Chapter 325: A New Beginning

But now, I couldn't help laughing softly, answering openly. "You're really hard to please. When I don't agree, you're unhappy. When I go along with what you want, you think I'm up to something. So tell me—what exactly do you want me to do?"

Michael's gaze darkened. He stared at me for a full half-minute, scrutinizing.

Suddenly, he smirked, his voice dropping low. "I'd advise you not to play games. You know better than anyone what happens when things get ugly. Unless William is willing to throw away everything the Brown family gave him—and stop caring about Phoenix's safety altogether."

I fought the urge to slap him, keeping my tone even. "Are we trying on dresses or not? If not, I'm leaving."

"Try them! Of course we're trying them!"

Michael signaled to the staff. Immediately, designers and stylists approached me.

He scoffed, his words loaded with meaning. "On our wedding day, you're going to be the most beautiful Mrs. Johnson. Let every man who's been eyeing you know—you're mine."

He raised his hand to touch my face. Amelia didn't hesitate. She rushed over and smacked his hand away.

Michael's brow furrowed, barely holding it together. Amelia stood beside me, chin raised, staring him down. "What are you glaring at? Don't forget—I'm Evelyn's only bridesmaid! You don't like me? Too bad. Get used to it."

She had no intention of actually attending this pointless wedding, but she loved getting under Michael's skin.

Michael snorted. "We're not having bridesmaids or groomsmen. Especially not you. You're not qualified to be at my wedding."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "You're just a CEO who got ousted from the Johnson Group. Charles even said if he ever gets married, he'd invite me as a VIP guest! What makes you think I'm not qualified?"

The staff looked stunned, then stifled their laughter.

This had to be the first time they'd witnessed such an absurd wedding prep.

Just as Michael was about to call Amelia's father, I cut in. "Aren't we trying on dresses? Let's get this over with. Amelia's helping me."

Michael backed down and let Amelia accompany me to the fitting room.

The moment we closed the door, Amelia took deep breaths, fuming. "God, I wanted to throttle him just looking at his smug face! Listen to me—if William doesn't show up on your wedding day, you have to run. I don't care about the consequences. You cannot let Michael win. That guy is terrifying!"

Her exaggerated expression made me laugh.

I didn't even know if I'd reached the point of not caring anymore, or if I just trusted William so completely that I wasn't afraid of this wedding at all.

Either way, I could still laugh.

Just then, Michael's voice rang out from outside. "Verity! Verity!"

Amelia and I froze.

We heard it clear as day. Michael was calling for "Verity!"

We flung open the fitting room door and rushed out. A cluster of staff had chased him to the entrance, shouting, "Mr. Johnson, where are you going?"

I grabbed one of them, voice tight. "What just happened?"

The employee looked bewildered. "Mr. Johnson saw someone get into the elevator outside. He suddenly looked like he'd lost his mind, shouted that name, and ran after her!"

Another staff member added, "It looked like a woman. She was alone waiting for the elevator. But by the time Mr. Johnson got there, the doors had already closed, so he took the stairs. I don't know… if he caught up."

I gripped the doorframe, emotions churning. That name was like a key, unlocking buried memories. Verity Baker. Michael's white moonlight. The root of our marriage's tragedy. Her "death" had left him devastated, and I'd been blamed for it. Now her name resurfaced. Could it be…

"Evelyn," Amelia whispered, eyes wide with suspicion, "what if Verity never died?"

The thought struck like lightning. If Verity was alive, then Michael's recent madness—this absurd wedding, the relentless pressure, even threatening the Brown family's reputation—was there another reason? Was he covering something up? Or drawing someone out?

My phone buzzed. An unknown number.

[Don't be afraid. I've got this.]

It was William. My heart lurched, like spotting a lighthouse in the fog. He'd been silent for so long, but he'd been working in the shadows all along. Michael's breakdown—maybe it was all part of the plan.

"Let's go," I told Amelia, my voice steady now.

Three days later. The wedding.

The Johnson Villa was decked out in lights and flowers, guests everywhere. White rose arches framed a red carpet, and media cameras lined up to capture the "wedding of the century."

I stood in the second-floor dressing room wearing the gown Michael had chosen, looking down at it all. The woman in the mirror had flawless makeup, but her eyes were hollow. Like a doll waiting to be sacrificed.

"Ms. Thomas, it's time." The butler knocked.

I took a deep breath, picked up my bouquet, and pushed open the door. At the top of the stairs, I saw Michael waiting below in a perfectly tailored black suit, a triumphant smile on his face. His gaze locked onto me, filled with possessive obsession.

Just as I was about to descend, a commotion erupted outside. The crowd parted. A woman in a simple, elegant dress walked in slowly. Her face was delicate, her features eerily similar to mine.

It was Verity.

The estate fell silent. Every eye turned to her. Michael's smile froze. His pupils shrank. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Michael," Verity said softly but clearly, "it's been a while."

Michael stood frozen, lips trembling, staring at her. His eyes swirled with wild joy, disbelief, and rage.

I watched coldly. Everything he'd meticulously planned crumbled in front of his real "white moonlight." Pathetic.

A black car pulled up outside. William stepped out, cutting through the crowd, his gaze fixed on me. Our eyes met. Everything was understood.

Michael snapped out of it, looking up and roaring. "Evelyn! This is your and William's scheme, isn't it? You two—"

Verity cut him off. "Michael, come with me. None of this belongs to you anymore."

Michael stared at her, then at me, before his head dropped in defeat. Like all the strength had drained from him.

I didn't look back. I lifted my skirt and descended the stairs, walking toward the man who'd sheltered me through the storm.

William extended his hand. I didn't hesitate. I placed mine in his. The warmth and strength of his touch chased away every lingering fear.

"Let's go home," he said.

I nodded and turned to leave with him. Behind us, Michael's desperate screams and the guests' chaos faded. The farce had reached its end.

The sun was shining. The breeze was gentle. I knew a new life was just beginning. No matter what lay ahead—smooth roads or thorns—with him beside me, I had nothing to fear.

(The End)