Chelsea rushed backstage, but there was no sign of him.

Her brows knitted tightly together.

A light gray suit and a cigarette holder that never left his hand—those were her grandfather’s trademarks. She couldn’t be mistaken.

He was definitely here. But the wedding wasn’t over yet—why did he leave so soon? And he didn’t even come to see her. Seriously.

Altsin had followed her backstage, but as he reached the entrance, he halted abruptly. His expression stiffened as he caught an unexpected look on Chelsea’s face—a rare, almost childlike grievance.

Her upturned nose wrinkled slightly, and her lips pursed ever so subtly… What was going on?

“What’s with that look?...