Chapter 628
Morwen entered Kenneth's car. They anticipated a smooth journey, but their car was stopped at the hotel's checkpoint. Kenneth, possessing an invitation and being on the guest list, was admitted. Morwen, however, was not.
This public rebuff darkened Kenneth's face instantly. He sharply demanded, "Why?" Morwen was his guest; barring her was a direct insult.
"Mr. Harper, this is Mr. Hampton's rule," the impeccably dressed guard replied. The implication was clear: Kenneth should address any issues with Richard; otherwise, entry was impossible.
Kenneth's face hardened. In Lovell City, no one defied Richard. The guests were immensely wealthy and powerful, titans in their respective fields, yet even they obeyed Richard's rules. Kenneth, in comparison, was insignificant.
The staff, expressionless, reminded him, "Mr. Harper, you may enter, but bringing an uninvited guest will necessitate stronger measures."
The situation was tense. Kenneth turned to Morwen, saying coldly, "You'll have to handle this yourself." He then drove into the hotel alone.
Morwen, seething, cursed, "Damn it!" She was so close, yet barred. She regretted waiting until the wedding day instead of confronting Richard the previous night. She'd lost her advantage, making the situation extremely difficult, though not impossible.
A cold smile touched Morwen's lips as she left the hotel entrance. Finding a secluded spot, she produced a fruit knife from her bag. The Double Love Poison's side effect was shared pain: Richard, having also ingested the poison, would feel any injury Morwen inflicted upon herself. Even if she couldn't enter, she would disrupt the reception. With grim determination, she slashed her arm deeply. Blood flowed freely.
Inside the hotel, Richard finished dressing. His handsome face was calm and elegant. However, fastening his shirt's last button, his hand paused.
Sidney and Garry, nearby, teased, "What's wrong, Richard? Excited to the point of trembling?"
They laughed. They knew the wedding's significance to Richard, who'd spared no expense, mobilizing vast resources to secure the entire hotel for Tiffany's perfect wedding. Even his composure faltering wouldn't have surprised them.
Richard quickly recovered. His expression remained sharp, his demeanor commanding. He exuded grace and elegance, a powerful and dignified presence. Any momentary lapse was gone.
Ignoring them, Richard left to see his bride.
Tiffany was dressed, her hair and makeup perfect. As Richard reached the door, it opened. Makeup artists and stylists exchanged amused glances, stepping aside. "Mr. Hampton, Mrs. Hampton is ready."
"Hmm," Richard nodded, his gaze fixed on Tiffany.
Under the lights, Tiffany resembled a celestial being—pure, radiant, breathtakingly beautiful. Richard's admiration was evident. He casually gestured, and his staff gave the artists generous paychecks.
Alone, Tiffany blinked and looked at Richard approaching. She chuckled softly. "Do I look good?"
"Of course," Richard replied, a slight smile curving his lips as he took her hand.
The reception was about to begin. As they walked, Tiffany smiled. Midway, she noticed something. "Why are your hands so cold?" She tried to warm them with hers.
Richard chuckled softly. "I'm fine."
Celebratory trumpets echoed, followed by church bells. Fireworks illuminated the sky. Inside the hotel, guests were seated. A world-famous orchestra played a romantic melody. Flowers were scattered; two elegant figures appeared, walking slowly.
The crowd gasped—in awe, admiration, envy, or blessings. A tall man, radiating grace and sophistication, stood on the red carpet, his presence almost otherworldly.
Beside him, the bride in her white gown was stunningly beautiful. Her delicate smile was pure and graceful. Their appearance mesmerized the crowd.
Influential guests exchanged shocked glances. Before seeing the bride, they'd privately joked about which woman had won the ever-distant Mr. Hampton's favor. Seeing Tiffany, they were stunned. The woman once dismissed as a simpleton commanded attention. Beside Richard, she wasn't overshadowed; her every move radiated beauty and noble grace. Such strength couldn't be judged by worldly standards. They were perfect together.
Outside, Morwen felt one slash insufficient. Gritting her teeth, she inflicted more wounds. Pain made her pale and sweaty, but she pressed on. Passersby gave her strange looks.