"Are you sure you want to marry him?" Joan's brow furrowed. "There are plenty of ways to make their lives miserable without throwing yourself into the fire."
She shook her head immediately. "Absolutely not. The way he looked at her just now made me sick."
She paused, something clicking behind her eyes. "Wait—you said there were other ways. What did you mean?"
I didn't answer directly. Instead, I asked her a question.
"The kidnapping in our last life. Have you ever wondered who was behind it?"
Joan's expression went blank. She frowned, thinking hard—then her head snapped up, pupils contracting.
"It was... Gwendolen Pruitt?"
"Yes." I confirmed her suspicion.
Gwendolen was my cousin.
She'd been born rotten, cruelty woven into her very bones.
Back in school, she'd led the pack of bullies—once locked a classmate in the bathroom and doused her with ice water, all because the girl was prettier than her. When the incident blew up, she got slapped with a major disciplinary mark. Later, she beat someone badly enough to land them in the hospital, made the evening news, and earned herself a stint in juvenile detention.
She came out worse. Smoking, drinking, scamming her own family for cash. They'd cleaned up her messes more times than anyone could count. The Pruitt clan had been trying to disown her for years.
She'd always stolen what was mine—toys, clothes, even friends.
As for Rhys Gilbert? She'd been obsessed with him for ages, throwing herself at him with every trick she knew. He never gave her a second glance.
So when she heard that either Joan or I would be marrying him, jealousy nearly drove her mad.
A week before I was kidnapped in our previous life, she'd suddenly turned sweet—invited me to afternoon tea, casually prying into my schedule.
At the time, it felt off. Now I understood. She'd been scouting.
The private investigator's report later confirmed everything.
Joan's eyes lit up. "You mean—"
"Exactly," I cut in. "The Gilberts only specified the bride must come from the Pruitt or Henson family. They never said it had to be you or me. Gwendolen's branch still counts as Pruitts. She qualifies."
"But will our families agree?" Joan still looked uncertain.
"Let's find out."
We went home separately.
To my surprise, when my parents heard about Rhys's blatant favoritism and Janet Fox's existence, their reaction was unanimous.
My father set down his teacup. "If the Gilbert boy is that worthless, this marriage isn't worth having."
He paused. "My daughter's happiness comes first."
Joan's side was even more direct. Her father slammed his palm on the table the moment she finished:
"Benefits bought by selling my daughter? The Hensons don't need them. Find a way out of this—I'll handle whatever comes."
The resistance was far less than I'd expected.
The next day, Joan and I went to the Gilbert estate together.
Rhys's expression soured the moment he saw us.
I played word games with him: "The Pruitt family has changed their mind. They've agreed to the marriage."
His tension visibly eased—then his gaze cut to Joan, wary.
He expected her to make a scene.
But Joan only shrugged. "No objections here."
Rhys relaxed completely. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.
I continued, "But my family has one condition. The Pruitts are traditional—the wedding must follow Chinese customs."
After all, once that red veil went on, he wouldn't know who the bride was.
Rhys just wanted this settled. He waved his hand impatiently.
"Fine, whatever. As long as you behave after the wedding and leave Janet alone, I don't care."
His eyes held nothing but relief at checking this off his list.
As for Gwendolen—when she learned she'd be marrying Rhys Gilbert, she nearly jumped for joy. She agreed without hesitation.
On the wedding day, the hotel ballroom glittered with light.
Joan and I stood among the guests, masks covering our faces, watching Gwendolen walk toward the ceremonial platform in her red veil—arm in arm with Rhys Gilbert.
Rhys stood at the altar in his tailored tuxedo, going through the motions with his mind clearly elsewhere.
Beneath the red bridal veil, Gwendolen's smile stretched so wide it nearly split her face.
Joan leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I can't wait to watch Gwendolen and Janet tear each other apart. Nothing more entertaining than watching dogs fight over scraps."
I raised my glass, watching the newlyweds on stage—each harboring their own agenda—and clinked it lightly against hers.
"Patience. The real show's about to begin."
