The wedding was supposed to happen right after the New Year. But just as the ceremony began, my fiancée's trusted butler rushed onto the stage and spanked her—right in front of everyone.

"There was a mosquito."

He flashed me a grin, raising his palm to reveal a faint red mark.

"It's below freezing outside. Where exactly would a mosquito come from?"

I narrowed my eyes, anger already coiling in my chest.

But before I could say another word, my fiancée spoke up in his defense. "What do you know? There are cold-resistant mosquitoes now."

"Darren was helping me. You should be thanking him."

Five years of a long-distance relationship—and this was what I'd waited for. Her standing there, letting another man cross every line.

I shook my head with a bitter laugh, then turned to face the entire room of guests. "Everyone, please go home. The wedding is off."

...

Smack!

The sound of Darren Blake's open palm connecting with Amelia Sullivan's backside rang out across the banquet hall, crisp and unmistakable.

Every guest froze.

My expression turned to stone. I fixed Darren with a stare that could have cut through steel.

But Darren Blake just stood there grinning—that same smug, punchable grin he'd worn five years ago, only worse now.

He held up his hand toward me, palm out. There was, in fact, a small red smear on it.

From the look on his face, he actually expected me to say thank you.

"A mosquito. In ten-degree weather."

I narrowed my eyes and started toward him, one slow step at a time. "Funny—I think I see one on your face too. Want me to get it for you?"

I hadn't even raised my hand yet.

Amelia Sullivan stepped in front of Darren, chin lifted, shielding him.

"Mervyn Henson, you're embarrassing yourself! Cold-resistant mosquitoes are a thing now!"

"Darren was kind enough to swat it for me, and you can't even say thank you?"

That tone. Like she was issuing an order.

I stood rooted to the spot, disbelief flooding through me.

Two days ago, Darren had deleted confidential files from the company servers. I'd barely said two words about it before Amelia accused me of being petty.

And now—at our wedding—faced with something this brazen, this absurd—

She was still taking his side.

She really had changed from the woman I'd known five years ago.

"Come on, come on, don't fight because of me."

Darren waved his hands in mock peacemaking—and as he did, something slipped from his pocket and clattered to the floor.

Every eye in the room followed it.

I bent down and picked it up, then held it where everyone could see.

A rubber stamp. Shaped like a mosquito.

"Amelia."

"See that? He did it on purpose."

Dead silence. Every guest turned to Amelia, waiting.

"I'm sorry, Amelia. I was just trying to liven things up—you know, like those wedding pranks people do. I didn't mean anything by it."

Darren hung his head, the picture of wounded innocence, apologizing over and over.

I expected Amelia to tear into him. To tell him to get out.

Instead, she smiled. "It's fine. I know you didn't mean it."

"Just don't do anything that gives Mervyn the wrong idea again."

The moment those words left her mouth, Darren's gaze slid toward me. The corner of his lips curled into a smirk, and his eyes glinted with open provocation.

The whole thing had been calculated. He'd let the stamp fall on purpose—to show everyone exactly where he stood in Amelia's heart.

And me? I was the joke. The entertainment.

"Amelia Sullivan!"

"You call yourself the Iron Lady—and you're just going to let this go?"

My brow furrowed, every word landing harder than the last.

"What else do you want me to do? I already warned him." Amelia rolled her eyes at me. "Darren is my most trusted butler. I need to show him trust and make him feel secure."

She paused.

Then lifted her chin, that old arrogance settling over her features like armor.

"I spent five years abroad building an empire. People call me the Iron Lady wherever I go. The fact that I came back to marry you should be enough."

"Don't push your luck."

"When my father gets here, the ceremony continues as planned."

I still remembered the day she left, five years ago. She kept turning back with every step, until finally she threw herself into my arms and wept.

"Mervyn."

"Wait for me. When I come back, I'll be your kitten for the rest of my life—gentle, loving, never leaving, never letting go."

