Blood-red silk draped across the ceiling of Hai City's most exclusive hotel banquet hall.

Cherry Thorne stood beneath the crystal chandelier, her priceless custom wedding dress cinched so tight she could barely breathe.


Today was her wedding day to Sullivan Sinclair—the man she had loved and waited for over the past decade.

Hai City's elite filled the hall below. Their gazes—some admiring, some scrutinizing, others with barely concealed pity—focused on the perfect couple on stage.

The officiant delivered enthusiastic blessings while Sullivan Sinclair held her hand, his fingertips ice cold. His handsome face betrayed not the slightest hint of joy—only practiced indifference.


He didn't love her. This wedding was merely a transaction that had to be completed, forced through by the dying Sinclair patriarch's final command.

Just as the officiant prepared to guide them through the exchange of rings, the heavy banquet hall doors burst open.


A slender silhouette appeared in the blinding light, instantly drawing every eye in the room.

She was a young woman in a faded floral dress that clashed with the venue's opulence. Her face was pale, one hand clutching her abdomen, her eyes scanning the crowd with a mixture of fear and determination before locking onto Sullivan Sinclair.

The room erupted into chaos.

Sullivan's grip on Cherry's hand tightened with bone-crushing force. The cold detachment on his face vanished, replaced by shock and something Cherry had never seen before—raw panic.

"Sullivan…" The woman's voice trembled like a reed in the wind. "I'm… I'm carrying your child."

BOOM!

Like lightning striking a calm lake, the ballroom exploded into chaos.

Reporters, like sharks scenting blood, frantically snapped photos of what would undoubtedly become tomorrow's headline scandal.

Blood rushed to Cherry's head as her ears began to ring. She stared at Sullivan Sinclair—the man she had worshipped throughout her youth—who now gazed at the woman below with a storm of emotions in his eyes.

"Victoria Skye?" Sullivan's voice carried a barely perceptible tremor. "How did you…"

Victoria Skye approached the platform step by step, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have come… but our child deserves a father…"

Sullivan let go of Cherry's hand.

With the entire world watching, he released his bride's hand and stepped toward another woman.

That single step—like a poisoned dagger—plunged into Cherry's heart, transforming a decade of devotion into a cruel joke.

She had believed that with enough hard work, excellence, and patience, she would eventually melt Sullivan Sinclair's icy exterior.

She had helped him manage the company, appeased his family, and even sat vigil at his father's bedside when the old man fell ill—all to earn just one genuine look of affection.

It had all been for nothing.

His heart had always held a bright moon, but that light had never shone on her.

Humiliation and agony crashed over her, nearly buckling her knees.

But in the next moment, something colder and stronger crystallized in her heart. She couldn't collapse here—couldn't let the Thorne family become the city's laughingstock. She wouldn't let this woman so easily take everything she had fought to maintain, even if it was just an empty shell.

Just as Sullivan reached for Victoria, Cherry made her move.

She gathered the heavy train of her wedding dress and descended from the altar. Her heels struck the marble floor with sharp, cold clicks—each step crushing the fragments of her broken heart.

Her spine was steel, chin slightly raised, face wiped clean of emotion—showing nothing but an almost cruel serenity.

She positioned herself between Victoria and Sullivan.

"So," Cherry spoke, her voice quiet yet reaching every corner of the suddenly silent hall, "you're carrying his child?"

Victoria shrank back half a step, intimidated by the ice in Cherry's eyes. She nodded, appearing even more fragile.

Sullivan frowned deeply, reaching to pull Cherry aside. "Cherry, stop this. Things aren't what you think…"

"What did I think?" Cherry tilted her head, her gaze knife-sharp despite the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Sullivan Sinclair, is this your wedding gift to me? A pregnant woman crashing our ceremony to force my hand?"

Sullivan stood speechless, his expression darkening.

Cherry dismissed him with her eyes, turning back to Victoria with a look of cold appraisal—as if examining damaged goods. She slowly raised her hand.

Everyone expected the proud Thorne heiress to deliver a resounding slap to the woman who had ruined her wedding.

Even Sullivan stepped forward instinctively, ready to intervene.

But Cherry's hand never reached Victoria's face.

Instead, it fell gently over Victoria's hand covering her belly. The gesture might even have been described as tender.

Victoria stared at her with uncertain surprise.

Cherry leaned closer and spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear, each word crystal clear: "Very good."

She paused, watching Victoria's pupils contract in fear, and continued in that emotionless tone: "Since you're carrying the Sinclair heir, by all means, deliver it."

Victoria stood frozen in shock. Even Sullivan stared at Cherry in disbelief.

Cherry straightened slowly, her gaze sweeping across the stunned guests before settling on Sullivan's face. She smiled—a beautiful smile edged with ice.

"From today forward, I, Cherry Thorne, am the rightful mistress of the Sinclair family."

Her voice carried through the microphone to every corner of the hall.

"As for you," she turned to Victoria, regarding her like dirt beneath her designer heels, "and the child in your belly, you will forever be nothing but—"

"Things. That. Should. Never. See. The. Light. Of. Day."

The moment her words landed, she snatched her hand away as if she'd touched something diseased.

She turned away without another glance at either of them. Back straight as steel, she walked out of her own ruined wedding with perfect composure, under the shocked, pitying, and gleeful stares of the crowd.

The train of her wedding dress swept across the polished floor like a trail of blood.

Sullivan watched her departing figure, his outstretched hand frozen in midair. For the first time, a new kind of panic—the fear of losing control—surged through him.

He suddenly realized he had never truly known this woman who had loved him for ten years.

Cherry walked out of the banquet hall, found an empty restroom, and locked the door behind her. Only then, with her back against the cold door, did she allow herself to slide to the floor.

Her forced strength collapsed instantly. She bit down hard on her arm to stifle her sobs as scalding tears soaked into the expensive wedding dress.

The pain was soul-devouring, bone-deep.

But stronger than pain was hatred, resentment, and a burning obsession to take back everything that was hers.

Sullivan Sinclair. Victoria Skye.

What you've taken from me, you'll repay a hundredfold.

She unclenched her left hand. There lay the wedding ring Sullivan should have placed on her finger.

The diamond's edges had cut deep into her palm, blood mingling with the cold metal in a sharp, stinging reminder.

This pain would remind her of today's humiliation.

This pain would mark the beginning of her revenge.