Trash Fiancé, Meet My Revenge - Chapter 6: Chapter 6
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Wyatt kept adjusting his glasses nervously—clearly unsettled, and clearly aware of the tension between me and Damien moments earlier.
"Let's wait a couple of days," I said with a faint smile.
"Ah?" Wyatt's face twisted in confusion.
A few days later, at Elijah's 90th birthday celebration.
The event was packed with the city's elite, and the old man was beaming with joy. In the past, I'd only ever worked behind the scenes at these gatherings. Damien used to say it was a "test"—that enduring hardship was the only way to earn a place in their family.
But today? I walked in holding Wyatt's hand, dressed to impress, radiating confidence—untouchable.
"Well, well, well. Look who it is."
Of course, someone had to ruin the moment. Victoria.
Her eyes flicked over me with disdain, but when they landed on Wyatt, her expression twisted with something far uglier.
Jealousy. Pure, unfiltered jealousy.
"What, did you just crawl out of Damien's bed before latching onto this one?" she sneered. "He looks smart—did you trick him into being with you?"
Victoria was seething.
After all, she'd spent her whole life fawning over Damien, playing the sweet childhood friend, barely clinging to the title of "little sister." Meanwhile, I—at the very least—had been his actual girlfriend.
And now, even after our breakup, I was standing beside someone like Wyatt. Of course she couldn't handle it.
Just then, Damien noticed me.
But the man looked like he hadn't slept in days—slippers, pajamas, hair a mess.
"You're here," he muttered.
He hesitated, then awkwardly reached out—only for Wyatt to intercept with a firm handshake.
"Hello, Mr. Miller." Wyatt smiled politely.
Damien forced a grin, but the pain in his eyes was unmistakable.
Victoria, now completely ignored, exploded.
"Damien, look at this shameless woman!" she shrieked. "She dumps you and jumps straight into another man's arms! Bet he doesn't even know how used she is, right? Trash like her belongs in some mountain village, sold off like livestock—she doesn't deserve happiness!"
The words spilled out before she could stop herself.
And the entire room heard them.
"Damien, I—I didn't mean it! You know me, I'm not like this!" Victoria stammered, panic setting in as she caught Damien's icy stare.
"That's exactly how you think, isn't it?" Damien snarled, grabbing her arm.
"I—I don't! You're hurting me!"
"It's your fault!" he roared, fingers tightening around her neck. "You're the reason Claire left me! You ruined everything!"
His grip tightened—until Wyatt finally snapped into action, calling for help and dragging Damien away.
Victoria, gasping and trembling, ended up in the hospital.
All because Damien lost control.
Here's a more natural and vivid version of your text in American English:
After wishing Elijah a happy birthday, he finally opened up and told me everything.
Turns out, Damien's mother had a genetic mental illness. He'd been certain the same condition would manifest in him before he turned thirty, and then spiral out of control.
"I'm sorry, child," Elijah said, his aged eyes brimming with tears. "I shouldn't have hidden this from you. I had no right to expect so much."
The guilt on his face was raw and unmistakable. I knew then—Elijah had always genuinely cared for me and my mother.
"Grandpa," I said, pulling him into a hug, "you'll always be family to me. I don't need anything in return. Just promise you'll come to me when you need help."
The birthday banquet drama spread like wildfire, of course. Gossips spun wild versions of events—everything from "Damien tried to drive me insane after failing to win me over" to "Victoria made a scene when Damien rejected her, and he nearly strangled her in a fit of passion."
But none of that mattered to me anymore.
All I knew was that I'd finally overcome the two biggest hurdles in my life.
And then, Wyatt surprised me with a confession—right outside my apartment, no less.
"I don't want to be just a scene in your story," he said, dropping to one knee, his usually composed face tense with nerves. He fumbled for his glasses out of habit, but I gently took them off instead.
Then, he kissed me—boldly, decisively.
"Welcome," I whispered, smiling. "My leading man."
"Let's wait a couple of days," I said with a faint smile.
"Ah?" Wyatt's face twisted in confusion.
A few days later, at Elijah's 90th birthday celebration.
The event was packed with the city's elite, and the old man was beaming with joy. In the past, I'd only ever worked behind the scenes at these gatherings. Damien used to say it was a "test"—that enduring hardship was the only way to earn a place in their family.
But today? I walked in holding Wyatt's hand, dressed to impress, radiating confidence—untouchable.
"Well, well, well. Look who it is."
Of course, someone had to ruin the moment. Victoria.
Her eyes flicked over me with disdain, but when they landed on Wyatt, her expression twisted with something far uglier.
Jealousy. Pure, unfiltered jealousy.
"What, did you just crawl out of Damien's bed before latching onto this one?" she sneered. "He looks smart—did you trick him into being with you?"
Victoria was seething.
After all, she'd spent her whole life fawning over Damien, playing the sweet childhood friend, barely clinging to the title of "little sister." Meanwhile, I—at the very least—had been his actual girlfriend.
And now, even after our breakup, I was standing beside someone like Wyatt. Of course she couldn't handle it.
Just then, Damien noticed me.
But the man looked like he hadn't slept in days—slippers, pajamas, hair a mess.
"You're here," he muttered.
He hesitated, then awkwardly reached out—only for Wyatt to intercept with a firm handshake.
"Hello, Mr. Miller." Wyatt smiled politely.
Damien forced a grin, but the pain in his eyes was unmistakable.
Victoria, now completely ignored, exploded.
"Damien, look at this shameless woman!" she shrieked. "She dumps you and jumps straight into another man's arms! Bet he doesn't even know how used she is, right? Trash like her belongs in some mountain village, sold off like livestock—she doesn't deserve happiness!"
The words spilled out before she could stop herself.
And the entire room heard them.
"Damien, I—I didn't mean it! You know me, I'm not like this!" Victoria stammered, panic setting in as she caught Damien's icy stare.
"That's exactly how you think, isn't it?" Damien snarled, grabbing her arm.
"I—I don't! You're hurting me!"
"It's your fault!" he roared, fingers tightening around her neck. "You're the reason Claire left me! You ruined everything!"
His grip tightened—until Wyatt finally snapped into action, calling for help and dragging Damien away.
Victoria, gasping and trembling, ended up in the hospital.
All because Damien lost control.
Here's a more natural and vivid version of your text in American English:
After wishing Elijah a happy birthday, he finally opened up and told me everything.
Turns out, Damien's mother had a genetic mental illness. He'd been certain the same condition would manifest in him before he turned thirty, and then spiral out of control.
"I'm sorry, child," Elijah said, his aged eyes brimming with tears. "I shouldn't have hidden this from you. I had no right to expect so much."
The guilt on his face was raw and unmistakable. I knew then—Elijah had always genuinely cared for me and my mother.
"Grandpa," I said, pulling him into a hug, "you'll always be family to me. I don't need anything in return. Just promise you'll come to me when you need help."
The birthday banquet drama spread like wildfire, of course. Gossips spun wild versions of events—everything from "Damien tried to drive me insane after failing to win me over" to "Victoria made a scene when Damien rejected her, and he nearly strangled her in a fit of passion."
But none of that mattered to me anymore.
All I knew was that I'd finally overcome the two biggest hurdles in my life.
And then, Wyatt surprised me with a confession—right outside my apartment, no less.
"I don't want to be just a scene in your story," he said, dropping to one knee, his usually composed face tense with nerves. He fumbled for his glasses out of habit, but I gently took them off instead.
Then, he kissed me—boldly, decisively.
"Welcome," I whispered, smiling. "My leading man."
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