Chapter 3The Last Lingerie Set Ends Ten Years

I left the empty ballroom, needing to rush back to the office to deal with the inevitable fallout from her legal actions.

I looked up and froze.

The city's massive outdoor screens, the ones that were supposed to be broadcasting our wedding, were now showing Spencer Reed's face, a look of profound "regret" plastered on it.

Genevieve had handed the live broadcast rights of our wedding over to him.

I dug my fingertips into my palm, the cold metal edges of my car key pressing painfully into my skin. I could almost hear the sound of my blood running cold.

On screen, Spencer's face was appropriately contrite.

He managed a smile that suggested he was bearing the weight of the world's misunderstanding.

"Mr. Pierce, I couldn't get a hold of you, and I was genuinely worried that the misunderstanding was deepening... I had no choice but to use this public platform to explain."

"Last night's bachelorette party was certainly my oversight. I shouldn't have pressured Gen to drink so much, but it was just harmless fun between young people, nothing scandalous. I had no ill intention, I truly didn't think you would be so upset that you would cancel the engagement... isn't that a bit rash?"

"You've pursued Gen for so many years, but hasn't she also remained unmarried for ten years? She finally decided to trust you, and you make such a massive scene."

He sighed, his gaze sincere and worried:

"In a relationship, there's more than just right and wrong; there should be understanding and compassion, don't you think? I know I'm saying too much, but I'm just concerned for Gen. She carries the weight of a massive company on her shoulders, and now even her marriage can't give her peace..."

Just then, Genevieve's figure strode into the frame, pulling Spencer behind her.

Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes were sharp and cold, as if they could pierce the screen and pin me in place.

"Why are you apologizing to him?"

Her voice was clear, laced with unconcealed disdain.

"Ashton Pierce is just a prude; he really thought he could control me, didn't he?"

"Let me make this perfectly clear. The fact that you caused a spectacle over a single piece of sexy lingerie only proves how twisted your mind is! I don't need you begging me to marry you!"

"Listen up: I'm sending my assistant to buy two thousand of Veridia's holiday limited-edition sets right now and pile them up outside the Sinclair Group headquarters! They'll be free to take until the last one is gone! The moment the final piece is taken, Spencer and I are getting married! And every person who takes a piece of lingerie is invited to my wedding!"

The live feed abruptly cut out.

Almost simultaneously, my phone buzzed, pushing the breaking news story that the live broadcast had ignited.

"Spencer is so classy, doing a city-wide broadcast to explain, but Ashton Pierce shutting off his phone is just dramatic..."

"Ashton is definitely being a sore loser. It was just a game between young people, why is he so triggered by a single piece of lingerie?"

"Gen is such a boss! She looks incredible in Veridia! The old man really doesn't deserve her! So, where exactly are they handing out the free lingerie at Sinclair HQ? Asking for a friend!"

"He put up with ten years of everything, but one piece of lingerie breaks him? Why wait so long? Is he planning something sneaky?"

"LOL, who else would marry a relic like Ashton Pierce if it weren't for the Sinclair alliance? Get a grip, old timer!"

...

I sat in my car, my expression numb.

I remembered when Spencer Reed first interned at the Sinclair Group; Genevieve had been dismissive of him, finding his smile too ingratiating.

I, recalling that they were from the same business school, covered for Spencer several times and even genuinely taught him a few things, hoping he would become an asset to Genevieve.

When did things change?

Perhaps it was when he "casually" mentioned the fragility of growing up in a single-parent home.

Or the lonely, deep-fried wisdom he "just happened" to post on social media after a late night at work.

Or maybe when Genevieve was drowning in a project, and he "just happened" to show up with her favorite coffee at the perfect temperature, accompanied by a few words of carefully targeted "admiration."

Later, when I felt uncomfortable with his little schemes and gently suggested Genevieve keep her distance, she shot back:

"Spencer is just young and eager to prove himself. Can't you stop being so petty?"

"Besides, what kind of relationship do we even have that gives you the right to be jealous? Stop being so nitpicky, you're a grown man."

Yes, nitpicky.

As if their total disregard for my feelings could be excused by their "openness," and any discomfort I felt could be simply dismissed as "petty."

Just like today, they had conspired to destroy my ten years of hope, our families' reputation, and a city-wide celebrated wedding.

And my response—canceling the engagement—was small-minded, a display of archaic puritanism.

The familiar ache started in my chest, but it was light, almost a phantom pain.

I took a deep breath, merging the car into the flow of traffic.

Worrying about whether a woman who never loved me felt any remorse was futile.

Getting to the office to manage the fallout from this absurd spectacle was clearly more important.