Ten years into my service in a top-secret unit, someone in my high school group chat suddenly began tagging me nonstop.

“Elena Harper, what’s that supposed to mean? Bianca’s wedding isn’t important enough for you? You’re not even coming?”

I scrolled through the messages and saw the news: Bianca Rowe, the most beautiful girl in our class, was getting married today.

Almost everyone else from our class was already there.

“Sorry, my company doesn’t grant leave.”

I answered seriously, only to be bombarded with ridicule.

“What kind of garbage company doesn’t even allow vacations?”

“No need to guess—it must be some shady little outfit. Embarrassed to show up, right?”

Bianca tagged me directly: “Remember when I bet I’d surpass you one day?”

I replied truthfully: “I don’t remember.”

That instantly fueled more chatter:

“Bianca married the richest man in Brighton City. She’s now the richest man’s wife!”

“What’s wrong? Too poor to handle the comparison, so you’re pretending not to recall?”

“Can’t even afford a wedding gift? Maybe we should start a fundraiser for you.”

While the insults piled up, Bianca tagged me again, pretending to smooth things over:

“I really hope you can come witness my happiest moment!”

“Since we’re classmates, I’ll even arrange a babysitting job for you.”

She then posted a wedding photo of herself with her groom.

When I saw his face, I froze. Wasn’t that my husband—Adrian Holt, the man who begged me to marry him three years ago?

“Alright,” I typed calmly. “I’ll definitely come to witness your happy moment.”

——

The moment I hit send, I received a private message from Adrian Holt:

“Honey, don’t work too hard. Remember to come home to me after you leave.”

“I miss you.”

Because of my work, I seldom interacted with outsiders. Even after we married, I rarely saw him. Yet he often messaged me, full of longing. I always believed he loved me deeply.

Now, that belief seemed laughable.

I asked my superior for leave and, using the special car he approved, drove to Bianca’s hometown—the wedding venue she had posted.

From afar, I saw a massive red banner draped across her family’s gate:

“Warmly welcome, Mr. Adrian Holt, President of Summit Crown Corporation, to pick up the bride!”

Beneath it, Bianca, dressed in a snow-white couture gown, stood glowing with anticipation. Around her clustered our former classmates.

“Bianca, you really hid this well! None of us knew your husband was the richest man until now.”

“Exactly! I heard Mr. Holt isn’t just wealthy but also powerful. No one dares cross him. You’re amazing to have married such a man.”

“Bianca, you’ll soon be the richest man’s wife. Don’t forget us classmates!”

Even our old homeroom teacher flattered her:

“Bianca, I knew from the start you had a bright future.”

“That’s why even though your grades weren’t stellar, I never criticized you. You were clearly destined for greatness. You don’t need grades when you’re born for success.”

Bianca basked in their praise, lips curled, eyes brimming with pride.

But the truth was different. Adrian’s abilities alone would never have made him the richest man. Without his marriage alliance with me—one that kept his rivals wary—he would have been devoured long ago.

Unexpectedly, this turned into Bianca’s chance to boast and soak up praise.

The classmates who had just been fawning over her instantly frowned when they noticed me, their faces twisted with disdain. One of her hangers-on, spotting the car behind me, sneered loudly:

“Elena, after ten years of work, you’re driving this domestic piece of junk?”

The others erupted in laughter:

“Hilarious! I’d rather walk than drive such a trashy car!”

“But look at all those zeros on her license plate. That’s a rare plate money can’t even buy!”

“Obviously fake. How could a clunker like hers have a plate like that?”

“No wonder she dared to show up. She’s flaunting a fake plate! Absolutely ridiculous!”

I stayed composed and replied evenly: “The license plate is real. And this car isn’t junk—it’s a Red Flag state gift.”

The moment I spoke, Bianca strode over and slapped me hard across the face.

“Of course, the plate is real, because it’s my husband’s car!” she snapped.

“I’ve long suspected he had a mistress, but I never thought it’d be you, you shameless whore!”

“How dare you drive my husband’s car to my wedding to provoke me, his rightful wife?”

Her outburst left everyone stunned.

“Bianca, is this really your husband’s car?” someone asked.

“How could it be fake?” she replied proudly.

