I hadn’t expected this to become Sophie Lane’s newest trophy for showing off and soaking in praise.
The moment they saw me arrive, the same classmates who had just been fawning over her instantly frowned, their faces twisting with disdain.
One of Sophie’s little cronies spotted the car behind me and immediately sneered:
"Claire Bennett, ten years on the job and this is all you drive—a piece of domestic junk?"
The others burst into loud laughter.
"Hilarious! If I had to drive a trash can like that, I’d rather die!"
"But wait—why does her plate have so many zeroes? You can’t buy that kind of special number at any price!"
"Obviously a fake plate. Like she could ever have a license plate like that on such a beat-up car!"
"No wonder she dared to show up—she slapped a fake plate on it so she could pretend she’s somebody! This is killing me!"
Unmoved by their jeers, I said evenly:
"The plate is real."
"And this isn’t a junk car—it’s a government-issued armored Cadillac."
I had barely finished speaking when Sophie suddenly stepped right up to me and slapped me hard across the face.
"Of course the plate is real—because this is my husband’s car!"
"I’ve long suspected he had some mistress stashed away, and I never imagined it’d be you, you shameless bitch!"
"You actually had the nerve to drive my husband’s car to my wedding to taunt me, the rightful wife?"
Her words made the onlookers’ eyes go wide.
"Sophie, that’s your husband’s car? Seriously?"
She lifted her chin proudly. "Would I lie? He’s picked me up in this very car before. I even took photos of the plate because it stood out so much."
She whipped out her phone and pulled up several pictures—some of her and Adrian Hughes cuddled inside the car, others leaning together on the hood. The plate and the interior details were clear as day.
It was the exact same car.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"So it really is Sophie’s husband’s car—no wonder it’s got such a crazy plate!"
"Looks like Claire’s definitely the other woman."
Sophie’s brows drew tight with rage, her voice sharp:
"No wonder you’ve never posted on social media all these years—you’ve been busy being a mistress."
Others chimed in, eyes full of contempt:
"Wow, I never would’ve guessed—Claire always looked so put-together, but she’s out here doing this."
"Seriously, I used to think she was the aloof top student in high school. I even wrote her a love letter. Now I just feel sick."
"Some people act all cold and pure, but underneath they’re as wild as they come—one glimpse of a rich man and their legs practically open on their own."
"And to drive the sugar daddy’s car here to provoke his wife? She just can’t stand Sophie marrying well and came to ruin the wedding."
Even our old homeroom teacher gave me a look of disgust.
"Claire Bennett, don’t you ever tell anyone you were my student. I never taught someone so morally bankrupt."
Their scolding drew more bystanders, many pointing and whispering. Some even lifted their phones to record me, one person spitting in my direction.
I slipped off my jacket and tossed it into a trash bin, then turned to face Sophie directly.
"You hit me in public without even knowing the facts—you really think you’re above the law?"
She jutted her chin in arrogance.
"So what if I hit you? What’s wrong with being above the law?"
