Chapter 2

Philippa's POV

It wasn't until this moment that I completely saw the bone-deep hatred Roland harbored for me.

He hated me. He believed I had delayed them for all these years, and now that I was dead, they could finally be together without holding back.

Lavinia leaned into Roland's embrace, toying with his shirt buttons. Her voice carried just the right amount of grievance: "Roland, I knew you were the one who treated me best in this world. If she hadn't sneaked into your bed and brought the media to block the door, forcing you to marry her, we wouldn't have been forced apart for so long. And..."

She paused deliberately, her eyes instantly growing red.

"If she hadn't kept making up lies about me to Grandma, Grandma wouldn't have hated me so much, refusing to approve of us and forcing you to marry her. You know, I was the one who lived with you guys all those years..."

"It’s not your fault, Lavinia. It's all that bitch's fault." Roland tightened his grip around her waist and bent down to kiss the top of her head. "You've suffered enough these past few years. I swear, I will give you the grandest wedding."

He turned and left with her, without sparing a single glance at the mess on the floor.

An invisible force violently dragged my soul. I was forced to follow them into that black Maybach.

The car sped all the way and finally stopped in front of a custom bridal boutique.

Roland led Lavinia into the hall, and the attendants immediately rushed up to them in awe.

I floated helplessly in mid-air, watching Lavinia try on one expensive, diamond-encrusted wedding gown after another.

Roland sat on a velvet sofa, his gaze incredibly gentle. He walked up, took a pigeon-egg-sized diamond ring from a velvet box, and personally slipped it onto Lavinia's finger.

"Beautiful," he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

My heart felt like it was pierced by a thousand arrows. Grief and confusion nearly tore me apart.

During this marriage, we had gotten the certificate, but we never had a wedding.

He had no idea that Grandma Mabel was personally pushed down the stairs by this weak-looking woman in front of him! He was treating his enemy like his true love!

Lavinia lifted her skirt and twirled in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. Feigning casualty, she asked: "Roland, should we invite Philippa to our wedding next week?"

A malicious sneer curled on Roland's lips, his eyes full of contempt.

"Of course. I want her to witness the wedding she could only dream of but never had. I want to see how long she can keep up her ridiculous stubbornness."

"After all," he chuckled mockingly, "her specialty is throwing tantrums over these petty things, isn't it?"

Throwing tantrums. Those words stung me deeply, bringing all past traumas rushing back.

Married for three years, we had the paper, but he never gave me a ceremony. A wedding was my life's greatest regret. Two years ago, I completely broke down over this and in despair, swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. That incident scared Grandma Mabel into a heart attack, leaving her hospitalized for half a month.

The night Grandma passed away a year ago, she had called me multiple times. But I had been lured back to the law firm by a fake urgent email from Lavinia and knocked out cold with a high dose of anesthetic.

When the drugs wore off and I finally woke up, what greeted me was the news of Grandma's death and a scandal of leaked intimate photos!

My husband, Roland, didn't listen to a single word of my explanation. He firmly believed I was just throwing a tantrum again, deliberately ignoring the calls, and practically angered Mabel to death!

Since then, his monstrous hatred towards me turned into endless torture. Not only did he hurl insults and abuse at me, but he also forcibly drained my blood to save Lavinia, who supposedly had a "blood disease."

He treated every explanation of mine as a lie and an excuse.

"Isn't she best at throwing tantrums?" Roland sneered. "Even if she’s dead outside this time, I’ll have her corpse dragged to the wedding venue."

Saying this, he directly pulled out his phone and dialed my number.

The cold ringtone echoed in the spacious boutique.

He called three times, and every time, it automatically hung up.

The casual look on Roland's face abruptly vanished.

He viciously punched the bar counter next to him, shattering a wine glass to pieces.

"Philippa, you're getting quite bold!" He glared at the black screen, gritting his teeth as he roared into the voicemail. "You dare hang up on me? If you don't call me back in half an hour, I guarantee you will regret ever being born!"