I flew back to the States for my adopted daughter’s wedding, the suit already picked out and waiting. But a former high school classmate recognized me and pointed, his voice loud with ridicule. “Well, if it isn’t our class copycat. In high school, you wore whatever Adrian Prescott wore. Can’t break the habit, can you? Look at you, wearing a suit just like his. Do you even know what kind of event this is?” Adrian offered a phony apology, but his eyes were laced with venom. “Sorry, Victor. I put up with you mimicking my style back then, but today is my wedding day. I’m really not in the mood to indulge your little copycat routine anymore.” He egged on his cronies, who then proceeded to try and strip me naked in front of everyone. I tried to fight back, but he slapped me so hard I hit the floor. Staring at his face, alight with vicious excitement, I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a cold, silent laugh. I’d tolerated it when he copied me, then twisted the truth to accuse me of being the mimic. But this time? This time, I was his future father-in-law. And if I let him marry into my family after this, then I’ve already lost. 1 The moment my plane landed, I rushed to the hotel to change into the suit the household staff had prepared for me—the suit for the father of the bride. Today was my adopted daughter’s wedding. I say “adopted daughter,” but in reality, I’m only three years older than her. My seniority in the family is high. When Alexa’s parents passed away, she was brought into our family. The Vaughn family rules are strict, and after tracing the lines of the family tree, it turned out I was the only one exactly one generation above her. And so, at a young age, I became a father, with her placed under my legal guardianship. Because we were so close in age, we got along well. I took my paternal duties seriously, as laid out by the family charter, and managed to temper her wild, fearless, and somewhat spoiled nature into something more composed. Who would have thought that the tomboyish 'princess' of the city would now be getting married? I looked down at the exquisitely embroidered tuxedo and grimaced. At least the cut was modern. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been caught dead in it. The staff took my clothes to be laundered, and I was left alone to fix my hair. I glanced up and saw him—Adrian Prescott, my old high school classmate, basking in the glow of a fawning entourage. Their chirpy laughter was laced with flattery. Adrian soaked it all in, his smile growing wider with every compliment. But when his gaze landed on my suit, his expression instantly darkened. I felt a prickle of unease. My tuxedo was eerily similar to his, clearly the same custom design. “Well, well, who do we have here? It’s the wannabe. Still addicted to copying Adrian, huh?” “He’s too nice to call you out on it, but we’re not going to let it slide!” Many of them were old classmates. Their eyes darted to my suit, their faces twisting in contempt. One of Adrian’s closest friends pinched his nose, looking at me as if I were something foul. “Adrian’s suit was custom-made by a top designer, a gift from the princess herself. You think your cheap knockoff can compare?” “Today is Adrian’s wedding to the city’s darling, Alexa Vaughn. Were you even invited? Or did you just slither in here, dressed like that, trying to seduce someone?” My god. My own daughter was marrying Adrian Prescott. A wave of disgust washed over me. Back in high school, he was the one who copied my style, then used his popularity to flip the script and accuse me of being the mimic. I couldn't be bothered to argue back then, more focused on my portfolio for studying abroad than on pointless drama. But the rumors festered, and I spent all of high school isolated and bullied. As much as I disliked him, he was the man Alexa loved. I had to show some decorum. I decided to just wait for their taunts to die down and then slip away. I’d get through the wedding and go home. But Adrian blocked my path, stepping hard on the toe of my shoe. A sharp pain shot up my leg. He feigned surprise and moved his foot, his face a mask of innocence. “Look, Victor, today is my big day. Just take off the suit, okay? Don’t try to upstage me by wearing the same thing.” “After today, you can copy me all you want. I won’t mind a little thing like that.” 2 I stared at him, incredulous. This was a father-of-the-bride tuxedo. It was understated and formal, just a bit more modern than the usual fare. It was