After My Sister Stole My Groom, They All Begged for Mercy

The day I got engaged to the richest man in the city, my mother picked up the microphone in front of everyone, smiling：

“Actually, my daughter used to be a prostitute.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

But Ervin Stephens pulled me behind him：

“Mrs. Henson, please don't joke like that again.”

Afterward, my mother apologized：

“I just wanted to see if he was sincere about you.”

But the night before the wedding, I took one bite of the food my mother had cooked. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in bed with my sister's boyfriend.

Ervin arrived for the wedding procession and saw us there. His eyes went red instantly：

“So your mother really wasn't lying after all.”

My sister slapped her boyfriend through her tears：

“How could you do this to me!”

My sister became the bride. Her boyfriend burned every piece of clothing that carried my scent：

“I have never seen a woman as shameless as you.

“You'd even steal your own sister's man!”

I looked at my mother through tears.

She didn't flinch：

“Your sister is better suited to be the wife of the richest man in the city.”

Twenty years later, the new generation's richest man brought his girlfriend home to meet me：

“Mom, if she meets your approval, we'll get engaged.”

I looked at that face — identical to my sister's：

“She doesn't.”

……

Those two words rippled through the entire banquet hall.

Every guest in attendance froze.

My sister's daughter — Anne Stephens. Honors graduate from Berklee College of Music. Five foot seven, a hundred and ten pounds. A face that was a near-perfect copy of her mother's, the celebrated socialite. A father who'd been the richest man in the city. A grandmother renowned at home and abroad for her philanthropy. On paper, the kind of girl no family in Harbor City would dare turn away.

Even my own son, Ronnie Henson, looked stunned.

“Mom……when I mentioned Anne before, I thought you liked her?”

“I hadn't met her then. Now I have.”

The room erupted in murmurs.

After all, at Berklee she'd even been voted the prettiest girl on campus.

Anne Stephens had never been rejected like this in her life.

Her face flushed scarlet：

“Ms. Henson, is it my manners? My outfit? Something else?

“Just tell me, and I'll fix it!”

“There's nothing to fix.”

I took a sip of my tea：

“You will never marry into the Henson family.”

“Ms. Henson.”

Someone finally spoke up：

“Anne's grandmother — surely you know who she is.

“A philanthropist known at home and abroad. She's helped a great many people.”

“That's right, her grandmother raised this girl wonderfully. You don't need to worry about her character.”

Hah.

So my mother had been that devoted — even to my sister's child.

Ronnie was watching me with open curiosity：

“Mom……did Anne do something wrong?”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

My voice was flat.

Anne panicked：“On what grounds!

“On what grounds are you keeping me out of the Henson family!

“Tell me what's wrong with me! You can't just say no without a reason — I……I……”

I looked at her：“You what?”

“I refuse to accept this!”

I narrowed my eyes：“I run the Henson empire. I choose my son's wife. I didn't choose you — do I owe you a written report?”

“You — !”

Anne clamped a hand over her mouth.

She turned and ran out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind her.

I sat there, sipping my tea, expression unchanged.

The banquet carried on.

No one was going to cross me on my own territory.

And my son had been raised by my hand alone.

He had always respected my decisions：

“Mom, if she offended you before, don't hold it in on our account. It's bad for your health.”