2

Margery’s POV

I didn’t open my eyes until the sound of lips and tongues entangling outside the door finally faded.

Everything Gibson and Wanda had just said—I had recorded it all.

The tenth wedding? I would not postpone it as they wished. I would hold it.

Not only would I hold it. In fact, I would hold it seven days from now. I would make it grand, extravagant even. I would make sure that at this wedding, they would be utterly disgraced!

A few hours later, Gibson finally returned to my hospital room.

His gaze softened as he looked at me. With careful hands, he began cleaning my wounds.

“Margery, don’t be afraid,” he murmured gently. “I’ll be careful. Just bear with it for a moment.”

I turned my head away from the concern in his eyes.

The perfume clinging to his body was like poison, seeping into my nose until it made me want to retch.

And when he leaned closer, I could still see the faint marks on the back of his neck—all left by Wanda.

The sight of it all filled me with unbearable disgust.

Without looking at him, my voice came out hoarse. “Have they been caught? The people who did this? My mother… how is she now…”

The mention of my mother made my throat tighten, my words breaking apart.

My mother had been the most innocent one of all. She treated Gibson so kindly, and she had done so much for his family.

If I hadn’t been so blind in trusting the wrong man, she wouldn’t have had to pay with her life.

Gibson’s eyes darkened with pain as he saw mine brimming red with tears. He carefully avoided my injuries and pulled me into his arms.

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “I’ve already handed them over to the police. They’ll be punished. Your mom will rest in peace.”

As he spoke, he even showed me photos of those people being arrested.

Hatred flashed in my eyes. “Why would they go after my mother? Who ordered them to do it?!”

I met his gaze without flinching.

His body stiffened, then—almost as if trying to cover something up—he forced a smile.

“No one was behind it. They were just a bunch of thugs lashing out at society. They’re already in jail. You don’t need to burden yourself with this anymore, baby.”

The false smile on his face made it impossible to conceal the anger in me.

The ones who truly killed my mother were still obviously free.

He had simply found scapegoats to bury the truth, as if he could so easily write off her death.

My eyes burned so red that they felt as though blood might drip from them. But Gibson mistook it for grief and reached out, wanting to comfort me.

Just then, his phone rang.

In the dim light, I saw his lock screen clearly—it was Wanda, smiling sweetly.

A sharp sting pierced my eyes. I had to turn my head away.

Her voice came through the receiver, slightly distorted but still coy.

“Gibson, Vautrain Company’s partners are already waiting at the office. Do you have time to come by now?”

At her words, I slowly looked back at him.

And at that moment, he understood.

A month ago, when I had gone to the Amenoff Corporation several times for wedding matters, I had almost always run into him and Wanda in compromising situations.

Back then, I still harbored feelings for him. And because he had promised me that he would dismiss her, I had chosen not to dwell on it.

But clearly, Wanda had never been dismissed. Even now, she was still his secretary.

Apparently, the lies had begun from the very start.

Seeing my cold expression, Gibson rushed to explain.

“She really was dismissed. But she still had a few days left in her internship. I just thought I’d be kind, do her a favor. Margery, you can understand that, can’t you?”

As he spoke, he took my hand.

I said nothing, only gave a faint nod before pulling my hand back.

“Didn’t she just tell you to hurry over? Go on. Work is important.”

A flicker of joy lit his eyes at my words. But it quickly gave way to doubt.

If this had been before, upon learning Wanda hadn’t actually been dismissed, I would have at least shown some anger.

But now, I had so easily let him go.

Unease obviously crept over him. He reached out as if to confirm something from me.

But before he could, his phone rang again.

He hesitated only a moment before leaving quickly.

As his figure disappeared through the doorway, I transferred the recording I had just saved onto a flash drive.

Seven days—that was all I needed.

That night, Gibson did not come back to see me.

Instead, Wanda somehow found my phone number and began sending me messages.

Each message contained a photo—her and Gibson locked in intimate embraces, lips tangled, clothes half undone, faces flushed.

She didn’t bother with taunts. She only sent a single sticker—a smiling face.

Without replying to her, I saved the sticker and copied all the photos onto the flash drive as well.

Thinking of my mother’s death, and everything I had endured, I did not sleep a single moment that night.

3

Margery’s POV

The next day, I transferred my mother’s body to the mourning hall.

I hadn’t planned on holding a grand funeral, but Gibson arrived with a large group of people.

When he saw me kneeling on the ground, he hurried over. His eyes brimmed with such tenderness and concern it was almost overflowing.

“Margery,” he said softly, “let me handle this. Go inside and get some rest. Oh, and…”

As if suddenly remembering something, he added, “The wedding… We should postpone it for now.”

He reached out and stroked my head in a gesture meant to soothe.

I lifted my gaze to him, my face expressionless.

“No,” I replied flatly. “The wedding will go on as planned. There are six days left. My mother would want to see it happen.”

My eyes reddened as I spoke.

Gibson frowned, clearly taken aback by my insistence. But when he saw the unwavering look in my eyes, he finally gave a small nod.

Just then, his phone rang. He shot me a brief, guarded glance before stepping inside to answer the call.

That left me alone to face the stares of the people he had brought with him.

From the very beginning, their eyes had carried malice. After hearing my words, their expressions turned openly hostile.

