He Chose the Illegitimate Sister,Now He's Begging Me Back

I was betrothed to the crown prince of the capital's elite circle. My half-sister—the illegitimate daughter who'd never been welcome in our home—burned green with envy.

The night before the wedding of the century, she drugged me unconscious. While she climbed into my bridal car, her people made off with my billion-dollar dowry.

Just like that, she swept into the grand estate and married into the most powerful family in the city—as me.

When I came to and raised hell, I had her dragged back in ropes.

I got my wish. I married into the Sanchez family.

One year later, my husband threw me into a beggar's den.

His eyes were savage, his voice cold enough to freeze blood.

"If I didn't still need your family's capital, the way you humiliated Rachel would've been enough to kill you ten thousand times over. Now that the Pruitts are bankrupt, you're worth less than a dog."

Rachel stood beside him, a soft laugh on her lips.

"Oh, dear sister. You humiliated me once—now you can atone for it right here in the gutter. Don't worry about the title of Mrs. Sanchez. I'm keeping the seat warm for you."

The shame was more than I could bear. I bit through my own tongue and died.

When my eyes opened again, it was the morning of my wedding day.

——

I crawled out of bed, waited a full hour for the fog in my skull to clear, then pressed a hand to my throbbing temple and pushed open the door.

My mother was just turning back down the hallway, leaning on a maid's arm. Tears of farewell still glistened at the corners of her eyes—tears she hadn't finished wiping away—when she looked up and saw me standing at the top of the stairs.

She froze.

My father's brow furrowed. He was the first to recover. "Fay Pruitt—why are you still here?"

He pointed toward the front entrance, voice rising in alarm. "Then who just got into the Sanchez bridal car?"

I clutched my chest, eyes wide with shock.

"What? Someone already took my place? Last night, Rachel said she couldn't bear to see me leave. She lit some calming incense for me—I took two breaths of it and slept straight through until now."

The festive clamor died in an instant. Every guest, every servant, every face in the room turned to one another in stunned silence, expressions shifting like cards being dealt.

My mother staggered, nearly fainting with rage. She immediately ordered the servants to seize Celia Lambert, who was already trying to slip through the crowd toward the door.

"So that's what it was," my mother spat. "I thought it was strange—during the send-off, you clutched the bride's hand and wouldn't let go, sobbing harder than I was, and I'm her own mother. I took you for something decent. Turns out that little beast in the car really is yours."

Celia dropped to her knees, eyes darting, stammering. "I—I don't understand what Madam is saying. Miss Fay overslept and missed the auspicious hour. How can you blame my Rachel for that?"

Before she finished, the butler rushed over. "Sir, Madam—the James family's wedding procession has arrived. They're waiting at the gate."

My mother's expression turned to ice. "Where is Rachel Pruitt? Find her. Bring her here. Now."

I lowered my head, hiding the cold smile in my eyes.

Where else would she be? In Rufus Sanchez's bed, of course.

When the marriage had been arranged, Rufus had insisted on a traditional ceremony—said he wanted to honor the old customs. He'd even hired an esteemed historian to personally oversee every detail.

The bride wore a red veil the entire time. Never once revealed her face.

By now, the bowing ceremony would be finished. They'd already been sent to the bridal chamber.

My gaze swept past Celia's mouth, where a tiny, barely concealed smirk twitched at the corner of her lips.

That confirmed it.

Mother and daughter—what a scheme they'd pulled.

Years ago, Celia had been our family's housekeeper. She'd drugged my father, crawled into his bed, and given birth to Rachel—then rode that secret all the way into a life of luxury.

Now Rachel had drugged me, stolen my identity, and married into the Sanchez family in my place. What was done was done. Rice already cooked.

That left me with exactly one option:

Pick up the marriage Rachel had discarded and wed into the James family.

The James family were newcomers—commercial upstarts who'd only risen to prominence in the last two years. They lacked the deep roots of old-money dynasties, but their momentum was ferocious. Every major emerging industry had their fingerprints on it.

The catch? The man at the helm was disabled.

My father had a sharp eye for opportunity. That was precisely why he'd matched Rachel with the James family.

If the James family thrived, Rachel would rise with the tide and live as a pampered trophy wife. If they faltered, the Pruitt family's ironclad backing meant she'd never suffer for it.