Called Off the Wedding, Left Him Bankrupt novel Chapter 109

Father Benedict stormed over to Giselle, his face carved in cold fury. Without a shred of concern for her pregnancy, he seized her wrist and yanked her forward, his grip rough and unyielding.

"Who told you to come here? Get out. Now."

Caught off balance—her elaborate wedding dress tangling around her legs—Giselle stumbled and crashed to the floor, humiliated and shaken.

All around them, guests watched with barely concealed amusement, some even smirking at the unfolding scene. Father Benedict's towering rage only made her panic worse.

With her pride in tatters, Giselle sat where she'd fallen and broke down in heaving sobs.

Father Benedict's face remained stone-cold as he grabbed her by the arm, dragging her toward the exit.

Lois hurried over, voice shaking as she tried to stop him.

"Benedict! She's carrying your child! If you treat her like this, you'll hurt the baby!"

His expression darkened; he shoved Lois aside with a furious snarl.

"You get out too."

Lois yelped, tumbling to the ground.

Several of the Shepards' relatives rushed to help her up, and while they were at it, they pulled Giselle out of Benedict's reach, wary of what he might do if he lost control.

The chaos swirled around him, making Benedict's head pound as if it might split. Eyes wild, he searched the crowd for Cynthia—she was nowhere to be seen. Zachary hadn't shown up either.

Lois didn't have Zachary's contact information, and Zachary didn't know Lois had come to the city.

Only Giselle had a way to reach him; they were distant relatives through the Channing family.

A shadow of hatred flickered in Benedict's eyes as he glared at Giselle, now cowering behind the Shepards' family members.

"Where's Cynthia? Where have you hidden her?"

He was convinced they'd stashed Cynthia away to keep her from the ceremony. The idea that she might leave him willingly was unthinkable. She had no one left in the world but him.

Benedict had never treated Giselle this way before, and she was so terrified she could only sob harder, frantically shaking her head in denial.

In the midst of the commotion, the screen on the stage lit up.

Clad in a black dress, lips painted crimson, she looked breathtaking—a vision at once alluring and untouchable.

She watched the scene below as if she were a mere spectator, almost amused by the chaos.

Then the crowd noticed it: a single white chrysanthemum pinned to her chest.

She didn't look like a wedding guest at all. She looked like she'd come to a funeral.

She was here to bury this wedding with her own hands.

Lois, face flushed with anger, glared up at Cynthia, furious that she could create such a scene and still stand there, calm as ever.

If her son's reputation was ruined, Cynthia's wouldn't escape unscathed, either.

"Cynthia! After what you've done, you still have the nerve to make a mess here? My son doesn't even mind your past, and he's still willing to marry you—you should be thanking your lucky stars! How dare you pull a stunt like this! Aren't you afraid I'll release that video of you?"

Cynthia's eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement, but her gaze as it settled on Lois was icy and implacable.