“Her own mother just died, and she still insists on holding a wedding? What kind of person does that? She’s no better than a monster.”

Their cold, scornful gazes swept over me.

“If it weren’t for her mother, Margery wouldn’t even be able to touch the hem of Mr. Amenoff’s sleeve. He could have chosen the woman he truly loves.”

A woman’s sharp, harsh gaze pierced me like arrows.

“Who knows, when her mother saved Mr. Amenoff’s family years ago, maybe she staged that all along. And this car accident, being dragged out of the operating room—maybe it was just someone finally taking revenge. Serves her right to die.”

My body trembled with rage. I staggered to my feet, hand raised, ready to strike them.

But just then, Wanda suddenly rushed in through the doorway, throwing herself between me and the others.

The crisp crack of a slap echoed through the hall. Wanda’s eyes instantly filled with tears.

The sight of her only stoked my fury further. I swung my hand again, aiming another slap at her.

At that exact moment, Gibson emerged from inside and caught the scene unfolding before him.

In two quick strides, he shoved me back with force, his voice booming with anger. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I froze for a second—but only a second. Then, without hesitation, I wrenched free from his grip and brought my hand crashing down on Wanda’s face once more.

“Can’t you see?” I snapped. “I’m teaching these people a lesson for causing a scene at someone else’s mother’s funeral like the animals they are!”

Gibson hadn’t expected those words. He faltered, stunned, before his gaze flicked over the faces of the people behind Wanda. At that moment, he seemed to understand something.

His brows drew together tightly. When his eyes returned to me, they carried a trace of pity.

But then, Wanda let out a faint cry of pain in his arms.

Immediately, Gibson’s attention shifted. He no longer looked at me.

He scooped Wanda up in his arms and strode toward the door, calling out over his shoulder.

“Call every available doctor from the nearby hospitals, no matter the cost!”

For two slaps, he was willing to gather an army of doctors.

But when my mother had been in a car accident, crushed and bleeding, he had been in no hurry at all. He had even had the leisure to chat with his friends.

The bitter thought curled my lips into a smile, one full of irony and despair.

4

Margery’s POV

Ten minutes later Gibson returned, flanked by a group of bodyguards. The look in his eyes toward me was full of coldness.

“Margery, no matter what happened, you shouldn’t have laid a hand on Wanda. Don’t you know she was sobbing until her eyes were red? Come with me now and apologize.”

He seized my arm as he spoke.

“I’m not apologizing,” I shot back, tearing my head away. Anger filled my eyes. “After all, those people only said those accusations and rumors because Wanda secretly told them to.”

“Still, you shouldn’t have done what you did,” he replied, his tone stern and his eyes full of disgust. “Was there even a little wrong in what they said? Your mother died, and at her funeral you said you still planned to go ahead with the wedding. Aren’t their doubts justified?”

My pupils constricted; for a moment my breath stopped.

‘So that’s how Gibson sees me, huh?’

Then, as if answering my thought, another realization came. ‘Of course, he thinks that way of me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone so far just to delay our wedding.’

A bitter laugh escaped me, then I steadied my expression and said firmly, “I won’t apologize. You know in your heart that every slap Wanda got was deserved.”

I spoke with finality, and even meant to rise and leave.

But Gibson’s face went stone-cold. He stepped toward me and said, “If you choose to make a scene at your mother’s funeral, it’s clear you don’t care about her death at all. In that case, there’s no point in holding the funeral.”

With that, he waved to the men behind him. The bodyguards surged forward like the kidnappers who had barreled into my mother’s operating room yesterday, and they began to wreak havoc on the funeral.

One of them even lifted my mother’s portrait and the urn high above his head as if to smash them to the floor!

I couldn’t hold back. I lunged forward to stop them.

“What are you doing? Let go! Put down my mother’s ashes!” I screamed.

But they just ignored me, and their faces curled into mocking smiles.

In an instant, I felt that old and familiar helplessness wash over me. My eyes were swollen and red; I struggled forward but Gibson gripped my arm like iron and held me fast.

I watched, frozen, as the urn was about to be smashed. I shouted again. “I’ll do anything! I’ll apologize—anything—just tell them to put down my mother’s ashes!”

I collapsed to the floor, every word falling out of me in a ragged plea. I clutched at my palm until the skin split and bled.

I thought that would be enough to save her ashes. Instead, Gibson only paused for a breath after hearing me, then spoke calmly, “Margery, it’s too late for words. You need to be taught a lesson.”

Just like that, he flicked his hand.

The next second, the clear shattering crack of the urn breaking rang out.

My mind went blank for a moment. All I could see was the scattered ash of my mother on the floor.

“Mom!” I screamed and flung myself forward, hands trembling as I tried to scoop the ashes back into the shattered vessel.

A bodyguard recoiled at my movements and stumbled; his foot happened to land on the ashes.

My mother’s funeral… was ruined, trampled and desecrated, and in the end, my mother’s ashes could not be saved.

I stared at them being trodden underfoot, and at Gibson’s face: unreadable, indifferent.

I could no longer bear it. I collapsed.

In the last second before blacking out, through the fog of unconsciousness, I thought I saw an anxious expression flash across Gibson’s face.