Sherly's heart sank as the faint, persistent whispers began to ripple through the grand banquet hall. What had once been a room filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and polite conversations was now slowly transforming into a breeding ground for speculation. Guests leaned closer to one another, voices lowered but curiosity heightened, their eyes darting toward the empty entrance as though expecting an answer to walk through the doors at any moment.
The groom was missing.
There was only one hour left before the auspicious moment—the carefully chosen time for the exchange of rings, calculated down to the very second for prosperity and harmony. Yet, Harry Ashford was nowhere to be seen.
The Ashford family, known for their prestige and impeccable reputation, was visibly unsettled. Though they tried to maintain their composure, their anxious glances and hurried movements betrayed them. Servants were sent out discreetly, phones were dialed repeatedly, and hushed instructions were exchanged among the family members. Every attempt to reach Harry had failed.
Each unanswered call deepened the tension.
Each passing minute made the whispers louder.
What was supposed to be a celebration of alliance and love was teetering dangerously close to becoming a spectacle—a humiliation disguised in silk and chandeliers.
The Ashfords were trying their best to suppress the murmurs, but rumors, once born, have a life of their own. They spread like wildfire, slipping through the cracks of decorum and igniting curiosity in every corner of the room.
Amid this growing unease, two figures stood apart—Chloe and Mia.
Their expressions were carefully crafted masks of concern, their brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed in what appeared to be worry. But beneath the surface, their hearts danced with a cruel kind of excitement.
They were enjoying this.
Mia leaned slightly toward her mother, her voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with sharp curiosity.
"Mom… is Dad really sure this alliance is meant for that bumpkin Sherly?" she asked, her tone dripping with disdain. "If that's true… then why isn't Harry here?"
Chloe's lips curved into a faint, almost venomous smile. She didn't immediately respond, allowing the tension to stretch just enough to make Mia lean in closer.
"If the Ashfords hadn't specifically mentioned Sherly," Chloe finally said, her voice smooth and calculated, "do you really think I would have let her marry Harry?"
Mia's eyes gleamed, jealousy flickering openly now. "It would be best if Harry doesn't show up at all," she muttered. "You know what would happen then, right? This whole thing would turn into a disaster. Sherly would be completely humiliated."
Her lips curled into a cruel grin.
"She'd lose her reputation. No wealthy family would ever accept her after that. She'd be finished."
There was a pause before Mia added, almost petulantly, "I liked Harry first. He should be mine."
Her tone carried the unmistakable note of a spoiled child—one who had never been denied anything.
Chloe glanced at her daughter, a warning hidden behind her composed expression. "Control yourself," she murmured. "Put on the act of a loving sister for now."
Her voice dropped further, almost conspiratorial.
"Harry will be yours… sooner or later."
That was all Mia needed.
Her face lit up instantly, satisfaction replacing jealousy. Chloe had always ensured that Mia got whatever she desired—no matter the cost, no matter the consequences.
Across the hall, Sherly stood gracefully near the stage, dressed in elegance that seemed almost ethereal under the golden lights. To anyone watching, she appeared calm, poised, and radiant.
But inside, she was unraveling.
She had noticed Chloe and Mia—their whispers, their glances, their barely concealed delight. Sherly wasn't naive. She understood their nature all too well. Their concern was an act, their smiles were weapons, and their presence here was anything but supportive.
Still, she chose to ignore them.
None of that mattered right now.
Only one thing mattered.
Harry.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of her dress as her thoughts spiraled. Where was he? Why wasn't he answering? Had something happened… or worse—had something changed?
Just then, a subtle shift swept through the hall.
A hush.
Heads began to turn.
Someone had entered.
The grand doors at the entrance slowly opened, and the entire banquet seemed to hold its breath. Conversations halted mid-sentence, glasses paused mid-air, and all eyes were drawn toward the figure stepping inside.
Sherly's heart began to pound violently against her chest.
Her breath hitched.
For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to look. Fear and hope tangled within her, tightening like a knot she couldn't undo.
Please… let it be him.
Gathering her courage, she slowly lifted her gaze.
It was Harry.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, he looked every bit the refined and powerful man he had become. His hair was neatly styled, his subtle beard and mustache adding to his mature charm. There was an air of quiet authority around him, a transformation from the boy he once was into a man shaped by time and ambition.
Yet, somewhere beneath that polished exterior, Sherly could still see the faint traces of the boy she had fallen in love with—the innocence, the warmth, the familiarity that had once made her heart flutter.
For years, she had harbored silent admiration for him.
Years of unspoken love.
Years of quiet longing.
And now, as he stood before her, her heart skipped just as it always had.
But before she could fully embrace the relief, something shifted.
A figure moved beside him.
A woman.
Draped in a striking red gown, she stood close to Harry—too close. Her posture was confident, her presence bold, as if she belonged there… as if she belonged with him.
Sherly's breath caught.
Her fingers tightened instinctively around her dress.
At that exact moment, her phone vibrated in her hand.
A message.
Her eyes flickered down, and as she read the words, a cold wave of unease washed over her.
The message confirmed her worst fear.
Harry… wasn't alone.
The possibility she had tried so hard to dismiss now stood before her in undeniable reality.
Then what was she doing here?
Around them, the Ashfords visibly relaxed at Harry's arrival, relief washing over their faces. But that relief was short-lived.
Margaret Ashford's expression hardened the moment she noticed the woman beside him. Her brows knitted together, displeasure evident.
Cherry, Harry's younger sister, leaned toward her mother, whispering with confusion, "Mom… why is Briana here with Harry? And why is she entering like she's the one getting engaged?"
Margaret's lips pressed into a thin line. "I'll deal with her after the engagement," she said firmly. "And Harry too. This is unacceptable."
Her eyes narrowed.
"She's becoming too much of a threat lately. I won't let her create a scene here."
Before anything could escalate, Steve Ashford stepped forward, his expression stern yet controlled. Without sparing Briana a single glance, he approached Harry and guided him toward the stage.
Briana's hands clenched tightly at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The dismissal was clear, deliberate—and humiliating.
But she said nothing.
Not yet.
On the stage, Harry finally stood face to face with Sherly.
For a brief moment, his composure faltered.
His eyes softened, admiration flickering within them as he took in her beauty. She looked flawless—almost unreal.
But just as quickly, he masked it.
The moment passed.
The ceremony proceeded.
The hall regained its liveliness as the couple exchanged rings, applause filling the air. Guests lined up to offer their blessings, presenting gifts and smiles that hid their curiosity.
From a distance, Briana watched.
Her blood boiled.
Every second of that scene felt like a dagger twisting deeper into her chest. The sight of Sherly standing beside Harry—smiling, accepted, celebrated—was unbearable.
She wanted to destroy it.
To tear it apart.
To make Sherly disappear from that stage forever.
But she held herself back.
The Ashfords were not to be offended—not here, not now.
Instead, a dangerous resolve settled within her.
If she couldn't stop the engagement… she would make sure Sherly walked away from it herself.
And when that happened—
Harry would be hers.
Meanwhile, Chloe and Mia observed everything with quiet satisfaction. The presence of another woman beside Harry only strengthened their belief.
Sherly could never truly have him.
Not his heart.
Not his loyalty.
In their eyes, Sherly was already losing—reduced to nothing more than a placeholder, a name attached to an alliance, but never to love.
And that, to them, was the sweetest outcome of all.