On the day of the wedding, my fiancé suddenly kissed me passionately during the wedding photoshoot, forcing a French kiss in front of everyone.

I struggled desperately, yet he kept pulling up my gown, letting everyone around enjoy the spectacle.

And the photographer turned out to be none other than Sophia Lee, the woman who once broke off her engagement to him because he had a paralyzed mother.

While Ryan Miller kissed me, the way he looked at Sophia was full of provocation.

It was the first time since we started dating that I lost my temper.

I shoved him away, ripped off my veil, and snapped:

“This wedding is over!”

The crowd began criticizing me, even Ryan frowned tightly:

“I was just showing affection.”

“I only accidentally tugged your strap—was it really that serious?”

My gaze hardened.

“Yes. It was.”

……

Ryan’s frown tightened, then loosened. Seeing that my anger wasn’t an act, he quickly compromised.

“Don’t be mad. Fine, we don’t have to take the wedding photos.”

He helped straighten my clothes, but then a sly smile flashed across his face.

He pointed to Sophia.

“The photos didn’t work out, but I did pay for the service.”

“Since it’s your fault that everyone’s mood is ruined, shouldn’t there be some kind of punishment?”

He called a friend to bring over a bottle of vodka.

“Down this, and I won’t report you to your company.”

To everyone’s shock, Sophia didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the bottle and gulped it down in one go.

Even Ryan hadn’t expected that. He quickly snatched the bottle from her hand and smashed it on the ground in anger.

“I told you to drink, and you really did? Have you forgotten you’re allergic to alcohol?”

His tone was harsh, but the concern hidden in his words made the people around exchange strange looks.

They all turned toward me, waiting for me to show some heartbreak.

As they wished, I clenched my teeth so hard it hurt.

Just days ago, I had gone through endless favors and connections to hire a top-tier photographer.

But right when the photographer was about to agree, Ryan told me he had already arranged one.

I rarely argued with him. The one time I refused, he ignored me coldly, so I had no choice but to give in.

I never expected the photographer he chose would turn out to be Sophia.

The first time I even heard Sophia’s name was from Mrs. Miller.

I had been caring for her for years. She had been paralyzed from an accident long ago and was incontinent.

On the night Ryan was finally moved by me and wanted to discuss marriage, I overheard Mrs. Miller talking in her sleep:

“If it weren’t for these useless legs, Sophia wouldn’t have left him because of me. My sweet son wouldn’t have been forced to settle for Emily Carter as a wife…”

Later, I finally met Ryan’s so-called first love, Sophia, at my bachelorette party.

The moment Sophia appeared, Ryan’s whole body tensed.

It was the first time he’d ever been so openly affectionate with me in public, but even that intimacy felt hollow, fragile, and fake.

That night, he even fed me cantaloupe by mouth in front of her.

With everyone cheering, my face turned pale.

“I’m allergic to cantaloupe.”

He remembered Sophia’s alcohol allergy but had never cared about mine.

Everything he did was just to make Sophia regret abandoning him.

But what he didn’t realize was—humiliation always fell only on me.

Looking at the farce before me, I felt exhausted.

All these years, I had wiped and cleaned for Mrs. Miller without ever once complaining, but now I was done.

“Ryan Miller, are we still getting married or not?”

The laughter in the hall froze, and Ryan instantly let go of Sophia.

Sophia looked at my cold expression, like a frightened bird.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I upset you. Mrs. Miller, I’ll leave now.”

Seeing her acting so pitifully made Ryan strangely irritable.

He ignored me completely and stopped her.

“You’re not married yet, so why are you calling her Mrs. Miller? Can’t you read the room?”

“The boss didn’t say you could leave. If you walk out now, do you want to get reported? Stay where you are!”

The air turned heavy.

Finally, my bridesmaid broke the tension, jokingly pushing Ryan away.

“Hold on, the groom can’t just whisk away the bride right after the photoshoot. You’ve got to get through the wedding games first!”

The door slammed shut, separating Ryan and the groomsmen from us.

My bridesmaids stood ready.

“Listen up, groom! You’ve got to answer the questions right if you want to take the bride!”

“First question: when was your first kiss with Emily?”

It should’ve been an easy question, but Ryan fell silent.

My fists clenched tighter.

