The moment I stormed into the church in my wedding gown, everyone laughed. But not for me—for her, Della, standing beside my fiancé in an identical dress. "Got lost?" she tilted her head, lips curling. "The groom's waiting for me." Vitan watched me in silence, his eyes unreadable. Whispers stung my ears like needles: "Why are there two brides?" "Could this be some kind of decoy scandal?" I stepped forward, my gown trailing across the red carpet like a river of blood. Suddenly, she snatched up a curling iron, searing my arm until smoke rose, then pulled a chainsaw from beneath her skirt, grinning wildly. "This spot is mine. I'm staying." Screams erupted as the chainsaw roared to life— But in the next second, Vitan raised his hand. Black-clad security flooded the room. He opened his suit jacket, revealing the protective charm I'd sewn by hand, tucked against his chest. "The one I've been waiting for," his voice was cold as frost, "always wears pearl earrings—and never steps on my toes with high heels." It was me. Every meal, every aversion, whether I blinked my left or right eye first when I cried—he remembered it all. Della lunged like a madwoman, but was swiftly pinned to the ground. As sirens wailed, she shrieked, "I just wanted to marry him! What do you have that I don't?" I stood in the center of the wreckage, tearing apart the counterfeit gown, smashing the bat hard against the floor. Vitan approached, dropped to one knee, and held out the ring. "Ellie Noor, may I now officially marry you?" Imprisoned Phoenix