Swapping the Targeted Diamond Ring
They tore my clothes, hit me, and slapped me until my vision swam.
I begged them to stop. I said there had to be a mistake.
The bride planted her stiletto heel down onto the back of my hand, grinding it cruelly.
She leaned in, her voice low and mocking. "There's no mistake. This ring is one of a kind. It's custom-made. If you have it, then you're the mistress."
My hand split open under her heel. Blood smeared the diamond.
Then, she took out a small knife and carved "mistress" across my face. She dragged me by the hair out of the mall and into the street.