Regretting the Wife He Threw Away

Chapter 420

Her fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white, and her teeth were nearly grinding to pieces. "Fine," she hissed through gritted teeth, "let's just say I owe you. I'll give you the wedding you want."

"That's more like it." Stewart's hand pressed firmly to the back of her neck as he leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss against her forehead.

Briony closed her eyes. Silent tears slipped from the corners and traced down her cheeks.

Stewart had planned everything down to the last detail.

Besides Bianca, there was an entire team of wedding staff waiting aboard the yacht.

A private doctor, a master of ceremonies, even a chef-no expense spared.

This yacht had been extensively renovated, but nowhere more so than the cabin Briony had stayed in these past days. It was an exact replica of Southcreek Manor's master bedroom, recreated with painstaking precision.

Ever since Briony had finally agreed to Stewart's demand for a wedding ceremony, these people began appearing one after another before her.

Two female stylists were busy doing her hair and makeup.

The yacht floated in calm waters, anchored far from shore.

Today, the sea was as smooth as glass.

Blue sky arched overhead, the ocean stretched endlessly, and every now and then a seagull soared past.

On deck, the wedding planners scurried back and forth, stringing up flowers and balloons, rolling out a red carpet, testing the sound equipment. The scene was every bit as extravagant and meticulously orchestrated as the ceremonies that made their rounds on social media-full of pageantry, designed for glossy perfection.

made to change back into the wedding

were dark red stains on the

could glue rose petals

do as they wished, indifferent to

scarlet petals might look creative,

petals they glued on- the blood was still there, and no amount of decoration could ever make this

her marriage to

shadowed by death-there was

she'd agreed to Stewart's terms, Briony had felt nothing but a strange, numb

makeup was only

in his suit,

walked in. OR

stylists greeted him politely. "Mr.

Stewart said, his tone

women set down their brushes and

walked over to

stared straight ahead, her face expressionless, refusing to even glance his

seem

he knelt slowly in

her,

the floor,

custom high heels from

their box.

tiny crystals, sparkling