The sharp clicking of my heels against the polished marble floor of the ballroom seemed to echo right into the hollow places of my chest, but I kept my chin up, refusing to let the heavy atmosphere crush me. Aunt Niken let out a sharp, mocking laugh that cut through the murmurs of the curious wedding guests, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at the photographs scattered near my feet.
Wah, steady lah, you still can act so blur sotong here, she hissed, her voice dripping with venom as she leaned closer. Everyone in Singapore already know your backside is so black, yet you still dare to turn up at my nephew wedding like nothing happen. You think you damn steady ah?
I did not flinch. I kept my gaze steady, letting my eyes sweep across the crowded room filled with prominent local socialites, business partners, and relatives who had all come to celebrate Azof big day. The air conditioning was freezing, but the tension in the room felt thick enough to suffocate a person.
Azof stood there in his sharp tailored suit, looking utterly uncomfortable yet too proud to admit it. His new wife, a wealthy young heiress named Sandra whose family practically owned half the commercial properties along Orchard Road, clutched his arm tighter, her expression a mix of smugness and unease. She probably thought she had won the ultimate prize, securing one of the most eligible bachelors in town while pushing me out into the cold.
Little did she know, she had just inherited a ticking time bomb.
You all really think you can just anyhow fabricate stories and destroy my reputation, right? I said, my voice cutting through the whispers with a chilling calmness that made a few people in the front row flinch. You spent the last few months leaking fake photos to the press, spreading malicious gossip in every country club from Tanglin to Sentosa, and making sure my name was dragged through the mud. But hor, did you ever stop to think who actually owns the digital forensics firm that verified those images? Did you genuinely believe no one would check the metadata?
Azof face lost its color instantly. His grip on Sandra hand loosened. What… what are you talking about, Cahaya? Don’t anyhow talk cock here. The evidence is right there on the floor. Everyone saw those pictures.
Oh, everyone saw them alright, I replied, taking a slow step forward, forcing him to take a nervous step back. But what nobody in this room knows is who those men in the photos actually are. You thought they were secret lovers, hor? You thought I was sneaking around behind your back, panting for affection because my family background wasn’t atas enough for your precious mother?
My mother-in-law let out a gasp, covering her mouth with her diamond-ringed fingers, though her tears felt entirely fake now.
Let me spell it out for you, Azof, I continued, my voice rising just enough to command the entire hall. Those men are not my lovers. They are top-tier private investigators and cybersecurity experts that I hired three months ago when I first realized my husband was acting damn suspicious, constantly checking his phone under the dining table and sneaking out for late-night emergency meetings.
A collective gasp swept through the ballroom. Whispers erupted like a sudden thunderstorm.
And you want to know what my investigators found instead of my so-called affairs? I asked, reaching slowly into my designer handbag and pulling out a sleek, heavy corporate tablet. I didn’t even need to look at the screen; I knew every single file, every single transaction memorized by heart. They didn’t just uncover a few manipulated photos meant to frame me for divorce grounds. They uncovered a massive financial conspiracy.
Sandra face turned pale as paper. Azof, what is she saying? Tell me she lying!
Don’t listen to her! Azof shouted, lunging forward as if he wanted to snatch the tablet out of my hand, but two hotel security guards instinctively stepped in between us, remembering very well who actually held the primary shares in the venue management company.
Too late, hor, I whispered with a cold smile. The moment you filed for this hurried marriage to cover your tracks, you signed your own death warrant. Azof, you thought marrying Sandra would save your failing tech startup from bankruptcy. You thought embezzling funds from your father-in-law company and pinning the embezzlement trail onto my bank accounts through sophisticated cyber-spoofing would keep you safe. You really thought Cahaya was just some blur village girl from up north who would swallow her tears and quietly disappear into the background, right?
The silence in the ballroom became absolute. You could hear a pin drop on the thick carpet.
Azof legs started to tremble. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, only a choked, desperate sound as he looked frantically toward Sandra father, a prominent tycoon who had just stood up from the VIP table, his face turning an alarming shade of dark purple.
Is this true? the tycoon roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandeliers above us. Azof! You bastard! You used my daughter just to cover up your corporate crimes and tried to frame an innocent woman?
Dad, don’t listen to her, she crazy, she making everything up— Azof stammered, stumbling backward into the wedding cake display, sending tiers of expensive French macarons crashing down onto the pristine floor in a messy heap.
The security doors at the back of the ballroom suddenly pushed open with a loud thud. Two officers from the Commercial Affairs Department walked in, their uniforms crisp and their badges gleaming under the bright lights.
Mr. Azof bin Ibrahim? one of the officers called out, stepping firmly into the center aisle. We have a warrant for your arrest on charges of corporate fraud, criminal breach of trust, and digital fabrication of evidence. Please come with us.
Cameras flashed furiously from the back of the room as local reporters, tipped off by my legal team just minutes before the ceremony began, swarmed the entrance. The grand wedding had transformed into a full-scale public arrest in less than five minutes.
Sandra let out a piercing shriek and shoved Azof away so hard he tripped over his own wedding shoes, sprawling flat on his face amidst the crushed macarons and white frosting. Aunt Niken dropped her handbag, her jaw practically hitting the floor as the police officers pulled Azof up by his arms, slapping cold steel handcuffs around his wrists while he stared at me with pure, unadulterated terror and disbelief.
As they dragged him past me toward the exit, his expensive designer suit stained with sticky cream and his hair completely disheveled, I didn’t feel anger anymore. I didn’t even feel satisfaction. I just felt a profound, liberating peace.
He looked at me one last time, his eyes pleading for a shred of mercy, for just a single ounce of the warmth I used to give him every single day when we first got married.
I merely smiled down at him, adjusting the strap of my handbag with absolute poise.
You wanted a miserable marriage for me, Azof, I whispered softly as he was hauled past the threshold. But as for you and your new wife? Enjoy the cell block. Your drama just season-premiere, and I the one holding the remote control.