Sophia's Revenge

Daniel Rothman's plane had already taken off. I locked myself in the restroom and let a single tear fall.

My hot-tempered father was shouting curses outside, while Daniel's father, John Rothman, furiously made call after call, instructing them to bring Daniel back the moment he landed.

My phone buzzed with two messages.

[Wait for me, Ceres. I'll make this right when I get back.]

The next message was a picture of Daniel walking toward the boarding gate with his head down as he talked on the phone.

The suit he wore was the wedding attire I had painstakingly discussed with the designer countless times. The tie I had carefully chosen hung loosely around his neck.

His expression was gentle, and his eyes were filled with affection as if he was softly coaxing the person on the other end of the call.

Anyone who saw it would sigh, thinking that the woman he was comforting must be so lucky.

I enlarged the photo and stared at it for a long time.

I did not want to let go.

I had given him a choice, and he had made his decision.

A move made could not be undone.

I fixed my makeup, lifted the long train of my wedding dress, and opened the door of the restroom. With a smile, I faced the elders waiting outside, each with a different expression.

"The wedding will proceed as planned."

Daniel returned three days later.

In those seventy-two hours, I had become the hottest topic in the country.

Every major newspaper, tabloid, and online media outlet wrote about me, Sophia Foster, the eldest daughter of the Fosters, who had been abandoned on her wedding day but still insisted on completing the entire ceremony alone.

Some criticized the cruelty of high society. Some sympathized with me. Of course, some simply enjoyed the spectacle.

No matter what, for the first time, my name appeared ahead of Daniel's in the headlines.

John hosted a banquet to make amends with the Fosters.

Between toasts and small talk, John raised his glass toward me.

"This is for you, Ceres. Thank you for protecting both families' dignity in such a crisis. The Rothmans wronged you, but don't worry. I'll make sure you'll be compensated."

I lowered my gaze and raised my glass. I was just about to speak when the doors of the banquet hall swung open.

Daniel strode in, looking weary from his travels.

My father, Tim Foster, looked furious. He set his half-raised glass down with a heavy thud.

The grand banquet hall fell silent.

John glanced at my father, gritted his teeth, and shouted at Daniel.

"Get on your knees!"

Daniel walked forward. He stopped in front of my father and bent slightly.

"Dad, I was wrong."

My father let out a snort but said nothing.

Daniel straightened and placed a document on the table. "I'll make up for it. During my trip to the Amelica, I signed the contract with the BL Group on behalf of the Fosters as your son-in-law."

The Fosters had been negotiating with the BL Group for six months. Every detail had been finalized, but the BL Group still refused to seal the deal.

Despite our efforts, we could not find a breakthrough.

My father had worried about the deal so much.

Undeniably, Daniel knew how to strike where it mattered most.

The contract was an enormous achievement for the Fosters.

My father froze.

He stared at Daniel and felt conflicted. His face darkened, and he could not bring himself to smile.