Three years ago, when Kevin said he would give me this wedding dress, I was stunned and urged him not to plagiarize. But he didn't listen, even naming the dress 'Moonlight Garden.'
Back then, he wanted nothing more than to declare his love for me to the world. Over time, even I began looking forward to wearing it. But something that came into being dishonestly wasn't meant for me in the end.
As I traced the gown's intricate embroidery, a mixture of bitterness and sorrow filled me. My gaze lingered on the cuffs. "Who altered this dress?" I asked.
Everyone looked at each other and then Wendy stepped forward and said, "It was me. Kevin told me to try it on, just in case you didn't show up." She smiled, pride and satisfaction evident in her voice. "He even adjusted the waistline for me himself."
Kevin entered just then, pushing me to the ground. My elbow hit the floor and fresh blood began to seep through my bandages.
He stood over me, his eyes cold and distant while he said, "Amy, are you really going to keep nitpicking and causing trouble for me? If you don't change, I'll get another model!"
Kevin loved to threaten me, knowing I'd usually back down. But this time, he didn't know, I no longer cared.
Enduring the pain, I got up and looked at Wendy, who was eagerly anticipating her moment. I let out a small, defiant laugh, "Fine. Go ahead and change the model. Your fake cousin must be dying to wear this dress to marry you." The hall fell silent, everyone inhaled sharply.
"Is Wendy not Kevin's cousin?"
"Is that true?"
"She's not his real cousin?"
Just then, the door swung open again and the head of the exhibit hurried inside and said, "Mr. Beacon, something's wrong. There's a large group of reporters outside …"
"What's going on? The interview isn't until 4 PM." Kevin's composure faltered as he noticed everyone's concerned faces, but he had no choice but to go out and manage the situation.
With the show starting soon, he couldn't risk any slip-ups. The show was scheduled for 6.30 PM, but it was only 3 PM, meaning the press was an hour early.
The exhibit manager wiped the sweat from his brow. "The reporters outside aren't the ones we arranged. They're here … about the plagiarism allegations." The hall buzzed with tension.
Kevin hurried outside to deal with the press and as the crowd grew chaotic, I took the chance to slip out the back.
By the time I reached the airport and settled into the waiting lounge, I checked the news about Kevin. There he was, frantically trying to explain himself in front of the cameras.
His eyes darted around, as if searching for someone. I knew he was looking for me, because only I could clear his name. But he'd never suspect that I was the one who had orchestrated this.
"If you're not guilty of plagiarism, why isn't your wife standing by your side?" One simple question hit right at the heart of the matter.
Kevin's show was canceled and within minutes, the headlines about his downfall dominated national and international news sites.
After the interview ended and the show was abandoned, my phone began to light up with calls from him. I sat in the airport lounge, watching my phone screen flash on and off.
Five minutes before boarding, I finally picked up.
"Where are you?" Unexpectedly, there was no shouting, no anger, just a quiet question.
