After returning from studying abroad, I prepared to honor my childhood betrothal. But on the very day I went to pick up my wedding gown, I saw my million-dollar couture dress worn by a poverty-stricken girl whom my fiancé had been secretly supporting.

When I demanded the gown back, I was scolded as a homewrecker and mocked as a loveless hag. My fiancé excused her, saying the girl had never seen the world, and I should be more accommodating.

Well, I've always loved charity. If giving away a million-dollar dress counts as charity, then fine—I'll even let go of the engagement, too.

But let it be known: not just anyone can be engaged to the Vance heiress.

"Where did this poor nobody come from? How dare you touch my wedding dress?!"

The wedding was just days away. I had come to the boutique to see my custom-made gown.

But the moment I laid hands on it, I was slapped hard across the face.

The dress was ripped from my grasp. The scattered crystals cut my fingers, sending a sharp pain shooting up my arm.

I frowned. "Who are you? This is my wedding dress!"

She slapped me again, shouting, "You wretched little—! You've dirtied my dress! You're going to pay for it! Do you even know how expensive this is? They'd have to sell you just to cover it!"

I froze.

At that moment, the boutique manager hurried over, bowing apologetically to the woman.

"Miss Huxley, I'm terribly sorry. Our new employee didn't recognize your dress and gave it to someone else by mistake."

Miss Huxley, meanwhile, was bawling into her phone, presumably to her husband or fiancé.

"Honey, my dress was ruined by some poor woman! What do I do?

"But Honey, you had it custom-made just for me!"

The call was on speaker, and the voice on the other end was chillingly familiar.

"Don't worry, we can fix the stains. A few adjustments and it'll still fit. Just don't cry yourself sick over it."

I recognized that voice. It was my fiancé, Alistair Huxley.

I had already heard rumors that, while I was studying abroad, Alistair had taken a new woman into his life. I had asked him repeatedly, and he denied it every time, insisting he had never been with anyone else. I even asked his parents, who dismissed the gossip as nonsense—just publicity stunts from starlets trying to ride on his family name.

The marriage between the Vance and Huxley families had been arranged years ago, waiting for my return from overseas to finalize. My mother had even commissioned a world-class designer to tailor my gown.

Yet now, the dress in front of me was clearly not mine.

I had noticed the sizing was off the moment I picked it up, and before I could negotiate, this feisty Miss Huxley had slapped me.

She continued to wail, while the boutique manager panicked, dripping sweat, and the employee who had given her the dress kept apologizing nonstop.

The manager, afraid of offending the woman, roughly dragged me aside—and even kicked me in the leg while doing so.

In my heels, I was already off balance. With the kick, I stumbled and fell to the floor, utterly humiliated.

"You shameless wretch! How dare you touch Mr. Huxley's fiancée's dress? Kneel and apologize, now!"

"Shut up," I snapped coldly. "The marriage between the Vance and Huxley families is all over the news. She's clearly not the Vance heiress!"

Her face darkened instantly. In a blind fury, she stepped forward and planted her heel on my leg.

"Vance heiress? That hag doesn't deserve Alistair! He raised me, and he promised he'd marry me!"

I had an old injury in my leg. The pain pierced straight to the bone, and I shoved her away instinctively.

She fell to the floor and immediately burst into tears, sitting there and wailing.

Annoyed, I pulled out my phone and called Alistair.

He answered quickly enough, but his tone was thick with impatience. "Sheila, I'm busy right now. The company just landed a major project. Didn't you say you were going to look at the wedding dress? Why are you calling me?"

"Alistair," I snapped, "get your ass to the bridal shop right now. The woman you're keeping—what right does she have to touch my wedding dress?"

He paused for a moment, then brushed it off without a second thought. "What woman are you talking about? Who's been filling your head with nonsense again? I know you're upset I didn't go dress shopping with you, but this isn't the time to throw a tantrum. I'm busy. I'm hanging up."

With that, he actually ended the call.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

'Fine. Since you're treating me with such indifference, then I won't wear this tainted wedding dress ever again,' I decided.

But Alistair would have to give me an explanation.

I struggled to my feet, my heart aching for my mother's painstaking effort. Now that the dress had been sullied, I would never keep it.

The gown lay on the floor. I stepped forward and casually lifted a corner of it, gripping the most delicate part of the hem. With one hard pull, I ripped it clean off.

That woman's eyes turned red with fury. She lunged at me like a madwoman.

"How dare you ruin my wedding dress! You bitch! I'll kill you! Do you know who my husband is? He's the heir of the Huxley Group! I'm calling the police! Now!"

