Seeing them gather more envelopes, walking toward me, I shouted desperately, "Stop! If you keep doing this, I'll call the police!"
"Call the police?" Eliza burst into mocking laughter. "Go ahead. When they come, they'll only arrest a filthy woman pretending to be my husband's sister!"
She snapped her fingers. "Bind her."
They swarmed me instantly—one pulling my arms, another yanking my hair.
I struggled with everything I had, but they had the advantage in numbers.
They shoved the red envelopes everywhere—anywhere they could reach.
"Stop pretending! You're loving this, aren't you?"
"Exactly. You'd die for Mr. Peterson's buddies to get their hands on you!"
Rage and humiliation crashed over me, suffocating.
My screams and curses only made them laugh harder.
Not until they had stuffed red envelopes into every vulnerable part of my body did they finally stop.
Then they wrapped a bedsheet around me and tied me to the bedpost, movements rough and practiced.
Eliza dusted off her hands, then sat down gracefully. "You all do my makeup. Whoever does it best—when we're done, I'll have my husband give her a big red envelope."
On hearing that, the bridesmaids' eyes lit up in greed.
Half an hour later, the bridesmaids finally finished Eliza's makeup—a thick, exaggerated influencer-style look.
Her foundation was caked on like plaster, the false lashes were so huge they nearly stabbed her eyebrows, and the blush was so bright it looked almost comical.
But Eliza admired herself in the mirror, turning left and right with satisfaction.
"Perfect! Only this kind of glam suits my status today!"
Suddenly, noise erupted downstairs.
The groomsmen must have arrived.
I let out a shaky breath. Maybe... finally I could be saved.
The bridesmaids poked their heads out the window.
"Eliza! They're here!" one of them squealed.
Eliza shot me a venomous glare. Her eyes gleamed with something dark, and a chill crept up my spine. Sure enough, she smirked.
"Go stall my husband downstairs," she ordered. "And send the groomsmen up first. Let them play a little game."
The bridesmaids immediately understood, sauntering out with knowing grins.
My stomach dropped. What was she planning now?
Before long, lively male voices echoed through the hallway.
"Where's the bride? Bring the bride out!"
"Come on, our Mr. Peterson is already getting mobbed by pretty bridesmaids—shouldn't the bride come greet him?"