Chapter 3

I smiled dryly in response. "How kind of you to tell me not to worry, you backstabber."

The manager's face paled at my words. But shortly after, he snorted and signaled two staff members to toss my wedding photo out.

I couldn't catch it in time, so it landed face down on the floor.

As I bent to pick it up, Beatrice stomped on the photo, right where my face was. I looked up and met her scornful gaze.

"Back when you had it better than me, you looked down on me at every chance you got. Now, it's finally my turn to stick it in your face! I'm finally rich—as I should be!"

I clenched my jaw. "I looked down on you? When did that ever happen?"

"Playing dumb, huh? What were you thinking when you gave me that diamond ring in front of all my friends, huh?" she questioned, pressing her foot harder on the photo and twisting it around. "Just admit it—you were trying to show off!"

I burst into laughter. So, that was when Beatrice started despising me. It was no wonder she had reduced contact with me ever since she got married.

As it turned out, I was foolish enough to keep showing up for her.

In truth, I didn't buy her the diamond ring back then because I wanted to show off. I did it because she told me she loved it. Alas, due to her limited budget, she couldn't afford one.

Little did she know, I couldn't either at the time. I had to work overtime for a month at the company and even dipped into my savings to even afford it.

I had been an orphan since I was little, growing up eating at other people's tables. From the moment I met Beatrice, I treated her like family.

Now, looking back, I realized it had all been one-sided. Thankfully, I realized it in time.

The wedding photo was ruined anyway, and I no longer wanted it. Slowly, I straightened up. "Don't regret this, Bea."

It had cost me 50 thousand dollars to book this venue hall. Now, she would have to pay five times that—a grand sum of 250 thousand dollars.

Beatrice scoffed. "Me, regret? You're so short-sighted, Lucy. Wait until you see how much money I have. I'm sure that by then, you'll be begging to make up with me on your knees."

No sooner had she finished speaking than my husband, Benedict, came out of the makeup room. We were supposed to greet our guests together before the wedding, but Beatrice had accidentally spilled a drink on him earlier.

Thus, he had been stuck changing clothes with the help of the makeup artist all this time and had no idea about the unfolding chaos.

"What's… going on? Beatrice? What on earth are you doing?"

He saw our discarded wedding photo and reached for it, but two security guards stopped him.

"What do you think you're doing, Bea?" I seethed, shaking with anger, only to be pinned down by the bodyguards too.

"This is my venue now, and I don't welcome you two. In fact, you don't even deserve to breathe the same air as us. Hence, the bodyguards."

She waved impatiently, and the guards roughly shoved Benedict and me toward the door. She strutted out, her belly slightly protruding, holding a piece of paper in her hand.

Then, she had the manager stick it to the glass door at eye level.

The notice read, "No scum allowed!"