3

Belvia City — Inside the Grand Ballroom of the Five-Star Hotel

Thousands of guests filled the banquet hall, all waiting for the bride-to-be to make her grand entrance.

In a dim corner sat the bride’s parents, looking out of place among the glittering crowd — two small-town nobodies surrounded by the sneers of high society.

“Miss, without an invitation, you can’t go in!”

Two security guards blocked the entrance, arms crossed.

The young woman in front of them lifted her head, her face covered in dirt and bruises, her sharp gaze cutting like a blade.

“Tell me,” she said coldly, “does the bride… also need an invitation?”

The guards instinctively stepped back, their confidence faltering under her glare.

“N–No, ma’am… of course not…”

“Harper?!”

That voice. She would recognize it even in death.

In an instant, her heart clenched, like a storm had erupted inside her chest. Pain surged so violently she had to take a deep breath just to keep her balance.

Slowly, she turned around. Her eyes, dark and venomous, locked onto Phoebe.

Phoebe and the circle of wealthy socialites around her froze. The killing intent in Harper’s gaze made them all shrink back, afraid to take a single step closer.

Harper straightened her back, walked past them without hesitation, and climbed onto the stage. Calmly, she picked up the microphone and declared, her voice ringing through the hall:

“Sorry to keep everyone waiting.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The timid granddaughter from the Reeves family’s third branch… actually dared to speak in public?

Phoebe frowned tightly. ‘What’s wrong with this useless thing today? Did those men not break her properly?’

She had poured her heart into tonight’s engagement banquet — every detail, every guest, every whisper of admiration had been hers alone. Just moments ago, she’d been the perfect image of grace and beauty — the dazzling jewel of the Reeves family.

And now, all eyes were on the dirty, disheveled woman standing on her stage.

‘Damn it, Harper!’

Composing herself, Phoebe quickly stepped forward, her expression softening into false concern. “Harper, what happened to your dress? Don’t tell me someone… took advantage of you?”

Her words hit like a dart — deliberate, poisonous, and instantly effective.

The guests began murmuring as their eyes fell on Harper’s torn, blood-stained gown. The buttons were misaligned, the fabric shredded. She did look like someone who had been assaulted.

Seeing the effect, Phoebe pressed on, feigning sisterly compassion. “Harper, don’t be scared. If something really happened, I’ll go with you to the hospital for an exam.”

Her tone was gentle, but her eyes gleamed with triumph.

Harper wasn’t fooled. Her gaze turned icy, slicing through the pretense.

“Oh? You seem very eager for me to have been assaulted.”

Phoebe’s face paled, and she quickly put on a mask of wounded innocence. “I’m only worried about you. I know how much you love Theo Callahan. If it weren’t for an accident, you wouldn’t have crashed his engagement party, right?”

That name — Theo Callahan.

The moment it left Phoebe’s mouth, Harper’s expression twisted with cold contempt.

She let out a sharp laugh. “Your precious golden boy? Please. To me, he’s not even worth the dirt on my shoe.”

For a brief second, Phoebe’s face contorted with rage before she quickly regained her composure, sighing as if speaking from the heart. “Harper, this is your engagement banquet. I get it — you’re embarrassed in front of everyone, but you can’t just throw blame around. Do you really want to ruin the Reeves family’s reputation?”

The Reeves family’s reputation.

In her previous life, Phoebe had used those words to crush her over and over again. And now she dared to pull the same trick?

As murmurs started to turn against her, Phoebe seized the chance to rally the crowd again. “Look around, Harper. All these powerful people came here for you. No matter what happened, they’ll stand by your side!”

Those so-called “powerful people” were the elite of Belvia — businessmen, officials, and aristocrats.

The irony was, this was the engagement party of the Young Master of the Gallagher family… and the groom himself hadn’t even shown up. Yet the city’s upper class still attended out of respect.

From their indifferent expressions, Harper realized one brutal truth — if she didn’t clear her name right now, she would end up exactly like in her past life: branded a “fallen woman,” drowned in the ridicule and gossip of the entire city.

Her fists clenched. She raised her head and spoke into the microphone, her voice firm and loud enough to shake the hall.

“No need to worry, everyone. The one who did this to me… was Chase Gallagher!”

The entire room erupted into chaos.

No one expected Harper to drag the Young Master of the Gallagher family into this mess.

At once, the only representative from the Gallagher family — Butler Lane — shot to his feet. His face was dark, his tone deep and commanding.

“Miss Reeves,” he said, “everyone here can see that our Young Master hasn’t even shown up today. How can you claim this has anything to do with him?”

Butler Lane wasn’t just anyone. Back in Belvia, he was a man people feared and respected — when he spoke, it carried weight.

The crowd collectively held its breath, waiting to see how Harper would talk her way out of this.

But Harper didn’t flinch. She gave him a cold, sweeping glance and shot back, “Oh? Since when do newlyweds have to report every argument to the family butler?”

That one line — impossible to disprove — instantly cornered him.

Before Butler Lane could respond, a woman in an elegant gown rushed toward the stage to smooth things over.

Harper narrowed her eyes. Of course — it was her aunt, Amara, Phoebe’s adoptive mother.

Perfect. What a reunion.

Amara’s thin brows arched as she stepped forward with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh, Butler Lane, please don’t take it to heart,” she said sweetly. “The girl’s just careless with her words. She must’ve been fooling around somewhere and got herself hurt — it definitely has nothing to do with Young Master Gallagher. Absolutely not.”

At first glance, her tone sounded apologetic, but the meaning underneath was vicious. Fooling around somewhere?

Throwing dirt came naturally to this mother–daughter duo.

Harper tilted her head, eyes gleaming dangerously. “So what you’re saying, Auntie… is that when the Young Master was dating me, he was just fooling around with me?”

Amara froze. The sudden reversal hit her so hard her fake smile faltered.

It only took her a second to recover — she quickly softened her tone, pretending to be the understanding elder.

“Oh, child, I didn’t mean that. It’s a good thing that you two are so in love. I only meant that you should be careful with your words. After all, it’s rare for someone of his status not to mind your background.”

That word — background — landed like a slap.

In an instant, Harper remembered all those years when this woman used to sneer at her — calling her a pathetic orphan, a burden no one wanted.

The seal on her old hatred cracked open.

Her lips twisted into a feral smile. “You’re right, Auntie. My background isn’t nearly as glamorous as Phoebe’s. I didn’t get to choose my parents. But unlike her, I didn’t latch onto yours the moment mine died just so I could have a mother again.”

She leaned forward slightly, voice dripping with mockery. “You should be proud though — even without giving birth, you still managed to pass down all your fine virtues to your precious adopted daughter.”

The entire ballroom went silent.

Phoebe is adopted?

Amara can’t have children?!

***