Chapter 5

The wedding day.

Six in the morning. Sophie arrived right on time to help with my makeup.

She unwrapped that two-hundred-thousand-dollar limited edition haute couture wedding dress, held it up to me, and her hands trembled.

"Lynette... what are all these bruises on your arms..."

"Don't worry about it. Just help me apply extra thick concealer."

Sophie bit her lip and didn't ask again. She applied three layers of concealer, barely covering the bruises.

Despite the injuries, the muscle definition on the inside of my forearms was clearly visible.

With the dress on and the veil in place, I turned a half-circle in front of the mirror.

The woman in the mirror wore a form-fitting white short dress, like she was wearing white armor.

They are the same as the waste who was kicked to the point of shattering his skull and paralyzed in a wheelchair a month ago.

The Lynette from my past life had already died falling from the rooftop.

The one who came back to life had crawled out of hell.

At eight o'clock sharp, the wedding car arrived downstairs.

Holt wore a well-tailored black suit and stood by the car door waiting for me, his cheeks clean-shaven, his shoes polished to a shine.

When he saw me, his eyes brightened.

I smiled and took his arm, getting into the car.

Chelsea sat in the passenger seat wearing a bridesmaid dress, her hair in a low ponytail, light makeup on her face.

Seeing me get in the car, she turned around and forced out a weak smile.

"Lynette, you look so beautiful today."

Then she covered her mouth and coughed twice.

I smiled and squeezed her hand.

"Chelsea, thank you for your hard work today. You're not feeling well but you're still being my bridesmaid."

"It's no trouble. Being able to witness Lynette's happiness makes me happier than anyone."

Holt glanced at Chelsea in the rearview mirror. Chelsea looked back at him.

That glance was extremely quick, less than a second, but I clearly saw the smugness, excitement, and impatience in it.

The wedding car drove all the way to the Waldorf, the city's most upscale hotel.

Flower arches, red carpet, both sides lined with flower baskets sent by guests.

Holt got out first, came around to my side and opened the door, bending down in a gentlemanly gesture.

"Lynette, we're here."

I lifted my skirt and got out, taking his arm.

We walked through the corridor and pushed open the banquet hall doors. All the guests turned their heads in unison. Thunderous applause.

I scanned the venue.

The flowers, lighting, and table arrangements were all exactly as shown in the wedding plan.

Except in the center of the stage, where the champagne tower should have been, stood an octagonal fighting ring.

The ring was surrounded by protective ropes, the floor covered with thick blue wrestling mats. On the metal rack at the edge hung two pairs of brand new boxing gloves.

I pretended to be surprised and asked Holt.

"What is... this?"

Holt gently patted the back of my hand, his tone natural.

"Don't be nervous, Lynette. This is a tradition from back home. The bride has to wrestle with the groomsmen in the ring—it's called sharing good fortune. It's just a traditional custom."

He stepped aside. Chelsea emerged from behind him, holding a pair of boxing gloves.

She still wore that same expression, her voice very soft.

"Lynette, Holt insisted I go up. I couldn't refuse. Don't worry, I'm so weak, I don't have the strength of even one of your fingers. Let's just go through the motions."

The relatives below, not understanding what was happening, started heckling.

"Go on! When in Rome!"

"Don't be shy, bride!"

"Chelsea's so tiny a breeze could knock her over—what are you afraid of?"

The noise grew louder and louder.

Everyone was laughing, making a fuss. Not a single person thought there was anything wrong with this.

Just like in my past life.

I was silent for a full ten seconds, then raised my head and looked into Holt's eyes.

"Fine, I'll do it."

Holt froze.

I paused, then continued.

"But I have one condition. If anything unexpected happens in the ring, no one blames anyone. We sign a liability waiver."

I took a pre-prepared document from Sophie and spread it open in front of Holt.

Black text on white paper, the terms crystal clear.

"During the sparring match, both parties bear full responsibility for any personal injuries sustained. The other party is not liable for compensation and cannot pursue any legal responsibility."

Holt glanced down at it twice, unable to suppress the upward curve of his mouth.

In his view, I was digging my own grave.

Chelsea's eyes lit up. She snatched the pen and signed her name.

After she signed the agreement, I turned and handed the document to Sophie for safekeeping.

Then, in front of more than three hundred guests waiting to watch the show, I slowly put on my gloves and knee pads.