moment during the ceremony, guaranteed to bring the atmosphere to a climax!"

Beatrice was taken aback. "What blessing video? My parents, they..."

But before she could finish her question, the wedding march began to play.

The emcee nodded to her and quickly walked into the banquet hall.

A sudden sense of foreboding swept over Beatrice. Could something go wrong with the wedding?

The next second, the emcee's enthusiastic voice echoed through the hall: "Let us welcome our most beautiful bride today with a round of applause!"

There was no time to think. The heavy doors before her slowly opened, and a spotlight shone directly on her.

She took a deep breath and, following the rhythm of the music, walked step by step toward the center of the stage, where Clayton was waiting.

However, Clayton's gaze was not on her, the radiant bride, but anxiously searching among the bridesmaids.

In the dim light, he finally caught sight of a familiar figure and couldn't help but call out softly, "Abby?"

But that figure showed no reaction.

Clayton instinctively wanted to walk over, but the emcee stopped him. "Mr. Frost, it's time to greet the bride."

Clayton had no choice but to suppress his anxiety and go to welcome Beatrice.

On stage, the emcee recited the usual blessings.

Suddenly, he changed his tone, his voice full of emotion: "Today, we have a special surprise for the bride and groom! Due to certain circumstances, the bride's parents could not be here in person, so they recorded a precious blessing video and entrusted a friend to deliver it to the ceremony. Let's share this blessing together!"

What?

The smile on Beatrice's face froze instantly. Her parents knew nothing about this wedding, and who was the entrusted friend?

Clayton was also stunned, turning to look at the screen in confusion.

Before anyone could react, the giant screen on stage lit up, and the image showed Beatrice's parents, who had long been 'dead' after 'saving Clayton's parents'!