I made an appointment to select the wedding photos the next morning. As the woman assisting me in the studio noticed Hudson's absence, she asked, "Why didn’t Hudson come with you for such an important occasion?"

I responded blankly, "He’s dead, and his body is torn apart."

Her face fell in shock, eyes widening with horror. "I’m so sorry, Miss Aubrey. This is so sudden. Please accept my condolences."

I smiled, a cold twist of irony creeping into my expression. "It’s okay. He deserved it."

Flustered and unsure how to respond, she quickly led me to the VIP room.

When it came time to select the photos, I made only one request: delete every group shot and keep only my individual portraits. I chose just two photos of Hudson—a full-body shot and a headshot. Both were printed in black and white, framed, and prepared to be sent to the banquet hall on the second floor of the Royal No. 1 Hotel in four days—for a funeral.

The wedding photos I had taken turned out beautifully, and I decided to repurpose them as my personal portraits.

Later, I reached out to a few small influencers online, hinting that there would be explosive drama at the wedding—something reminiscent of a "catfishing bride" scandal. I encouraged them to seize the opportunity for the traffic it would generate.

These would be the wedding gifts I had prepared for Hudson and Harper. If everything went as planned, an even bigger surprise awaited them on the day of the ceremony.

I returned to the wedding suite that I had shared with Hudson and began packing all my belongings, including the carefully selected wedding items that now felt meaningless. I moved out that same day.

Hudson was right about one thing: the houses in our hometown were uncomfortably close to the Harpers’. It made my stomach churn to see them everywhere. After discussing it with my mother, we decided to hire a local agent to help us sell the property.

Before leaving, my mother and I visited my father’s grave, where I placed a bottle of his favorite whiskey. This trip abroad was meant to help manage my mother’s condition, but upon my return, I planned to take her traveling across the country, allowing us to enjoy wherever the road led us.

Once everything was settled, I checked into a hotel near the hospital.

Three days later, in the early morning, Hudson called me. "Aubrey, why aren’t you home this late?"

"I just got back from a business trip, and I’m starving. I want some of those shredded pork noodles you make," he said.

I replied groggily, "I’m staying at a hotel. The wedding is soon, and it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the ceremony. An old rule, you know."

“Check the fridge and make something for yourself,” I replied coolly.

“If that’s all, I’m hanging up,” Hudson said.

He murmured something else, but I hung up before he could finish. In the past, no matter how late he returned, if he said he was hungry, I would drag myself out of bed to prepare him a hot bowl of noodles. Too bad for him—he wouldn’t be getting that anymore.

The next morning, I picked up my phone and saw another Weibo update from Harper. It turned out Hudson had brought her back to our wedding suite the previous night. Harper had made him a bowl of crayfish noodles, and they shared noodles until their lips met in a kiss.

It was his way of showing me just how little I meant to him.

Hudson hadn’t called or messaged me in the last couple of days. He’d been too busy picking out wedding dresses for Harper and preparing souvenirs for the entire town, as well as writing invitations for her family.

It wasn’t until the night before the wedding that he finally sent me a message: “Wife, rest well tonight. Your husband will pick you up tomorrow.”

I simply replied, “OK.”

The next morning, my mother, accompanied by a medical team, and I boarded a plane to a foreign country. Throughout the journey, my phone buzzed non-stop.

Hudson had probably received the "gift" I sent him by then—and he was livid.

Just before I turned my phone off, a Facebook message popped up: “Aubrey, no matter where you hide, I will find you. Just wait.”

Then, my phone erupted with dozens of text messages from Hudson, each one dripping with impotent rage. A smirk tugged at my lips as I powered down the device. Ignoring him felt like the best response I could muster. I chose to treat these five wasted years as a hard-earned lesson. Moving forward, I would focus on loving myself and caring for my mother.

After more than ten hours of flying, we finally touched down at our destination. Only then did I switch on my phone, and it buzzed incessantly with countless unread messages. My hands tingled from the relentless vibrations. Tossing the phone onto the table, I took a full ten minutes to unpack, deliberately regaining my composure.

I didn’t even bother opening Hudson’s 99+ unread Facebook messages. Instead, I blocked him and deleted our chat history without a second thought. But I found myself replaying the live streams sent by the small influencers, captivated by the unfolding drama.

When the moment finally arrived for the bride to make her grand entrance, I was, of course, nowhere to be found. Hudson stood at the altar, confusion etched on his face, waiting for a bride who would never come. The delivery of a black-and-white cardboard cutout of him, accompanied by an oversized portrait, shattered his illusion, revealing my clever ruse.

The guests erupted in disbelief, their murmurs echoing throughout the venue. Hudson’s parents were livid, their faces flushed with fury. Thankfully, they had a backup plan: Harper, waiting in the wings. In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, Hudson abandoned the traditional wedding sequence and dragged Harper onto the stage.

Though Hudson’s parents were furious, they held their tongues—at least for a while. But halfway through the ceremony, the simmering tension erupted. Someone in the crowd recognized Harper and exposed her true identity. She wasn’t marrying into wealth. She was a woman discarded by a previous wealthy suitor, burdened with debts totaling two or three million. Far from being a mistress, she was merely someone left to fend for herself, using Hudson as her means of escape.

The humiliation was too much for Hudson’s parents. In a fit of rage, they began hurling plates and dishes at Harper, their faces contorted with fury. Still oblivious, Hudson threw himself in front of her, shielding her with his body. In the scuffle, both ended up with bleeding foreheads, a testament to the chaos unfolding around them.

Harper’s family, witnessing their daughter attacked at her own wedding, retaliated by flinging anything they could grab back at Hudson’s parents. Chaos erupted as both sides descended into a full-blown brawl. The venue transformed into a war zone, with plates and glasses shattering and guests screaming in panic.

As I watched the mayhem unfold through the live streams, I couldn’t help but grin. Hudson had believed he could have it all—a perfect bride and a flawless wedding. Instead, he had unwittingly dug his own grave.

I scrolled through the thank-you messages from the influencers, feeling a sense of satisfaction washed over me.

“Miss, you’re incredible! I only had 20,000 followers before, and now I’ve skyrocketed to 150,000!”

“If you have any more juicy drama, please reach out. You’re my lucky charm!”

“You’re a goddess! This is my new traffic goldmine.”

After settling my mother in and preparing for bed, my phone rang again. It was Hudson. I braced myself for the tirade I expected but was taken aback by the grievance and helplessness in his voice.

“Aubrey, why are you being so cruel to me?”