nothing like Adrian’s flashy groom’s tuxedo. Besides, his face was a work of art, sculpted by a celebrity makeup artist. He was clearly the center of attention. How could I possibly upstage him? I frowned, not wanting to waste my breath. “This is the father-of-the-bride’s suit. It would be inappropriate to take it off.” I tried to walk away, but in the next second, Adrian grabbed my arm. His eyes were red-rimmed as he began to tear at my clothes. “You all heard him! He admitted it’s a formal suit! He’s doing this on purpose!” he cried out. “Normally, I’d let it go, but this is my wedding day! How can I be expected to tolerate this humiliation?” As he ripped at my collar, he deliberately dug his sharp nails into my neck. Blood welled instantly, and I cried out in pain. Seeing the blood, his eyes grew even redder. He pushed me back into the crowd, shaking his head in feigned panic. “I didn't mean to! It’s your fault for wearing this suit!” “My fiancée had this made for me! It’s deeply meaningful, and I won’t let anyone defile it!” He looked so heartbroken that his pack of sycophants swelled with righteous anger. His groomsmen immediately grabbed my arms, pinning me as they continued to rip at my collar, their eyes glinting with malice. “Adrian, don’t dirty your hands on this trash. This animal probably only owns two nice things. Touching him will just bring you bad luck.” “Let’s strip this bastard and see what kind of cheap crap he’s really wearing. How dare he copy you?” “Someone strong, come help! The little bitch is trying to fight back!” Before I could react, an arm snaked around my neck, choking me until the world started to go black. My limbs went weak, and no matter how I struggled, I couldn’t fight off the countless hands clawing at me. Tears of pure physical pain streamed from my eyes. “I’m… I’m Alexa’s father, agh—” Before I could finish, a fresh gash appeared on my mouth. The mob’s insults drowned out my words as they tore the suit from my body, leaving me curled on the cold floor, covered in wounds. They presented the tattered remains of my suit to Adrian like a trophy. He didn't even glance at it. His eyes were locked on me. One of the guys holding me down saw I was still trying to speak and slapped me hard across the face. My cheek swelled instantly, a fiery pain shooting through my skull. Before I could recover, another slap landed on the other side. “There,” a voice sneered in my ear. “Made you symmetrical. You should thank me.” The room spun. Through the haze, I heard Adrian’s fake sobs. “Thank you, everyone. I’m so sorry you had to deal with this filth on such a happy day. It’s my fault for being too lenient with him in the past.” “He’s an old classmate, after all. With all those scars, what woman would ever want him? Not like me. I’m about to marry into the Vaughn family. I’ll be set for life.” He then picked up a nearby bottle of Macallan and, raising it high, poured it all over me. “Might as well use this. A little alcohol to disinfect Victor’s wounds.” He saw me gasp in agony and his eyes curved into a sickeningly sweet smile. “Don’t worry,” he said, feigning thoughtfulness. “I know this is too expensive for you to ever drink, but it’s my wedding. I can do whatever I want with it.” The autumn air was cool. Stripped to my underwear, I shivered violently, hugging myself like a fish left to die on the sand. The crowd, seeing this, seemed to take it as encouragement. They started grabbing bottles from the tables. “Great idea, Adrian! Let me try! I wonder how well this ‘82 Lafite disinfects.” Red wine streamed down my face, mixing with the blood from my cuts, a disgusting cocktail that dripped from my chin. “Hey, don’t you dare lick any of that. It’s mixed with your blood. How gross.” Their eyes were filled with malice and disgust. They laughed and joked, studying my pained expressions and describing them in detail for Adrian’s amusement. I couldn’t speak. Opening my mouth only earned me another slap. The alcohol on my open wounds felt like being rolled over hot steel. The pain was so intense it was becoming numb. I tried to stand, to escape this hell, but I just kept collapsing pathetically to the floor, triggering roars of laughter. “Trying to run? Not so fast. We gave you a chance earlier. You blew it.” He loomed over me, grinding the sole of his leather shoe into my fingers, listening with satisfaction to my weak whimpers of pain. Suddenly, someone hissed, “Isabelle’s here!”
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