The wedding was supposed to happen right after the New Year. But just as the ceremony began, my fiancée's trusted butler rushed onto the stage and spanked her—right in front of everyone.
"There was a mosquito."
He flashed me a grin, raising his palm to reveal a faint red mark.
"It's below freezing outside. Where exactly would a mosquito come from?"
I narrowed my eyes, anger already coiling in my chest.
But before I could say another word, my fiancée spoke up in his defense. "What do you know? There are cold-resistant mosquitoes now."
"Darren was helping me. You should be thanking him."
Five years of a long-distance relationship—and this was what I'd waited for. Her standing there, letting another man cross every line.
I shook my head with a bitter laugh, then turned to face the entire room of guests. "Everyone, please go home. The wedding is off."
...
Smack!
The sound of Darren Blake's open palm connecting with Amelia Sullivan's backside rang out across the banquet hall, crisp and unmistakable.
Every guest froze.
My expression turned to stone. I fixed Darren with a stare that could have cut through steel.
But Darren Blake just stood there grinning—that same smug, punchable grin he'd worn five years ago, only worse now.
He held up his hand toward me, palm out. There was, in fact, a small red smear on it.
From the look on his face, he actually expected me to say thank you.
"A mosquito. In ten-degree weather."
I narrowed my eyes and started toward him, one slow step at a time. "Funny—I think I see one on your face too. Want me to get it for you?"
I hadn't even raised my hand yet.
Amelia Sullivan stepped in front of Darren, chin lifted, shielding him.
"Mervyn Henson, you're embarrassing yourself! Cold-resistant mosquitoes are a thing now!"
"Darren was kind enough to swat it for me, and you can't even say thank you?"
That tone. Like she was issuing an order.
I stood rooted to the spot, disbelief flooding through me.
Two days ago, Darren had deleted confidential files from the company servers. I'd barely said two words about it before Amelia accused me of being petty.
And now—at our wedding—faced with something this brazen, this absurd—
She was still taking his side.
She really had changed from the woman I'd known five years ago.
"Come on, come on, don't fight because of me."
Darren waved his hands in mock peacemaking—and as he did, something slipped from his pocket and clattered to the floor.
Every eye in the room followed it.
I bent down and picked it up, then held it where everyone could see.
A rubber stamp. Shaped like a mosquito.
"Amelia."
"See that? He did it on purpose."
Dead silence. Every guest turned to Amelia, waiting.
"I'm sorry, Amelia. I was just trying to liven things up—you know, like those wedding pranks people do. I didn't mean anything by it."
Darren hung his head, the picture of wounded innocence, apologizing over and over.
I expected Amelia to tear into him. To tell him to get out.
Instead, she smiled. "It's fine. I know you didn't mean it."
"Just don't do anything that gives Mervyn the wrong idea again."
The moment those words left her mouth, Darren's gaze slid toward me. The corner of his lips curled into a smirk, and his eyes glinted with open provocation.
The whole thing had been calculated. He'd let the stamp fall on purpose—to show everyone exactly where he stood in Amelia's heart.
And me? I was the joke. The entertainment.
"Amelia Sullivan!"
"You call yourself the Iron Lady—and you're just going to let this go?"
My brow furrowed, every word landing harder than the last.
"What else do you want me to do? I already warned him." Amelia rolled her eyes at me. "Darren is my most trusted butler. I need to show him trust and make him feel secure."
She paused.
Then lifted her chin, that old arrogance settling over her features like armor.
"I spent five years abroad building an empire. People call me the Iron Lady wherever I go. The fact that I came back to marry you should be enough."
"Don't push your luck."
"When my father gets here, the ceremony continues as planned."