Then a groomsman blurted out carelessly:

“First kiss? That was with Sophia! High school graduation night, Ryan had a few drinks, brushed his teeth three times, and then stole a kiss from her…”

Another chimed in,

“Yeah, and after that kiss, he didn’t eat for two whole days, just to preserve the feeling.”

The more they talked, the redder Sophia’s face grew.

And Ryan only fanned the flames.

“Yeah. If it weren’t for someone’s vanity and poor judgment, my bride today would’ve been her already!”

His cold laugh, dripping with insinuation, was a slap in my face.

I was nothing more than a joke to him.

Sensing my anger, my friend quickly changed the topic.

“Next question! What’s the bride’s favorite dish?”

Ryan didn’t hesitate.

“Sweet and sour pork.”

When I nodded, my friend sighed in relief.

But she didn’t notice my face had gone deathly pale.

Sweet and sour pork was Sophia’s favorite. I only said it was mine to save face.

Finally, the door opened.

Just when I thought I could escape and move on to the ceremony, the groomsmen barged in and surrounded me.

Several of them grabbed me, kissing me, groping me, some even trying to pull their pants down.

I struggled frantically, screaming:

“Ryan!”

At the sound of my cry, Ryan froze. He reached out toward me—

But a groomsman stopped him.

“Don’t forget, Ryan, this is part of the wedding tradition we agreed on!”

Ryan’s hand dropped back.

He looked torn, biting his pale lips, muttering softly:

“Emily, just endure it. This is our family custom. Every woman marrying into the Millers has to go through this…”

His words fell like a final judgment.

Tears streamed down my face.

For the first time, I saw through this man completely.

“I’m not marrying you!” I screamed.

But before I could finish, a foul mouth sealed mine.

All my rejection and resistance turned into muffled sobs.

As they violated me, they laughed:

“Spank the bride’s ass, and she won’t fall sick for three years!”

“Touch the bride’s cleavage, and her career will soar high!”

My bridesmaids weren’t spared either—they were assaulted too.

All except Sophia.

It all ended when one groomsman merely touched Sophia’s hand, and Ryan snapped at him:

“Stop it, Nick! Don’t go too far!”

I was left broken, my dress torn to shreds, barely covering me.

Meanwhile, Sophia remained untouched, just sitting in Ryan’s arms with a few fake tears, trembling like a frightened flower.

To her, he spoke only in gentle comfort:

“Don’t be afraid. No one will ever lay a finger on you. When you get married, you won’t have to go through these old customs either. Don’t cry…”

Only after soothing Sophia for a long while did Ryan finally remember me.

But his words to me were awkward, forced.

“Emily, don’t be scared. I’m here. We don’t have to put up with this anymore.”

“We can skip this step and move on to the ceremony.”

He tried to hold my hand—

But I slapped it away.

He froze, unease filling his eyes, like something precious was slipping away.

Panicked, he chased after me.

I grabbed a blanket to cover myself, kicked open the doors—

And there it was: the wedding hall full of guests.

At the front sat Mrs. Miller. When she saw my disheveled state, her face darkened.

“With all this fuss, how can you be my daughter-in-law?”

I glared at the woman who had ordered me around daily, and spat back:

“I’m not marrying him!”

But before I could take another step, the giant screen in the hall lit up, projecting videos and pictures of the groomsmen’s assault on me.

Every shameful moment was blown up, exposed to all.

Guests whistled, some hollered crudely:

“Why not let us guests have a turn too?”

The jeers and Mrs. Miller’s scolding face sent my head spinning, ears ringing.

Ryan rushed in, yanking out the wires to black out the screen.

But it was too late—the damage was done.

He tried to comfort me, but a pitiful sob cut through the air:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin everything…”

Sophia stood trembling, clutching her sleeves.

And in an instant, Ryan’s blame turned to comfort.

“I know you didn’t mean to. You’re not that kind of person. Don’t cry, please?”

His voice brimmed with helpless tenderness.

Mrs. Miller quickly joined in:

“Sophia, you’re such a good girl. Even if this wasn’t an accident, I wouldn’t blame you.”

She sighed.

“I’ve always liked you. If I hadn’t become paralyzed, you and Ryan would have been together long ago. That other woman would never have had a place.”

Her words were clear as day—

She was calling me the mistress who stole someone else’s man!