Public humiliation.
Perfect.
I accepted immediately.
The ceremony was held at a luxurious coastal resort overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Every detail radiated opulence—floral arrangements cascading like living sculptures, chandeliers glowing with warm golden light across polished marble floors.
Guests arrived in designer gowns, tailored suits, and carefully curated confidence—the unmistakable signature of privilege.
The moment I approached the entrance, whispers began.
“Is that Victor’s ex-wife?” someone murmured, not quite quietly enough. “Poor thing… she probably came just to experience a kind of luxury she could never provide.”
Victor stood near the altar, watching me.
He wasn’t uncomfortable.
He was pleased.
He expected me to look small. Broken. Defeated.
But then—
The atmosphere shattered.
A low, powerful roar echoed through the venue as a gleaming silver Bentley Mulsanne rolled forward, followed by two black SUVs. Discreet security personnel stepped out, their presence instantly shifting the energy in the room.
Conversations stopped.
Music faded.
All attention turned.
The driver stepped forward.
The door opened.
And I stepped out.
