"You just have to humiliate our family, don't you?"
The Gilbert relatives grabbed their wine glasses and hurled them at me, shouting for me to get lost.
"You're a curse on this family, and you're not even dead yet!"
"Someone break her legs."
"Rip those mourning rags off her."
Nolan didn't spare me another glance. He stood by as the security guards surrounded me, raining down kicks and punches.
That was when Ursula arrived with a man in an expensive suit, stepping in to stop the beating.
"Don't hit her. She's still technically a Gilbert wife."
The moment the words left her mouth, everyone burst out laughing.
Nolan's expression only softened when he saw Ursula.
"Mom," he said, turning to Zara with unmistakable pride, "her name is Ursula Simmons. She may be my assistant, but she's the princess of Simmons Corp."
Zara understood instantly. She smiled and greeted Ursula and Patrick Simmons, then wasted no time pushing Nolan toward Ursula's side.
"Nolan, a woman like Ursula is the one who truly deserves you. I'll have you divorced from that worthless girl as soon as possible."
Nolan shot her a look. "Mom, what are you saying?"
Patrick was a shrewd man and an even better actor.
"Mrs. Delgado, please don't say such things. Your son's wife is still right here!" He pointed at me, then walked over, his face a mask of concern. "Sweetheart, get up. You must have had your reasons for acting the way you did, right?"
He extended his hand as if to help me, but instead his fingers clamped down on my wrist. Before I could react, he let out a shriek.
"What the—you freak!"
He shoved me hard to the ground. "This woman, she—she groped me!"
Zara erupted in fury. "Son! Do you see now? She's nothing but trash, through and through."
"This time, nobody stops me. I'm not just breaking her legs. I'm crushing her hands too."
Voices rose in agreement from every corner of the room.
I scrambled to my feet, trying to explain, but no one listened.
Nolan stared at me with disgust. "You're revolting."
Zara barked her orders. "What are you all standing around for? Destroy her. Now."
The words had barely left her mouth before I was surrounded again.
But then—dozens of luxury cars came roaring in, tires screaming against pavement, plowing straight through the venue entrance.
The door of a stretched Rolls-Royce swung open. A man stepped out, radiating wealth and authority, his expression as cold as carved stone.
"You want to destroy Tristan Henson's daughter?" His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "You're not nearly important enough."
