What they didn't understand was that I couldn’t move because my palms were embedded with broken glass, and the wine had seeped into the open wounds. Every movement sent a searing jolt of pain through my body. But I didn’t have the time to explain, because Nancy—unscathed—was already crying, playing the victim.

"Miss Jones, what did I do wrong to make you do this to me?" she sobbed. "I just wanted to celebrate the company going public and was so happy for you and Mr. Miller. That's why I suggested we share a drink together..."

"Even if you're angry with me, you shouldn't take it out on Mr. Miller and the others."

Her ability to shift blame was flawless, as always. She had perfected the art of playing the victim. No wonder she was Weston and Vincent’s favorite. Her shamelessness was a mirror image of theirs.

And just like that, she managed to turn the tables. The employees, now swayed by her tears and words, started to side with her. "Miss Jones, today’s a big day, don’t make a scene," one of them said. "Nancy is young and playful, she didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t be upset with her."

As I stood there, I could see the triumphant glint in Nancy’s eyes, the subtle mockery behind her words. To the others, it was clear: I was the one being petty. I was the one who had overreacted and hurt not just her, but myself in the process.

To them, it looked like I was simply jealous of Weston and the others.

Vincent, seeing that I wasn’t playing along, shoved me away with such force that I nearly cried out in agony. My body tensed in pain, and I almost lost my breath.

I couldn’t muster a single word in response, and the silence only seemed to deepen the contempt in the eyes of the employees. They couldn’t openly say much to my face, but it was obvious from their gazes that I had already lost their favor.

Finally, unable to tolerate it any longer, Weston spoke up.

"It's just a joke. How can you, a CEO, not take a joke?" Weston sneered, his words dripping with mockery.

Vincent, humiliated by the turn of events, was furious. "Imogen, can you stop being so disgusting? You wanted to drink with us but couldn’t even say it! First, you tease us with a fake marriage, then push Nancy to the brink, and now you’re throwing her under the bus!"

"If Weston and I hadn't acted quickly, you might have lost your life!" he added, his voice grew colder.

"I really didn't expect you to be so jealous and so vicious!"

They couldn’t see the blood soaking my hands, and all they cared about was saving their own faces and punishing Nancy.

Thankfully, someone had called an ambulance. As I gritted my teeth against the searing pain, I managed to say, with a bitter edge, "Sorry, I didn't know you were all so committed to drinking from the start. Don’t make a scene."

The two employees who had been fawning over Nancy sneered at me, "Okay, it’s come to this, stop pretending!"

The noise attracted the hotel manager, Mr. Green, who rushed in with the first aid kit. Seeing me sitting on the floor, he immediately crouched down to help treat my wounds, working quickly to stem the bleeding.

Weston, glaring at him, snatched the kit away and turned his attention to Nancy, disinfecting the scratches on her legs and feet.

Mr. Green looked back and forth between my bloodied hands and Nancy’s injuries, his frown deepening. "Mr. Miller, Mr. Davis, the priority is to stop Miss Jones's bleeding. Look at her hands, she's badly hurt."

It wasn’t until that moment that the two of them seemed to notice the extent of my injuries. They opened their mouths as if to say something, but all they could manage was a cold, "You deserve it."

I didn’t have the energy to waste on their spiteful words. I simply stood up, ignoring the pain, and made my way toward the ambulance. The trail of blood behind me stretched like the petals of a blooming Lycoris radiata.

The paramedics quickly took over, using tweezers to pull the glass shards from my palms and working swiftly to stop the bleeding.

Blood still trickled from my hands, yet the noise in the banquet hall continued unabated. Suddenly, Vincent rushed over with Nancy, who had fainted for some unknown reason. Weston quickly stepped between me and the paramedics, pulling me aside.

"Doctor, can you please look at her first?" he asked urgently.

My nonstop bleeding seemed trivial compared to the sudden drama surrounding Nancy’s fainting spell. The emergency doctor was immediately redirected to check on her instead. After a brief examination and a few questions, they determined she had a history of heart disease, and with the stress of the evening, Vincent insisted they rush her to the hospital.

I wrapped my bleeding hand with gauze as best as I could, offering a weak smile at the irony, then called a cab and headed to the hospital alone.

To say I wasn’t heartbroken would be a lie, but I felt an even stronger sense of chill. Twenty years of friendship discarded in favor of a graduate who’d been in the company all of two months.

I couldn’t help but think of the fortune teller my mother had brought in at the start of the year. He’d predicted that I’d face betrayal and would need to "break it to rebuild." I hadn’t believed him then, brushing him off as a fraud.

Now, I was forced to reconsider. Was this so-called "breaking and rebuilding" a sign that I was supposed to move on, to start over? And did that include accepting marriage as part of this “new beginning”?

The doctor disinfected and bandaged my wounds with meticulous care, surprised that I didn’t even flinch. I only glanced at the two figures pacing anxiously outside the emergency room and whispered, "This pain is nothing."

What really hurt was deeper—wounds that couldn’t be dressed.

When I finally finished and prepared to leave, I saw that Nancy was perfectly fine. I had suspected as much. She hadn’t “fainted” until the ambulance was about to take me away; a suspiciously convenient moment. She probably didn’t even remember telling me years ago how she’d once feigned angina to push her biased parents into letting her study. I had felt sorry for her then, even admired her ingenuity.

Now, she’d turned that same cunning on me—manipulating not only Weston and the others but the doctor as well.

As Vincent pushed Nancy past me, my phone rang.

"Little troublemaker, where are you? Weren’t you supposed to be here by now?"

I looked down at my bandaged hands and sighed, telling my mother gently, "Mom, can we postpone the wedding for a few days? Something urgent has come up that I need to handle."

Her voice immediately filled with panic. "My dear, the guests are already arriving, all waiting on you! Are you thinking of running away from this marriage? Do you not want the heir of the Brown Family?"

I hesitated, trying to find the right words to reassure her, when suddenly, Vincent and Weston—who I thought had left—spoke up behind me.

"Heir of the Brown Family?" They exchanged glances, amusement glinting in their eyes.

Seeing them, I felt a new wave of irritation and said firmly onto the phone, "No, Mom, not even a storm of knives could keep me away. I’ll be there today to get married."

After hanging up, I checked the time. I could still make it in time for the ceremony. But as I hurried off, Vincent and Weston blocked my path again.