CEO Plus-Size Ex-Wife

Chapter 69: Sorry For Being Late

Benita's malicious and slanderous comments at the church entrance have placed Andrea in a precarious position, and if not addressed properly, they could tarnish her reputation irreparably.

The commotion stirred up by Benita has drawn the attention of numerous passersby, along with the eager media team she brought along, who were busy snapping photos, taking notes, and filming the scene.

The media thrives on sensationalizing bad news, providing a platform for people to criticize and express their self-righteous outrage.

Hidden behind a veil, Andrea's thoughts remain a mystery, her facial expressions concealed from view.

As Benita basked in the attention and perceived public support, she grew more brazen, challenging Andrea, "Why the silence, Andrea? If I am spreading falsehoods, bring forth my brother, the groom, and I will offer you my apology."

Agatha stepped out of the car, her expression turning cold as she caught sight of Benita causing a scene.

"You're a bad woman! My mother is nothing like what you're saying. You're a liar! A big, fat liar! My dad is inside the church!" a young voice rang out with righteous anger.

All heads turned in the direction of the voice to see Pete, who stood nervously as the center of attention. His eyes were bloodshot, fists clenched in fury.

Benita was left speechless at the sight of Pete, who bore a striking resemblance to her brother but in a younger form. In that moment, it was as if Valentine Anderson himself had spoken.

"Benita, you need to watch your words. Andrea is not just going to be your brother's wife; she is also the mother of your brother's son. Is this how you want to treat your sister-in-law?" Agatha seized the moment to introduce Pete and redirect the public scrutiny onto Benita.

Benita clenched her teeth, her lower lip caught between them in a telltale sign of her inner turmoil. Pete's resemblance to her brother was striking, a paternity that she found impossible to deny based solely on appearance. But it didn't matter; her resolve was set like stone. She would ensure Andrea wouldn't lay claim to a single piece of Valentine's estate. "My brother never had a son! Who's to say you haven't subjected this child to plastic surgery to mimic my brother's looks? How low will you stoop, Andrea, to get your hands on my brother's fortune?" Benita's voice rose to a shout, her eyes wet with unshed tears, her frame quivering with fervor, as if she were the protagonist in a battle for justice.

"Enough!" A commanding voice cut through the chaos.

All heads turned as Mrs. Anderson emerged from her vehicle, her expression one of deep disappointment. She had no intention of getting involved, but witnessing Benita's ruthless accusations against her own grandson was more than she could bear in silence.

"Mom..." Benita's voice was tinged with apprehension, but Mrs. Anderson cut her off sharply.

"Don't 'Mom' me, Benny. If you truly considered me your mother, how could you sink to such depths? Who convinced you to do this?"

Mrs. Anderson's face was filled with disappointment as she scolded.

Benita's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. In that moment of awkward silence, Agatha stepped forward, addressing the onlookers. "Please, this is a personal family matter. We ask our friends in the media and concerned bystanders to respect our privacy. We have a wedding to attend, and the groom shouldn't be kept waiting."

With a practiced gesture, Agatha signaled to the bodyguards, who promptly escorted Andrea into the sanctuary of the church.

But the media was relentless, trailing after Andrea, their questions like a barrage of arrows.

"Mrs. Singers, when did you become pregnant with Mr. Anderson's child?"

"Is Pete truly the son of your ex-husband or Mr. Singers?"

"Congratulations on your wedding, Mrs. Singers! May we cover the ceremony live? The public is eager to know more!"

Mrs. Anderson's intervention hadn't deterred them, and they sensed there was more drama to come within the church walls, a narrative their audiences would devour.

Agatha, however, was quick to block their path. "We apologize, but this is a sacred place, not a venue for public spectacle. Mrs. Singers and Mr. Anderson wish for a modest ceremony, especially in light of the recent tragic event." She expertly invoked the recent bomb blast to ward off the media's invasive interest.

Benita stood at a distance, watching Agatha deftly handle the situation she had instigated, her eyes ablaze with defeat and yet, a stubborn refusal to concede.

Then, a sharp pain snapped her back to reality—a stinging slap across her cheek. Hand to her face, Benita turned to see her mother, Mrs. Anderson, with a look of sorrow and fury.

"Benny, this is not what I expected of you. I knew you envied Andrea, but to stoop to this level..." Mrs. Anderson's voice trembled with both anger and heartache.

"Mom, I-I..." Benita faltered, her defenses crumbling.

"Enough," Mrs. Anderson said firmly. "You're coming with me into the church." She grasped Benita's arm, her grip unyielding, and led her inside.

In the pews of the church, under her mother's watchful gaze, Benita would have no chance to further her vendetta against Andrea. Mrs. Anderson was determined to keep it that way.

The interior of the church was magnificent, and although the number of guests in attendance was modest, the decorations and overall setting were anything but mediocre. Traditionally, the best man, the groom, and the priest would be the ones awaiting the bride's arrival, but in this instance, the roles were reversed.

As Andrea made her way down the aisle, she found it empty, save for the priest who bore a stoic countenance.

Tony, standing in for Mr. Singers, escorted Andrea to the altar before withdrawing. Andrea remained there, facing the priest.

A sense of bewilderment swept through the congregation as they exchanged glances, enveloped in an uncomfortable silence, their anticipation palpable.

Benita's lips twisted into a scornful smirk as she checked her watch, eager for the paparazzi she had tipped off to burst through the church doors.

The guests grew increasingly uneasy, and even the priest cleared his throat several times, seemingly at a loss for how much longer they would be left waiting for the groom.

Suddenly, the church doors swung open, drawing all eyes in that direction.

"Sorry for being late," announced the strikingly handsome man at the entrance, his smile apologetic as he addressed the room.