Chapter 4Keep The Ring I Choose Me

I didn't reply to Cassidy.

Instead, I went back to work. I smiled for the cameras. I hit my marks.

With only three days left until June 1st, Damian finally remembered that our wedding had zero actual preparations.

He rubbed his exhausted eyes as he walked into the house we shared.

“Why don't we just hire a luxury planning agency to handle it?” he asked. “Have them do an all-inclusive package. If we try to do it ourselves, three days isn't enough.”

I didn't argue. I just let him do it.

So, three days before the wedding, Damian outsourced the entire event to an agency.

He didn't even bother putting together a guest list.

When the wedding planners chased him down on set, he was too busy directing. He waved them off and said he didn't have anyone he particularly wanted to invite.

The planners were baffled. They came to me.

I shook my head. I wasn't inviting anyone either.

Even the most seasoned luxury wedding planners had never seen anything like this. It was as if this wedding was just a corporate errand, a 9-to-5 task to be checked off a list.

The night before the wedding, Damian came home with bloodshot eyes.

He had three pages of script in his hands, covered in red ink, obsessively rewriting a single scene.

I glanced at it. I didn't even have to read the words to know it was August’s scene.

Damian, who was famously indifferent to everything in life, was treating her character with an agonizing, meticulous reverence.

Still clutching his pen, he collapsed onto the bed and passed out.

Right before he went under, he mumbled, “Wake me up tomorrow. We have to get married.”

It was so casual it bordered on the surreal.

The next morning, I woke up on time. I had my makeup done. I was as coldly professional as if I were stepping onto the set of a low-budget indie film to play a bride.

As for Damian, I didn't wake him.

The ceremony was set for noon.

The grand, dreamlike ballroom was practically empty, save for a few confused venue staff looking around for a groom.

Roxy stood at the edge of the stage, her eyes red with unshed tears of fury. I gave her a helpless look, and she turned her head away, grinding her teeth.

The soft, romantic string quartet began to play right on schedule. Wearing a flawless white gown, I walked slowly down the aisle toward an empty altar.

My professional instincts kicked in. I found the cameras. I thought, at the very least, I can get some editorial-quality photos out of this to feed my fans.

I didn't need this marriage, but my career desperately needed this wedding.

Losing the role of August hadn't just cost me an Oscar; it had planted a time bomb of public humiliation that threatened to taint my entire legacy.

I needed this wedding to reclaim my narrative.

The flashbulbs went off in rapid succession.

I calmly directed the photographer: “Pan a little to the left. Leave some negative space on the right so it’s easier to Photoshop the groom in later.”

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom were violently shoved open.

Cassidy Blake, wearing a flowing white sundress, burst in, panting heavily. She shot me a look, then smiled radiantly and shouted toward the empty room:

“Damian!”

“I’m here to stop the wedding!”

The romantic string music echoed awkwardly in the cavernous room.

Cassidy’s face flushed red. She glared at me. “Evie! Where did you hide him?!”

Roxy let out a primal noise of rage and lunged forward to throw her out. But before she could lay a finger on Cassidy, a hand shoved Roxy hard.

It was Damian. He had just woken up and rushed over, his hair disheveled.

He roared at Roxy, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

I stepped down from the altar. I pulled the diamond ring off my finger, grabbed Roxy, and pulled her behind me.

With everything I had, I hurled the ring directly at Damian’s face.

“Get the hell out,” I said, my voice ice-cold.

Behind me, Roxy whispered in my ear, “The boss just landed from New York. He knows what’s going on, and he is livid. He’s on his way right now. Let’s just clear out these losers.”

A jolt of panic hit my chest. I pointed at the doors, telling them to leave.

Damian rubbed his face, his expression twisting into a sneer. “You want me to leave? What, are you going to hire a body double to stand at the altar with you?”

He was mocking me over the hand-model photo.

“Weren't you the one who threatened to leave if I didn't marry you? Are you throwing this tantrum now to blackmail me into giving you the role of August?” he scoffed. “Or are you just going to Photoshop me in? Aren't you exhausted from faking everything?”

Before I could open my mouth, the ballroom doors were kicked open with earth-shattering force.

A man in a bespoke Tom Ford suit stood in the doorway, radiating a terrifying, arrogant energy.

“Evelyn Hamiltion!”

Donovan Pierce’s voice boomed through the hall, dripping with furious disbelief. “I go to Wall Street to ring the Nasdaq bell for two days, and you decide to throw your life away on a wedding?!”

As the most powerful producer in Hollywood and the man who owned my management agency, Donovan was notorious for his ruthless, imperial attitude.

“I poured millions into making you a star. What kind of garbage indie IP is worth you begging on your knees? I put top-tier, Academy-level scripts on your desk for you to pick from, and you’re here playing the tragic martyr?”

He slowly turned his lethal gaze toward Cassidy in her white dress.

“Oh? Are you in the business too?” Donovan smirked, a cruel, mocking curve of his lips. “You here to crash the wedding? Move over, sweetheart. Let me join the party.”