My Reborn Ex Dumped Me Again. Joke’s on Him, I Married Better Chapter 04

My Reborn Ex Dumped Me Again. Joke’s on Him, I Married Better Chapter 04

On the morning of the wedding, the Vances hadn’t even put up a single wedding decoration.

My father and mother stood at the door, urging me to hurry, warning me not to delay the auspicious hour. Their faces carried no trace of a smile. They looked like people trying to ward off a jinx.

Celeste wore a pink sundress and approached with theatrical reluctance, reaching for my hand, her eyes glistening. “Sera, take good care of yourself over there. I’ll miss you.”

I pulled my hand back and gave a flat “Mm.”

She froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to dismiss her so openly. Her eyes grew even glassier.

She turned and collapsed against Grayson’s chest, the picture of wounded innocence.

Grayson frowned at me. “Seraphina, could you stop being so ungrateful? Celeste was trying to say goodbye. Why the attitude?”

I didn’t answer. I lifted my gaze toward the end of the drive.

A line of black Maybachs was gliding toward us, every plate a sequential custom number. The sheer presence of the motorcade hushed the entire street.

The neighbors who had gathered to gawk stood stunned.

“My God, whose wedding procession is this? This kind of spectacle?”

“Didn’t they say the real Vance daughter was marrying some dying old man? “This doesn’t look like any deathbed wedding to me.”

My parents stared. Celeste’s eyes went wide, her fingers digging into Grayson’s sleeve.

Grayson frowned too.

He recognized those plates. They belonged to the Harrington family’s private fleet.

A sick feeling coiled in his stomach. He stepped forward without thinking.

The lead car stopped smoothly in front of the Vance estate.

The driver jogged around to open the door.

The man who stepped out wore a tailored black formal suit. He was tall, his presence commanding.

This was Dorian Harrington.

The man the entire social circuit looked up to.

The rumors had always said he was convalescing abroad, frail and aged, confined to a sickbed.

But the man standing before them was barely past thirty, with sharp features and an aristocratic bearing. There was not a trace of illness anywhere on him.

Grayson strode forward almost reflexively, disbelief thick in his voice. “Dorian Harrington? What are you doing here?”

Chapter 4
On the morning of the wedding, the Vances hadn’t even put up a single wedding decoration.

My father and mother stood at the door, urging me to hurry, warning me not to delay the auspicious hour. Their faces carried no trace of a smile. They looked like people trying to ward off a jinx.

Celeste wore a pink sundress and approached with theatrical reluctance, reaching for my hand, her eyes glistening. “Sera, take good care of yourself over there. I’ll miss you.”

I pulled my hand back and gave a flat “Mm.”

She froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to dismiss her so openly. Her eyes grew even glassier.

She turned and collapsed against Grayson’s chest, the picture of wounded innocence.

Grayson frowned at me. “Seraphina, could you stop being so ungrateful? Celeste was trying to say goodbye. Why the attitude?”

I didn’t answer. I lifted my gaze toward the end of the drive.

A line of black Maybachs was gliding toward us, every plate a sequential custom number. The sheer presence of the motorcade hushed the entire street.

The neighbors who had gathered to gawk stood stunned.

“My God, whose wedding procession is this? This kind of spectacle?”

“Didn’t they say the real Vance daughter was marrying some dying old man? “This doesn’t look like any deathbed wedding to me.”

My parents stared. Celeste’s eyes went wide, her fingers digging into Grayson’s sleeve.

Grayson frowned too.

He recognized those plates. They belonged to the Harrington family’s private fleet.

A sick feeling coiled in his stomach. He stepped forward without thinking.

The lead car stopped smoothly in front of the Vance estate.

The driver jogged around to open the door.

The man who stepped out wore a tailored black formal suit. He was tall, his presence commanding.

This was Dorian Harrington.

The man the entire social circuit looked up to.

The rumors had always said he was convalescing abroad, frail and aged, confined to a sickbed.

But the man standing before them was barely past thirty, with sharp features and an aristocratic bearing. There was not a trace of illness anywhere on him.

Grayson strode forward almost reflexively, disbelief thick in his voice. “Dorian Harrington? What are you doing here?”