A Wedding Night Gone Terribly Wrong novel Chapter 240

Iris watched in disbelief as Yvette—arrogant and recklessly overconfident—plowed ahead, completely blind to how foolish she sounded.

"Age isn't a factor in marriage," Yvette declared smoothly. "If an old man can marry a young girl, an older woman can definitely marry a younger man. As long as the guy has stamina, a woman could be eighty and still handle it."

"A true modern woman," Holden applauded, laughing. "I wish you and your innocent young catch the best."

"I'm going to need your help," Yvette instructed. "When we get back to Kingsbridge, I have my brand launch, a press conference, and a fan meet-and-greet. Oh, and late next month, I'm flying in a girl group from Hyron Country to perform on my livestream. Leland is shy, so make sure you bring him along."

"Will do."

Holden called Kian over, and the group took the cable car up to South Peak. They checked into a resort and rented a private hot spring, but Holden didn't get in. Instead, he borrowed a white horse from the resort owner and rode off.

Yvette adjusted her bikini straps, tilting her head. "Where is your husband going?"

Iris smiled, looking a bit smug. "To avenge me."

"Avenge you for what?" Yvette and Kian both looked over.

"When you all walked away down at the plaza, I went over to say hi to Winifred," Iris lied smoothly, playing the victim. "And she completely went off on me. She called me a universally despised rat..."

Yvette slammed her hand against the water. "That bitch! Good, Holden should beat some sense into her."

Meanwhile, Winifred—who was currently the subject of everyone's gossip—was standing in front of two graves, holding the reins of her small black horse, feeling like she was losing her mind.

She couldn't believe what she was looking at.

When her grandfather passed away, his arrangements had been prepared well in advance. His grave had a proper tombstone, an engraved epitaph, and a photo.

Winifred's death, however, had been staged in a rush. She had only bought a cheap coffin and piled up a dirt mound. She didn't even have a tombstone. In her memory, her grave was incredibly bleak, crammed tightly against her grandfather's. Aside from the dirt mound, there was barely enough room for a single person to stand.

"Hello! Boss, the girl you're looking for is here."

Holden's voice crackled through the speaker: "Are you lying to me again?"

Burt: "No, sir! I take my job very seriously."

Holden: "How many is this now?"

Burt tilted his head, digging into his coat again. He pulled out a battered little notebook, his tobacco-stained fingers flipping through the frayed pages. His thick lips moved as he quietly counted under his breath: One, two, three, four, five...

"This is the 98th one, sir."

But then, he quickly added, "But Boss, you gotta listen to me. This one looks exactly like the one you're looking for."