Three days. That’s how close I was to marrying Alistair, the man I’d loved for six years, the man whose life I’d literally saved with my own rare blood. I was just admiring the final pearl on my wedding dress, a gown I’d poured my soul into, when he called.

The wedding? Off. He was marrying my stepsister, Ivy. Her dying wish, he said. Six months to live, maybe less.

The kicker? He’d already taken my wedding dress from my studio for her.

Just like that, six years, countless transfusions, our shared dreams – all tossed aside for the girl who’d made my life a living hell since childhood. He even offered me “compensation,” as if my future had a price tag.

But if Alistair and Ivy thought I’d just crumble, they seriously underestimated me. They wanted my fiancé? Fine. But it would cost them. First, our multi-million-dollar fashion company, Evening Gala – built on my designs, my vision. He signed it over. Then, a cool million for the stolen dress. He paid. Another million for the wedding jewelry they dared to ask me to hand over for Ivy. Cha-ching.

You’d think they’d learn. But no. Their next proposal was the most insulting yet: Alistair actually suggested that I should just wait. That after Ivy’s ‘inevitable’ passing in a few months, he and I could just pick up where we left off, have an even better wedding. Seriously?

Enough was enough. If Ivy wanted to play bride with my life, she was going to get a taste of what happens when you push someone too far. Let's just say her hospital room celebration involved a lot more smoke, water, and screaming than she bargained for, all thanks to a little wedding gift from yours truly.

Now they know I’m not the same Hazel they could walk all over. I’ve got my company, a pile of their cash, and a whole lot of scores to settle. They think this is over? This game of revenge is just getting started. And believe me, I play to win.

I screeched to a halt outside Grandma's Victorian home, barely taking time to park Sebastian's Aston Martin properly. The normally peaceful neighborhood seemed unnaturally quiet, as if holding its breath before a storm.


Shouting erupted from inside the house. My heart hammered against my ribs as I raced up the porch steps and flung open the front door without knocking.


"How dare you show your face here!" Liana Langdon's voice echoed from the living room. "After everything your son did to my niece!"


I rushed into the room to find my aunt standing protectively in front of my grandmother's armchair. Across from them stood Alistair's mother, her once-impeccable appearance now disheveled, her designer outfit wrinkled and her makeup smudged.


"There she is!" Liana Langdon pointed at me, her face contorted with rage. "The scheming whore who destroyed my family!"


My grandmother clutched her chest. "Watch your language in my house!"


Chapter 340 - The Last Stand of a Fallen Matriarch