I sneered and dialed the police before she could.

The dress was worth a million, making it a serious case. The police arrived quickly.

After they came, I learned that the woman's surname wasn't even Huxley. Her name was Lisa Smith, a poor college student sponsored by the Huxley family. After graduation, she had stayed by Alistair's side as his assistant.

Everyone knew what kind of relationship they had. But since I was about to return home, Alistair publicly claimed Lisa was his adopted sister. That was why outsiders all called her Miss Huxley.

"Officer," Lisa sobbed to the police, "a month ago, my husband told me he ordered a wedding dress for me at this shop and asked me to come take a look. That dress has been altered to fit my body for over a month. My husband even paid the deposit! Today, this crazy woman destroyed my wedding dress the moment she walked in. Lock her up!"

The bridal shop manager rushed forward to back her up.

"That's right. This lady is Mr. Huxley's girlfriend. He often brings her to our shop. This wedding dress has been altered to Miss Huxley's measurements for a long time. We never expected something like this to happen. The damage has nothing to do with our shop—it was all done by this woman."

The manager pointed straight at me.

The police stepped up in front of me.

"Miss, you claim this wedding dress belongs to you. Do you have any proof?"

"Of course I do," I replied calmly. "This shop is a personal brand founded by the world's top designer. My wedding dress was personally designed by him. To prevent counterfeiting, there's a chip embedded inside the gown. A simple scan will reveal the owner's information."

I raised my wrist.

"And this bracelet is the matching device used to scan that chip."

I handed the bracelet to the police, and they quickly located the chip inside the dress.

A scan revealed the identity information. The dress was mine, clear as day.

"Miss Huxley—or should I say Miss Smith—do you see this? This wedding dress belongs to the Vance family. It is the personal property of Sheila Vance. This gown is worth 1 million dollars. You've ruined it with your alterations, and you will be held fully responsible for all losses!"

Lisa froze.

All this time she'd been altering the dress, and she hadn't even noticed the chip hidden inside. The boutique manager was even paler, wiping cold sweat from his face as panic set in.

But Lisa still wouldn't admit defeat.

"It's a lie! She wanted to steal my dress. She planted the chip in there! If not, how come the boutique staff never found it after all their alterations? She came, and suddenly it's here—there's clearly something suspicious!"

The manager, terrified of offending anyone but afraid of being implicated himself, quickly sided with Lisa.

"That's right. This must be some trick she's playing! Miss Vance has been abroad all these years and never said she'd return. Yet Miss Huxley was brought here several times by Mr. Huxley himself!

"Officer, our shop has surveillance cameras. We can prove that Mr. Huxley and Miss Huxley are a pair—and that she did indeed come to see the dress."

He even handed over the footage voluntarily.

I could only laugh at their stupidity. Let them check the recordings to see if I'd done anything.

Of course, the manager, trying to be clever, said today, the cameras were broken.

In the end, due to the high value of the gown, we were all taken to the police station.

With my parents abroad, I called the housekeeper to pick me up.

Lisa, meanwhile, called Alistair.

By this point, Alistair didn't dare show his face. He sent his assistant, Mabel Morris, instead.

Mabel bowed as soon as she saw me, apologizing profusely.

"Miss Vance, I'm terribly sorry for the trouble!"

"Where's Alistair?"

"Mr. Huxley is busy. The company has many projects, and he truly can't leave, so he asked me to handle this."

I sneered. "Do you think I'm letting this woman get away?"

Mabel quickly dialed Alistair and handed me the phone.

"Miss Vance, Mr. Huxley wants to speak with you."

Curious about his attitude, I pressed the speakerphone.

The moment he spoke, I could practically smell his arrogance through the line.

"Sheila, can you stop making a scene? Lisa is a poor student we sponsor. If the world sees our company bullying a little girl, what kind of reputation would that give us?

"You're about to marry into our family. Shouldn't you prioritize our interests? Come back immediately. It's just a dress. Why drag this all the way to the police station?

"You've been completely out of control abroad. Once you join our family, you'll need to adjust your temper properly."

I laughed in disbelief. After all these years, I hadn't truly seen Alistair's real face.

"Alistair, what the fuck are you saying?!"

He froze the moment I snapped at him. If he were smart, he would know that between us, I was the one in control.

But years of playing president of a company had clearly rotted his brain.

"Sheila," he said, voice hardening, "is this how you speak to the head of a household? Shame on your upbringing. Looks like you'll need a little pre-marriage training!"