Back then, her eyes shone with adoration, her voice dripping with love.

Now, that same gaze was laced with pity and contempt. Every word fell light as air from her lips—and cut sharper than any blade.

I opened my mouth, wanting to demand answers. But in the end, I swallowed every one of them. I shook my head, let out a quiet laugh, and said, "Distinguished guests, please head home."

"This wedding is off."

The entire hall went silent.

Amelia's eyes widened in shock. Then, just as quickly, her whole expression turned to ice.

"Mervyn Henson, are you threatening me?"

I shook my head.

"Amelia."

"I mean it."

Our eyes locked. The air between us crackled. Not a single person in that room dared make a sound.

No one wanted to pick a side. Everyone knew that Amelia's father valued me highly—he'd once declared publicly that anyone who tried to push me around would have to step over his dead body first.

At the same time, I wasn't someone to be trifled with. I'd stayed behind in the country all these years and single-handedly dragged the Sullivan family into the top ten. I moved fast, hit hard, and never tolerated a grain of sand in my eye.

Of course, I also had a secret.

The name Henson—my name—belonged to the most powerful of the Eight Great Houses of Crestworth.

"What's going on here?"

Right at that moment, Morgan Sullivan walked in. He took one look at the atmosphere and frowned, confusion written all over his face.

I turned and laid out everything that had happened, figuring that after all the years he'd watched me deliver results with his own eyes, he'd at least speak up for me.

Instead, his face hardened. "Mervyn, this one's on you. You're a grown man—why make a fuss over something so trivial?"

"We should all get along. Harmony brings prosperity."

"I've watched Darren grow up since he was a boy. There's not a malicious bone in his body. Besides, he just got back to the country and already secured a partnership with the Hensons of Crestworth."

Morgan called me his beloved son-in-law on any ordinary day. But when it came down to it, profit always won.

My feelings didn't factor in at all.

The cruel irony was that the partnership had nothing to do with Darren. It was something I'd arranged—part of my bride price to the Sullivans.

"Mervyn Henson, did you hear that? Stop acting like you matter!" Amelia let out a cold scoff. "If we're talking seniority, Darren's been part of this family longer than you."

"If we're talking ability—you spent five years and couldn't even get a meeting with the Hensons of Crestworth, while Darren sealed the deal with a wave of his hand."

Watching father and daughter close ranks around Darren, the guests read the room. More than a few shot amused, mocking glances my way.

Some didn't even bother to whisper.

"He's just a kept husband. Who does he think he is?"

"Exactly. Even if he's got some talent, without the Henson family backing him, he's nothing—a turd buried in dirt."

"He's not the only one angling to marry into the Sullivan family these days. He'd better tuck his tail between his legs and play the dog before it's too late. What an idiot."

Darren drank it all in, a smug grin curling at the corner of his mouth.

As for me—I was so furious I laughed. My gaze swept over every face in the room, one by one, before finally settling on Amelia.

"Amelia."

"Have you forgotten what my last name is?"

The moment those words left my mouth, every expression in the hall shifted.

"They share the same surname—could Mervyn actually be from the Hensons of Crestworth?"

"No way. If I were part of that family, I'd have been strutting around Harborfield like I owned the place!"

What they didn't understand was that the real heirs of great houses kept a low profile. They spent years being tested and tempered, laying the groundwork to one day inherit the family legacy.

Besides, Amelia had always told me she didn't want me to stand out too much.

Because that would attract other women.

She said she didn't feel secure.

So I'd planned to take it slow—to wait until the wedding, and then tell her the truth.

And today, she'd rewarded all of it with a slap across my face.

"Mr. Henson."

Darren's voice cut through the murmuring crowd, dripping with false concern.

"If you really want to punish me, just say so. There's no need to make up lies to pressure Amelia."

He paused, letting the words land, then added with theatrical martyrdom: "If it'll make things right, I'll cripple one of my own hands."

