"My apologies for the spectacle, everyone. The woman you just saw is indeed a daughter of the Pruitt family—an illegitimate one, who stooped low enough to steal her own sister's wedding."
The banquet hall erupted. Gasps rippled through the crowd, every head turning.
Rufus burst in from outside, his face dark as a thundercloud, cutting in sharply.
"Fay, enough. How can you blame Rachel for this? You two have similar builds, and the veils were identical. If anything, blame yourself for oversleeping and missing the auspicious hour. I simply brought the wrong bride."
"I'd been drinking. I mistook Rachel for you, and we've already consummated the marriage. As a man, I have to take responsibility for her."
"You're here making a scene because you want to switch back, aren't you? I know you're devoted to me—that you can't live without me. So here's what I propose: I'll register my marriage with Rachel, but I'll only choose my heir from the children you bear me. You won't have the title, but the entire Sanchez estate will belong to our children. That way, the partnership between our families stays intact."
When absurdity reaches its peak, all you can do is laugh.
He wanted to marry the illegitimate daughter while I watched—
And then have me play mistress, with my children branded as bastards?
The Sanchez family was barely clinging to relevance. Without the arranged engagement from the older generation—without the Pruitts propping them up—they'd have been swept out of elite circles years ago.
And yet this man had the gall to dream of having two women serve one husband, all while leeching off the Pruitt family's resources?
My father laughed—the kind of laugh that came from fury pushed past its limit.
"The Sanchez family certainly has nerve. A few comfortable years and you've already forgotten what it felt like to teeter on the edge of bankruptcy? Well, if that's the case, I don't mind refreshing your memory."
Rebecca Sanchez finally grasped what was happening and rushed forward. "In-law, what on earth is going on?"
My mother pulled a thick stack of photographs from her bag and slapped them onto the table.
"What do you think, Mrs. Sanchez? If your precious son wanted the illegitimate daughter so badly, why put on this whole charade just to humiliate mine? A shameless girl like that—the Pruitt family wants nothing to do with her. My husband will terminate all joint ventures the moment we get home. Consider the ties between the Sanchez and Pruitt families severed."
Without Pruitt capital, the Sanchez empire was nothing but a hollow shell drowning in debt.
Rebecca clutched her chest, her face draining of color in an instant. She rounded on Rufus, voice shaking.
"Tell me—what have you done?"
Before Rufus could answer, Rachel came running out in a crimson silk robe.
She dropped to her knees in front of me with a dramatic thud, tears streaming down her face like rain on pear blossoms.
"Sister, this is all my fault. I couldn't control my feelings—I made a terrible mistake. But Rufus and I are already married. If you keep making a scene, you'll only drag the Pruitt name through the mud. Even if you don't care about me, don't you care about our family's reputation?"
She repackaged her own depravity as uncontrollable passion. She reframed my demand for justice as reckless disregard for the family name.
Truly shameless beyond measure.
I let out a cold laugh. "So let me get this straight. You drugged me, stole my wedding, climbed into my marriage bed—and when I simply ask about it, I'm the one disgracing the Pruitt name?"
I raised my voice deliberately, laying every sordid detail bare for the room to hear.
"If you really liked Mr. Sanchez, why didn't you say so sooner? It's not as if he was the only man in the world to me. But no—you had to wait until the wedding day to pull this vile stunt. So tell me, who exactly ground the Pruitt family's reputation into the dirt? Or is it that you never cared about this family at all—you just wanted to take what was mine?"
Rachel's face went white. Her eyes darted, unable to hold my gaze. "I—I didn't—I just genuinely liked Mr. Sanchez."
Every guest at this banquet was a seasoned player. Her petty scheming was transparent as glass.
"Stooping to the lowest tricks, then hiding behind 'true feelings.' An illegitimate daughter—does she really think she's worthy?"
"If that were my daughter, I'd drag her home and beat her senseless. A woman who'd steal her own sister's husband—give her time, and she'll destroy the whole family."
