Delete My Love for You novel Chapter 118

The officiant’s voice rang out, solemn and clear: “Now, may the bride and groom exchange rings, as a symbol of your eternal vows.”

A member of the staff approached with a tray draped in black velvet, carrying it with both hands in a posture of reverence.

Resting at the center of the velvet was a rare fifty-carat pink diamond ring. Its brilliance cast a halo of light that drew gasps from the guests.

Darren took Xena’s hand and picked up the ring, poised to slide it onto her finger when suddenly—

“You conniving witch! Hiding out here, playing the lady of the manor!”

The coarse, angry shout crashed through the room like a thunderclap.

Darren froze.

A middle-aged man in a cheap, wrinkled suit stormed to the front of the aisle, his face twisted with rage. “So this is how it is? Marrying into money and not even bothering to tell your own father?”

Xena kept her composure with effort. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”

The man sneered. “You don’t know me? Don’t pretend you don’t know your own father!”

He tried to rush the stage, but security moved instantly, pinning his shoulders before he could take another step.

Darren’s tone was ice. “Get this lunatic out of here.”

“Let go of me! Xena, I’m your father, damn it!” the man roared, twisting against the guards. In a sudden burst, he broke free long enough to yank a paper bag from under his arm and fling its contents into the air.

A shower of glossy photographs rained down over the guests—onto hair, shoulders, into glasses of champagne.

One photo landed on a table near Lena. She glanced at it, a sly smile curving her lips.

The picture was of Xena, from several years ago: scantily dressed, in the lounge of a nightclub. A far cry from the pure, serene bride standing on the platform now.

“See that? My daughter used to be a gold mine for me. Think you can marry her without giving me, her father, a proper dowry? Who do you think you are?”

Emerald Manor fell into a stunned, uneasy silence.

Xena clenched the folds of her white gown. “I’m an orphan. I don’t have parents. That’s not me in the photo—it’s been doctored. I—”

Darren cut her off, his trust unwavering. “You don’t need to explain, Xena.”

Her thoughts drifted to Charlotte. Even when she’d bullied Charlotte in the care facility—her head shoved into the toilet—she’d never faced consequences.

But then she remembered Charlotte daring to hurt Noah. Whatever pity she’d once felt vanished, replaced by a cold satisfaction.

On the stage, Xena’s thoughts raced. So what if everyone doubted her? With a single word, Darren would always take her side.

Charlotte, and that woman who died last night at the hotel—what could they possibly use to compete with her?

As triumph warmed her, Darren’s hand closed around hers again.

Soft music played. He lifted the ring and gently slid it onto her finger.

Just then, Darren’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Impatient, he pulled it out, intending to hand it to his assistant. But the screen lit up with two messages:

[Mr. Harrington, we’ve located Ms. Lawson.]

[She’s on the fatality list from last night’s Astra Hotel fire.]