His eyes darted sideways—calculating, stirring the pot.

And Amelia swallowed every word.

She whipped around to face me, finger jabbing the air. "See? Darren is always thinking about me. And you? You're selfish to the core!"

"You've never once put me first!"

I nearly laughed from the sheer absurdity.

When we were dating, Amelia had been so insecure she demanded I check in with her constantly. No other woman's number was allowed in my phone—not a colleague, not a classmate, no one. I'd been mocked relentlessly for it. Whipped, they called me. A lovesick fool on a leash.

Amelia loved fancy little cakes and insisted that only homemade ones showed real devotion. So I learned to bake every single kind she liked.

Amelia wanted me working at her family's company. They paid me three thousand dollars a month. To this day, I hadn't received a single raise—not one cent in bonuses, not a sliver of profit-sharing.

If that was selfish—

Then what did that make Darren, who pulled a seven-figure salary while eating the Sullivans' food and living under their roof, and somehow got crowned the thoughtful, caring gentleman?

Morgan's face was ice. He leveled a finger at me. "Mervyn, stop embarrassing yourself!"

"Let me make something clear. A Sullivan son-in-law doesn't have to be brilliant. He doesn't have to be the most capable man in the room. But he must be sincere. He must be humble and hardworking!"

"What you've done today is deeply disappointing. You should take a page from Darren's book."

And just like that, the picture snapped into focus.

All those years Morgan had sung my praises? That was because he needed me. Now that the Sullivan empire was climbing higher, he'd found a new tool in Darren—and I was the one being hammered down.

Conniving old man.

"Mervyn Henson, what are you standing there for? Apologize to Darren this instant, and then beg forgiveness from every person in this room!"

Amelia's gaze locked onto mine, impatience carved into every feature. Then came the threat: "Mervyn, I suggest you be smart about this. Don't think for a second I won't divorce you."

I met those arrogant eyes of hers.

And I shook my head—and laughed.

Suddenly, I had nothing left to say. I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit.

The room went dead silent.

No one had expected me to walk away. Not like this. Not without looking back.

Amelia scrambled after me, closing the distance in three quick strides. Her hand clamped around my arm, brow furrowed. "Mervyn Henson, you stop right there! It's just an apology—no one's asking you to cut off a limb. Is this really worth making a scene over?"

"Cancel this wedding and you're the one who loses. Not me." Her chin lifted. "Don't be stupid."

That same arrogance was painted across her face, as if she were granting me one final chance to fall back in line.

A cold smile pulled at my lips. I borrowed her father's own cadence and threw it right back:

"Mervyn Henson's woman doesn't have to be smart. She doesn't have to be beautiful. But she damn well has to be clean."

Amelia's expression froze. She stood rooted to the spot, and then fury ignited behind those striking eyes.

Before she could open her mouth—

Darren was already rushing over.

"Mervyn, if you've got a problem, take it up with me. Don't you dare raise your voice at Amelia."

"You're nothing but a guard dog the Sullivans kept on a chain. What right do you have to talk down to her?"

"Let me tell you something—the line of men who'd kill to marry Amelia could wrap around the globe three times over." He squared his shoulders. "And I'm one of them."

He paused, then turned to Amelia with a look of aching sincerity. "Amelia, the truth is... I've always been in love with you."

"If you don't mind my background, I'll marry into the Sullivan family. I'll take care of you for the rest of your life."

It all clicked into place.

Everything he'd done today—every lie, every performance—was about stepping on me to climb higher.

The man was a snake.

But without me, how long could the Sullivans' gilded lifestyle really last? It would crumble overnight.

Amelia blinked, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. Then her gaze drifted back to me.

She was waiting for me to cave.

I just smiled. Cold and empty.

"Well, if Mervyn doesn't want to go through with the wedding—" Morgan's voice rang out behind me, decisive and final. "Then Darren will take his place."