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.

the stylists, Briony was made to change

red stains on the gown-blood,

could glue rose petals over the stains, call it

do as they wished, indifferent to the

creative, a clever flourish for a dramatic

on- the blood was still there, and

like her

lies, shadowed by death-there was no going back to

terms, Briony had felt nothing but a

was only

dressed in his

walked in. OR

greeted him

go," Stewart said, his

their brushes and palettes and silently

walked over to

expressionless,

didn't seem to

knelt slowly

her,

on the floor,

custom high heels from

their box.

were covered in tiny crystals, sparkling under the