Some even took out their phones to record, while others spat in my direction.
In a fit of anger, I ripped off my designer coat, which was worth tens of thousands of dollars, and tossed it into a nearby trash can.
I turned to face Felicity, my voice steady and fierce. "You should really ask Logan who the real mistress is before you start throwing accusations around!"
Once I finished, Felicity slapped me hard across the face.
"Do you really need to ask? Today is my wedding day with Logan! Can't you see that?"
She pointed angrily at my car, her voice rising.
"I absolutely despise mistresses. All of them deserve to be punished!"
With that, she pulled out a key and scratched the words "Mistress, die!" across my car's paint.
I glanced at the glaring letters, a chill running down my spine.
"You'll soon realize just how ironic those words are."
Felicity's anger boiled over. "You shameless hussy! You're stealing my husband and then mocking me?
"Just thinking about my husband's car being driven by a skank like you makes me sick!"
With that, she picked up a brick from the ground and began smashing it against my car.
She hit the windows, the headlights, the hood—nothing was spared.