The night before my wedding, a trending post from a local forum popped up on my feed.
"Tomorrow's my wedding. I swapped my fiancée's vitamins with sleeping pills. Her foster sister will take her place at the altar. How do I stop feeling guilty?"
The comments were tearing him apart, but the poster didn't care.
"The one I love has always been her foster sister. If it weren't for the fact that she's the real Pruitt heiress and marrying her is the only way to secure the investment, who'd want to marry that shrew?"
"She's head over heels for me anyway. Once it's a done deal, all I have to do is sweet-talk her a little, and she'll hand over every last cent."
Someone asked what he'd do if his fiancée refused to let it go.
His reply was casual, almost bored.
"Then I'll let my girl take the hit for now. Marry the shrew, get the money. Once I'm back on top, I'll engineer their family's bankruptcy and toss the shrew into the gutter as an apology to my girl."
The comments exploded with outrage, calling him an ungrateful snake.
Then a familiar profile picture appeared in the likes.
"She stole everything that was supposed to be mine. Once I pull off the switch, not only will her fiancé be mine, her billion-dollar dowry will be too!"
Her profile picture matched his—a pair of matching cartoon dolls, the exact same ones the fake heiress kept displayed in her room.
I picked up the vitamins from my nightstand and swallowed them without hesitation.
What they didn't know was that they'd counted their chickens far too early.
……
The next morning, the sun was already high in the sky by the time I woke. I pressed a hand to my forehead and stumbled out of my room.
I nearly walked straight into my mother.
Her eyes were still rimmed with tears. She froze for two full seconds when she saw me, then gasped. "Amber Pruitt! What are you doing here?"
My father rushed over at the sound of her voice. His gaze bounced between me and the wedding procession disappearing down the road below. "If you're here, then who just got into the Whitfield motorcade?"
I blinked, the picture of confusion. "How is that possible?"
"Catherine Pruitt gave me new vitamins yesterday. After I took them, I got so drowsy I slept straight through till now."
The festive atmosphere in the villa evaporated in an instant. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances.
My mother was the first to react. Her expression turned to ice as she seized Eudora Lawrence by the arm—the woman had been quietly inching toward the door.
"I kept wondering why a nanny was sobbing harder than the bride's own mother at the send-off. Now it makes sense. The one you sent away was the counterfeit daughter you gave birth to!"
Eudora flinched and tried to pull back. Her eyes darted around the room, and when she spoke, the words came out in stammering fragments.
"Ma'am, what are you talking about?"
"The young miss overslept on her own. How is that my fault?"
My father turned to the household staff, his voice sharp as a blade. "What are you standing around for? Go drag that wretched girl Catherine back here. Now!"
The words had barely left his mouth when the butler came rushing in, pale-faced.
"Sir—sir, the Whitfield estate just sent word. The ceremony is already done."
My mother let out a cold laugh. "So they exchanged vows. So what? A sparrow doesn't become a phoenix just because you put it in a cage. A fake is still a fake."
She turned on her heel and led the entire entourage straight toward the Whitfield estate.
I lowered my gaze and followed obediently behind my parents.
Inside, though, I was smiling.
The ceremony was the least of it.
When our two families had gotten engaged, Desmond Whitfield had insisted on a traditional wedding. A family with a hundred years of heritage, he'd said. Ancestral customs that had to be honored.
Now it all made sense. He'd been planning this from the start. The bride would be veiled the entire time, making it effortless for Catherine to slip in unnoticed.
And given the timing, the deed was almost certainly done by now. Far more than just vows had been exchanged.
Beside me, Eudora could barely contain the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
That only confirmed what I already knew. What was done was done.
When I was still an infant, Eudora had deliberately swapped me with Catherine.
It wasn't until we were ten years old, when Catherine took a bad fall and a blood test revealed the truth, that the switch was finally exposed. She was no Pruitt at all.
My parents had spent a fortune tracking me down and bringing me home.
