Chapter 3

The groom pushed open the door, got out, raised his hand, and swung it toward my left cheek!

The men from the village, holding farming tools, moved closer and stood beside me, pointing at the groom threateningly.

"Anthony, what's going on? Is he refusing to let us through?"

"Blocking the road and bullying people—let's smash his wedding cars."

Sharp farming tools, gleaming coldly, made the groom's whole body stiffen. His hand froze mid-air, never daring to actually slap me.

The crowd parted to make way.

Berman, the village chief and a good friend of my late mother-in-law, walked toward me step by step, leaning on his cane.

I explained what had happened. Berman was so angry he slammed his cane on the ground.

"What is Christiana trying to do?!"

"Her mother scrimped and saved when she was young to send her to school. She never came to show filial piety even once before her mother died."

"How could she choose to get married on the very day her own mother is being buried? Does she think today is something to celebrate?"

Berman pointed at the groom and said.

"Call Christiana right now. Tell her to come here and give us an explanation!"

The groom quietly stepped back, trying to get in the car and slip away. The village men stepped forward and surrounded him.

The groom looked around, his face ugly, and said to me, "Anthony, I'm extremely important to Christiana. If you ruin my wedding now, can you handle Christiana's wrath?"

I said, "Make the call."

The groom roared unwillingly, "Fine! I'll call!"

The groom stood there, took out his phone, and dialed.

I watched the familiar string of numbers flashing on his phone screen, my heart clogged with distress.

Seven years together—I'd never imagined the bright, gentle, beautiful girl in my memory could be cheating with another man behind my back!

The call to Christiana that I could never get through connected on another man's phone.

The groom turned on speakerphone. A sweet, soft voice came through.

"Paul, why aren't you here yet? Why are you calling?"

The groom stood there, looked up at me, and sneered.

"Christiana, I don't think I can pick you up."

"Your real fiancé found out about you helping me fulfill my wish. He staged a fake funeral and blocked our wedding convoy!"

Silence fell on the other end of the line.

After a long pause, a cold voice came through.

"Put him on the phone."

The groom extended his hand, holding the phone in front of me, even raising his eyebrows provocatively.

I stood there and took the phone. Christiana's icy voice came through.

"Anthony?"

"It's me."

"Clear the road. I'll explain everything later."

I laughed bitterly, my chest tight with discomfort. I asked back, "You're that eager to marry someone else?"

"Christiana, tell me. Where are you exactly? How can you say such shameless things to me!"

Christiana on the phone fell silent. After a while, she spoke again.

"Feel better after yelling at me? If you do, move aside."

The anger in my chest exploded like a volcano!

Seven years of love, and I meant this little to Christiana?

To fulfill some wild man's dream, she dismissed me with one sentence?

I said furiously, "Christiana, your mother has passed away. Did you just ignore all the messages I sent you these past few days?"

Christiana's voice remained calm on the phone. "Anthony, I can understand your anger after learning about my substitute marriage."

"But you need to understand me too. I love you in my heart. I have my reasons for doing this."

"You faked the news about my mother being seriously ill before. I didn't hold it against you. Be generous today. Clear the road and let Paul pick me up."

My mother-in-law's health had actually always been precarious. She just didn't want Christiana to worry.

She only told her daughter she was slightly unwell, nothing serious.

But I never expected Christiana wouldn't care at all about her own mother's safety.

She clearly saw all the messages I sent and knew her mother wasn't well, yet she kept hiding to avoid coming out—all for the man before me!

Would she only feel regret if she saw her mother's body with her own eyes?

I stood there, took out my phone, aimed it at the portrait of my mother-in-law in front of the casket behind me, took a photo, and sent it over.

"Look carefully whose funeral this is. Did I lie to you or not!"