"No wonder she dared to show up—she slapped a fake plate on it so she could pretend she’s somebody! This is killing me!"
Unmoved by their jeers, I said evenly:
"The plate is real."
"And this isn’t a junk car—it’s a government-issued armored Cadillac."
I had barely finished speaking when Sophie suddenly stepped right up to me and slapped me hard across the face.
"Of course the plate is real—because this is my husband’s car!"
"I’ve long suspected he had some mistress stashed away, and I never imagined it’d be you, you shameless bitch!"
"You actually had the nerve to drive my husband’s car to my wedding to taunt me, the rightful wife?"
Her words made the onlookers’ eyes go wide.
"Sophie, that’s your husband’s car? Seriously?"
She lifted her chin proudly. "Would I lie? He’s picked me up in this very car before. I even took photos of the plate because it stood out so much."
She whipped out her phone and pulled up several pictures—some of her and Adrian Hughes cuddled inside the car, others leaning together on the hood. The plate and the interior details were clear as day.
It was the exact same car.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.