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.

5

Margery’s POV

When I woke up again, I found myself in the hospital—with no one by my side.

My phone buzzed. It was another message from Wanda.

The video showed Gibson treating her with the utmost tenderness. Every small wound on her body was enough to make his expression fill with pain and pity.

I stared at the screen in silence for a long moment, then saved all of the videos.

Along with them, I transferred the surveillance footage from the funeral—the moment when Gibson and Wanda had raised their hands against me—onto a flash drive.

For the next two days, neither of them appeared before me.

The only reminders of their presence were the endless stream of videos Wanda sent, flaunting how blissfully happy they were together.

For the tiniest scratch on her skin, Gibson not only called every doctor in the vicinity but even went so far as to hire top specialists from nearby cities.

In those two days at the hospital, I lost count of how many nurses and patients spoke enviously of Wanda.

And yet, strangely enough, my heart had gone completely still.

After packing my things, I returned to the villa in Belltown. This place was meant to be my marital home with Gibson.

But now, I had made up my mind—I was moving out.

I gathered all the letters he had written to me, the handmade trinkets he had crafted, the preserved flowers he had painstakingly put together, and the little clay figurines that represented “us.”

In this, Gibson had never failed. Every thoughtful gesture, every gift wrapped in love, every tender look—each one had only driven me deeper into a delusion.

But as I looked back now, I realized none of it should have ever existed.

One by one, I threw it all into the fire.

As the flames roared to life, the affection I had once held for Gibson burned away with them, until nothing remained but ashes.

And it was at that very moment—when the fire had nearly consumed everything—that Gibson appeared with Wanda at his side.

His brows furrowed as he looked at me. Behind him, Wanda wore a smug, triumphant smile.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

I said nothing.

He was about to press further, but Wanda tugged lightly at his sleeve.

Immediately, his expression shifted into one of unease.

“Because of what happened a few days ago, Wanda’s health has been fragile,” he said at last. “She’s moving into the villa. That way, I can take proper care of her. Think of it… as my way of atoning for you.”

As he finished, he protected Wanda behind him, as if I were the threat.

The sight of his guarded stance tore a laugh from my throat.

“You destroyed my mother’s funeral for her. You even smashed her ashes. And now, you dare say this is atonement?”

My scorn made his brows knit deeper.

Meanwhile, Wanda’s eyes filled instantly with tears.

“Gibson, maybe I should just leave,” she whispered. “Even though my wounds still hurt, I can bear it. It doesn’t matter.”

She turned as if to go, but Gibson caught her hand at once.

“You’re always so considerate, Wanda. Even when you’re not at fault, you still think of others. Don’t worry. You’re moving in. If anyone dares object, then they can pack their things and leave!”

He said it deliberately, his gaze cutting toward me.

I let out a cold laugh. “You don’t have to drive me out. I have no intention of living under the same roof as people like you.”

Without waiting for a response, I went upstairs, grabbed the suitcase I had already packed, and walked straight out of the villa without sparing them a glance.

Gibson hadn’t expected me to be so decisive. He must have remembered what had happened at the funeral. His eyes flickered with panic and something like… pain.

“Wait—” he called after me, stepping forward.

But before he could take more than a few steps, Wanda tugged at his sleeve with wounded fragility.

He hesitated. And at that moment of hesitation, all he could do was watch my back as I continued to walk away.