Chloe's cheeks flushed as she slipped shyly into the fitting room.

Mickey stood still for a while, then pulled out his phone and dialed William.

"Find out where Wendy is," he said flatly. "The wedding's tomorrow. Is she still planning to try on the dress or not?"

William's voice came through, "Mr. O'Brien… Wendy is dead. She won't be attending the wedding."

Mickey's eyes turned cold. "What the... You're still playing along with her act? Tell Wendy—if she wants to throw a tantrum, fine, but there's a limit. I didn't even blame her for leaving Chloe in the mountains. But she shouldn't push it too far. If she keeps this up, she can forget about the wedding."

A voice suddenly cut through the line—hoarse, shaking with fury. "Mickey! Do you even have a heart? Wendy is dead. She's really dead!"

My breath caught.

It was my mother's voice.

She had come back from the countryside?

Mickey froze. His expression twisted.

"Miranda… I know you favor Wendy, but this—this is too much. You're really going to lie to me for her? Do you even realize what she did? She almost got Chloe killed. Chloe's your daughter too. But you're so damn biased."

He was defending Chloe now, because he loved her. Of course, he would take her side in everything.

My mother closed her eyes. Whatever words she'd prepared melted away.

Her chest ached, tight with grief and helplessness. She could hardly breathe. She resented the injustice. She resented it on behalf of her adopted daughter, me.

Her voice came out low and fierce, each word weighed down by sorrow. "Mickey, listen to me. Wendy is really gone. Whether you believe it or not is your choice. Go ahead with your wedding tomorrow. Marry Chloe."

Mickey's brows knotted tightly, but the line had already gone dead.

He stared at Chloe standing nearby, and the chaos in his chest began to settle.

How could Wendy possibly be dead?

If Chloe could escape from the cabin, then Wendy—the one behind it all—surely could too.

He'd overthought it. Almost let himself get fooled.

Wendy. She really was something. To even rope in William for this elaborate performance.

Well then. Tomorrow's wedding would be the perfect time to teach her a lesson.

…

On the day of the ceremony, Mickey deliberately arrived late.

He wanted to see it—Wendy, flustered and panicked, the lies crumbling. She needed to understand—some lies couldn't be taken back.

But when he stepped into the hall, all he saw were guests. No bride.

His tailored black suit fit him like a second skin, but beneath it, his heart lurched.

Whispers floated around the venue as he turned to look at the empty stage.

A flicker of unease crept in.

He called his mother. No answer.

Call after call. Finally, she picked up.

Before he could say anything, her voice rasped across the line. "Mickey. You still have the nerve to call me? You killed Wendy—do you even realize that?"

The breath left him. His whole body sagged with frustration.

"Mom… why are you joining in on this, too? Today's supposed to be Wendy and my wedding. Why is everyone late?"

"Wedding?" Mickey's mother let out a bitter laugh. She hadn't slept all night. Now, she was nearly faint with anger.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and said, "We're all at Miranda's house. Wendy is here, too. Come over."

Mickey's face darkened. He gave a few brief apologies to the guests, then left with Chloe.

I followed quietly behind, watching the tension in his furrowed brow. I knew what he was thinking. He blamed me.

The car flew down the road. Chloe let out a frightened cry, but Mickey didn't even flinch.

When they arrived at my parents' home, he got out and strode in without hesitation, face cold and sharp.

"Wendy, how long do you plan to keep this up?"

But the moment the words left his mouth, his expression froze.

His voice, raised and impatient, had drawn the attention of everyone in the foyer.