"I’m sorry, sir," the operator stammered, his fingers flying across the control panel. "I’ve been trying to stop it, but the system isn’t responding. The best I could do was cut the sound by removing the wire to the speakers."

Jenny looked at Robert. His expression was drawn tight, his jaw clenched. She could see the frustration in him—perhaps even fear. Then, without warning, she felt hot tears spilling from her eyes again. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. Was it sadness? Relief? Regret? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that the tears came unbidden, and she couldn’t seem to stop them.

The video continued to play, stubbornly uninterrupted. Jenny’s father, his face twisted with rage, strode forward, grabbed a wooden chair, and smashed it against the screen. The shattering sound cut through the murmurs in the hall. Then he turned on his heel and walked straight towards Jenny. His hand came up, and before she could move, a sharp slap cracked across her cheek.

"You’re an idiot! An ingrate!" Nicolas Gerald’s voice thundered through the hall.

Jenny stared back at him, the tears still flowing, but now mixed with disbelief. She had expected her father’s anger, yes—but aimed at Robert and Florence, not her. Instead, all the blame was being heaped on her shoulders. Her gaze swept the room, silently pleading for someone—anyone—to stand up for her. But the hall was full of bowed heads and averted eyes. No one dared challenge the two powerful families, not unless they had a wish to be ruined—or imprisoned.

Without another word, her father turned and walked towards Robert’s father, John Wilson.

"Mr. John, can we speak outside for a moment?" Nicolas said, his voice low but still edged with tension.

John glanced briefly at Florence, then followed Nicolas out of the hall.

Jenny remained standing between her sister and Robert, like a prisoner flanked by two guards. The atmosphere in the hall had shifted completely—no longer the polished, glittering wedding everyone had anticipated, but a theatre of scandal. The guests, many of them society’s most influential figures, were whispering and exchanging glances. Some tried to hide their smirks, others barely suppressed their laughter. Whatever they had expected when they came here today, this—this public humiliation—was far more entertaining.

After several tense minutes, the two patriarchs returned. John Wilson’s face was as stern as stone.

"I want you to marry Florence Gerald," he said flatly to his son. Nicolas gave Florence a little push forward, as though presenting her.

"Dad, that’s impos—" Robert began, but his father cut him off with a sharp bark.

"Shut up, you idiot! You’ll do as I say, or I’ll disown you this instant!"

Nicolas then turned to his daughter. "And you—what are you still doing here? You’ve disgraced the two families enough. Either get out or sit in a corner where you can’t be seen."

Jenny’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, she simply turned and walked away, doing exactly as he’d commanded. She settled in a far corner of the hall, her back straight but her eyes searching desperately for some trace of compassion. She looked at her mother, hoping—expecting—that at least she would speak up. But Mrs. Gerald only turned her face away, her expression unreadable.

Jenny’s heart sank. Her mother, who had always been her silent support, was now silent in a different way—complicit in her isolation.

She looked next to Robert’s mother, who stood beside her own. But Mrs. Wilson didn’t so much as glance at her, as if Jenny had suddenly become invisible.

The guests who, moments ago, had showered her with compliments and praise now avoided her completely. Not a single person came to offer comfort.

"Humans," she thought bitterly. "They smile at you when you shine, but vanish the moment you fall. Afraid to speak the truth, afraid to stand by what’s right. Why?"

She reached for a bottle of water on the table in front of her. "Hmm," she muttered, shaking her head before unscrewing the cap and taking a drink.

Her eyes drifted to the dance floor. "Why are they dancing?" she murmured, almost to herself, as she forced a smile that vanished just as quickly as it appeared. The music blurred in her ears. Her vision wavered, shapes smearing together until she could only make out the moving silhouettes of Robert and Florence.

"She’s getting married in the dress I ordered for myself—just so I’d look perfect on my wedding day," she whispered, her voice almost a growl as she drained the bottle.

Her gaze snagged on something blue nearby. She stood, leaning forward to touch it. "What’s this blue thing? How did it get here? This is… hard to believe."

"Excuse me," a deep male voice said from just ahead.

Jenny blinked in surprise. "Wow… this is unbelievable!" she breathed. "This robot is beautiful. I’ve never seen one like you. You even have proper clothes—real clothes, not the usual cheap fabric they put on machines. Let me feel them." She reached out with hesitant fingers.

"Who is she? And what is she doing here in a wedding gown?" the man asked, clearly confused.

Jenny frowned slightly, looking him up and down. "You even have a nice voice. I’ve never seen a robot with a voice like that. Let me tell you what happened—" she stepped closer, lowering her voice—"I’m the bride. But they betrayed me."

"Mr. Nelson, she’s Jennifer Gerald—the actual bride for today’s ceremony," a woman nearby explained quickly.

Nelson was still processing this when Jenny stepped even closer and, before he could react, pressed her lips lightly to his. "Florence… kissed my fiancé like this," she said matter-of-factly, pointing towards the happy couple in the distance.

Nelson froze, as though truly turning into a machine—caught between disbelief and shock.

"And she hugged him like this." Jenny wrapped her arms briefly around his shoulders. "They stole my joy. How could they do that to me? Why me?"

Her voice cracked, and before she could stop herself, she collapsed to her knees, leaning her head against Nelson’s shoulder.