Following Aris's departure—leaving behind a sleek, matte-black business card with gold accents, which Mira had unceremoniously tucked away into her lemon-scented pocket—her spiritual suffering was far from over. At the edge of the bridal stage, the wedding coordinator (WO) chimed into a wireless headset microphone, calling up the next batch of guests for the group photo session with the newlyweds.

"All right, calling all friends and former classmates to step up to the stage for a photo op with the bride and groom!" chirped the event host in a cheerful tone that sounded to Mira like a death warrant.

Mira stiffened in her VIP chair. She cast a sideways glance toward the main stage. There stood the grand finale of the entire Operation Ex-BF Wedding Revenge: the Group Photo with the Couple.

To a normal human being, a photo session is a sweet keepsake. But to Mira Anastasya—a woman sporting a concrete Super Saiyan updo, smeared falcon-brow arches, a baby pink gown stained with an archipelago-shaped peanut sauce map, and a lopsided posture because her right heel was completely busted—a group photo was a form of international-grade visual torture.

"No... I can't back down now," Mira muttered internally, biting down hard on her lower lip until her crimson lipstick flaked slightly. "If I chicken out now, Siska that gossip queen will win and mock me for the rest of my natural life. The dignity and survival of Mira Anastasya are riding entirely on that red carpet!"

With whatever dregs of armored resolve she had left, combined with a morbidly high level of curiosity regarding Satya’s reaction to her final form, Mira hauled herself out of her luxury chair.

She drew a deep breath, straightened her listing concrete updo, and began marching down the red carpet toward the stage stairs. Her footsteps created a uniquely rhythmic, mechanical clatter: Click... drag... click... drag...—owing to the fact that one foot sported a fully intact stiletto while the other relied entirely on a thin sock stepping directly over the blunt, exposed spikes of a broken shoe.

Several guests lingering near the red carpet whipped their heads around, staring at Mira with bulging, awestruck eyes as if they were front-row spectators at a circus act operating without a safety net.

Yet Mira didn't flinch. She pressed forward with a fake swagger, climbing the three stage steps one by one until she stood right before the main platform, framed by dozens of millions of rupiah worth of fresh imported floral arrangements.

At the center of the stage stood the picture-perfect newlyweds. Satya, slick and polished in his charcoal-gray suit, and Vanesha, radiant in a Swarovski-encrusted white gown that threw dazzling sparks off the studio lights. They beamed wide smiles toward the cameras, looking every bit like a fairy-tale prince and princess living happily ever after.

The moment Satya laid eyes on Mira stepping onto the stage in all her... spectacular glory, his smile froze solid. His eyes bulged until they threatened to pop straight out of his skull, and his jaw dropped open wide enough to swallow a soccer ball. Vanesha beside him turned her head, instantly clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle an involuntary gasp at the sight of an absolute celestial anomaly crashing her special day.

"Ma... Mira?" Satya whispered weakly in a voice trembling with pure dread, as though he were staring down an angry phantom from his past returning to collect an unpaid life debt.

"Hello, Satya! Huge congratulations on the wedding! Wishing you endless bliss, harmony, and a lifetime together until you're old and gray!" Mira chirped in a high-pitched, aggressively cheerful voice, flashing her widest Pepsodent grin beneath her crimson lips. "I just had to come and witness your happiness firsthand!"

Satya swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically down to the massive peanut sauce stain on her bodice before climbing up to her rigid, antenna-like Super Saiyan bangs. "Mi... Mira, did you... did you get into a major highway accident? Or are you shooting an indie zombie apocalypse film?"

"As if! This is high-fashion Post-Apocalyptic Avant-Garde, for your information! You just don't understand true high art!" Mira hissed back in a theatrical, stylish whisper.

Before Satya could mount a counterattack, a chubby professional photographer hauling a heavy DSLR rig with an external flash boomed loudly through a handheld megaphone:

"All right, bride and groom, ready! Friends and family, please crowd into the center, squeeze in tight so everyone fits inside the wide-angle frame!" the photographer instructed enthusiastically.

Other guests who had mounted the stage began shoving their way toward the center. Pushed forward by a wave of bulky uncles and large-skirted aunties from the rear, Mira—standing somewhat isolated on Satya’s left—was violently shoved sideways.

Her crippled footing betrayed her. She stumbled forward, frantically flailing her arms to grab onto anything solid so she wouldn't face-plant off the edge of the stage.

And tragically, the single closest object available for Mira to anchor her desperate grip upon was Satya’s right arm, encased in its expensive gray suit sleeve.

Grab!

Mira clamped down onto Satya's arm with the unyielding death-grip of a drowning sailor clutching a floating log in the middle of a typhoon.

The photographer, catching the motion through his viewfinder, assumed it was a deliberately playful, affectionate pose:

"There we go, perfect! Miss in the cream-puff pink dress with the unique hair, please slide a bit closer to the groom! Lock arms nice and cozy so we capture the true warmth of friendship!" the photographer barked loudly.

Hearing the photographer's stage direction, the crowd gathered below the stage offered a scattering of light, approving applause.

Meanwhile, shoved along by the unrelenting pressure of the human sea behind her, Mira’s body was dragged closer still. Within seconds, the physical distance between Mira and Satya vanished entirely, leaving zero airspace between them. Mira’s shoulder pressed flat against Satya’s chest, while their faces ended up separated by less than ten scant centimeters.

Right in front of the professional camera lens poised to immortalize this historic milestone into the wedding album, Mira slowly tilted her chin upward to stare straight into Satya’s completely pale, paralyzed face.

"Give us a big, happy smile, Ex... Let's make sure the photo proves we are both thoroughly thrilled inside and out," Mira whispered right into Satya's ear with the gleeful smile of a tiny cartoon devil, just as the external flash went blindingly white to burn their misery into eternity.