“My husband used to pick me up in it. I even thought the plate looked so special, I took pictures!”

She pulled out her phone and displayed several photos—her and Adrian cuddling in the car, cheek to cheek, and others embracing on the hood. The pictures captured every detail of the interior, the plate clear as day.

It looked identical to my car.

Seeing this, everyone sighed in unison. “It really is Bianca’s husband’s car! No wonder the license plate looks so impressive!”

“So Elena must be the mistress!”

Bianca’s brows arched with fury as she snarled, “No wonder you’ve stayed silent on social media all these years. Turns out you were busy being the other woman.”

The classmates turned on me viciously.

“I can’t believe Elena, who always looked so proper, is nothing but a mistress.”

“That’s right. Back in high school, I thought she was so aloof and brilliant. I even wrote her love letters. Now I feel sick thinking about it!”

“Some people act pure and untouchable, but secretly they’re eager and cheap. The moment they see money, they throw themselves at it!”

“And to drive the sponsor’s car right in front of the wife? She’s obviously jealous that Bianca married rich and came here to sabotage the wedding!”

Even the old homeroom teacher joined in, glaring with disgust.

“Elena, from this day on, never say you were my student. I never taught someone so morally rotten!”

Their scorn drew a crowd. Onlookers pointed, whispered, and hurled criticism.

Some raised their phones, snapping photos and recording videos, while others spat in my direction.

I slipped off my coat and tossed it into a trash can. Then I turned to Bianca and said coldly:

“You strike me in public without even knowing the truth. You really are lawless.”

Bianca smirked arrogantly.

“So what if I hit you? So what if I’m lawless?”

"I'm the wife of the richest man now. In Brighton City, I can do whatever I want!"

She glanced at the car behind me and spat venomously:

"The thought of a slut like you driving my husband’s car makes me sick! I’d rather destroy filth than let you use it!"

She grabbed a brick from the roadside and began smashing it at my car.

Windows, lights, hood—none were spared.

“Bianca is the future wife of the richest man. We can’t let her be bullied by a cheap mistress like Elena!” someone shouted.

At once, classmates picked up anything they could and joined in, striking my car wildly. But my car was bulletproof. After all their effort, it bore only scratches, no real damage.

This only enraged them further.

“What kind of car is this? Why won’t it break?”

I looked at them coldly and warned:

“Stop. This isn’t an ordinary car. Damaging it won’t just mean compensation.”

My words only stoked Bianca’s fury.

“This is my husband’s car. I can smash it if I like! What’s the problem?”

The next second, she and the others yanked open the doors, climbed inside, and began slashing at the seats and furnishings.

The once-pristine interior was instantly shredded.

Staring at madness, I silently pulled out my phone and called my boss.

“Boss, the company car has been wrecked.”

Before the line connected, one of Bianca’s lackeys snatched the phone and slammed it to the ground.

“Still want to complain? You’re just a mistress who seduces men—how dare you?”

“Planning to call your sponsors to crush us? Hahaha!”

“You’re hopelessly pretentious. We’re all classmates—we know exactly what you are.”

“Yeah, reincarnated trash. So good at acting superior!”

The crowd erupted into laughter, mocking me without pause.

I looked at the shattered phone on the ground and said icily:

“Laugh while you still can.”

Bianca instantly lunged forward, clutching my collar.

“You bitch, you dare threaten us?”

As she spat those words, her gaze fell on the jade necklace at my collar. Her eyes gleamed, and she yanked it off in one swift motion.

“This necklace doesn’t look cheap. My husband must’ve bought it for you, didn’t he?”

My face drained of color. “Give it back!”

Sensing my sudden panic, Bianca sneered.

“So nervous? Then it must be priceless!”

Frantic, I said quickly, “It’s not worth much, but it’s very important to me. Return it!”

I reached to grab it back.

That jade necklace is the only keepsake my parents left me.

They were martyrs—my heroes and role models.

The last time I saw them was the day before my eighteenth birthday.

They promised to return and celebrate after their mission.

I waited at home.

But what returned were two urns of ashes and this necklace.

My boss said they had entrusted it to him before they died, asking him to give it to me.

My parents dedicated their lives to the country. This necklace was their final birthday gift.

It is my most treasured weakness.

And I will never allow anyone to defile it.