Myron Whittier

When Ella, the most popular girl from my high school, announced her wedding, she deliberately tagged me in the class group chat with a mocking invitation. She reminded everyone of how I supposedly pretended to be rich, while painting herself as generous for “forgiving” me. My former classmates quickly joined in, insulting me and praising Ella for her kindness. They didn’t know the truth—that I was the real heiress, while Ella had stolen my identity years ago. When I checked the invitation, I realized with a cold smile that the venue was my villa, and her so-called groom looked suspiciously like my husband’s driver. I had every reason to attend.

The next day, Ella flaunted her supposed wealth at the wedding, claiming the villa and even my husband’s company as her own. I exposed her with a single remark, but her lackeys turned on me, hurling insults and attacking me until I was bloodied and humiliated. Ella struck me, sneering that she was marrying Todd Smith, the CEO of Novalux Group, and ordered her friends to drag me away. They tore my clothes, destroyed my belongings, and nearly set me on fire, while guests whispered and recorded the spectacle. Even when I shouted that the villa belonged to the Whittier family—my husband’s family—the butler, bribed by Ella, lied to everyone, further fueling their scorn.

Just when I thought I couldn’t endure any more, the groom finally arrived. Ella clung to him sweetly, claiming I was a shameless woman trying to ruin her wedding. Todd frowned and strode toward me, seizing me by the hair, ready to throw me aside. But the moment he saw my face, his expression changed. His voice trembled with shock as he froze in place and stammered, “Mrs. Whittier? Why... why are you here?”