Reclaiming the Billionaire Heiress Throne

Instead of a wedding ring, the first thing I received at the altar was a bucket of red wine and chocolate cake dumped straight over my head.

Hundreds of guests had their eyes settled on me, waiting to watch the chaos, convinced I would swallow the humiliation and force a smile just to keep the peace.

But with the sticky, dark red liquid soaking into my custom white gown, I only looked at the man I was about to marry.

“Don’t make that miserable face, Elena. You’re ruining the mood. It’s just a joke.”

Tristan’s voice was light, carrying a low chuckle that echoed clearly through the grand hall.

Then, the laughter started. It came from the front row. From Tristan’s groomsmen. From his friends.

And standing right in front of me, holding an empty silver ice bucket, was Paula. Tristan’s "foster sister."

“Oh my gosh, Elena, I'm so sorry! My hand just slipped!”

My fingers trembled. The cold wine seeped into my skin, freezing me from the outside in.

I slowly turned my head, looking at Tristan. This was the man I was supposed to marry today.

I suddenly thought back to many years ago. When Tristan first started his company, we couldn't even afford rent. I took on extra shifts at a diner and a late-night data entry job just so he could keep his pride and his office space.

He held my hands back then, his eyes red, promising that one day, he would give me the grandest wedding in the city and that he would never let me suffer again.

“Tristan...” My voice shook, tears instantly welling up, burning my eyes. “Tell them to stop.”

I thought he would be furious. I thought he would take off his jacket, wrap it around my shivering shoulders, and yell at Paula for ruining our wedding.

Instead, Tristan let out another laugh.

“Alright, Paula, that’s enough playing around,” he said casually, not a single hint of anger in his tone.

Then he turned back to me. “Elena, stop acting like the world is ending. Paula is just being playful. You’re always so sensitive. Can't you just learn to take a joke?”

The tears I had been trying so hard to hold back finally spilled over, mixing with the red wine on my cheeks, dropping heavily onto the ruined silk.

“I'm not doing this.”

I grabbed the heavy, wet fabric of my skirt and turned around, wanting nothing more than to walk away from this humiliating stage.

“Elena! Stop throwing a tantrum!” Tristan’s voice turned sharp behind me.

I didn't stop. I didn't want to look at him anymore.

But Paula suddenly stepped right into my path, blocking the stairs.

“Elena, don't be mad at Brother Tristan, it's my fault—”

I didn't even raise my hands. I just brushed past her shoulder to get to the steps.

“Ah!”

Paula let out a sharp, dramatic scream. She threw herself backward, falling hard onto the marble floor. She grabbed her knee, her face instantly twisting in agony as tears poured down her cheeks.

“My knee! Brother Tristan, it hurts so much!”

The casual amusement on Tristan’s face vanished in a split second. Before I could even process what was happening, a heavy force slammed into my shoulder.

Tristan shoved me. He shoved me with so much force that my feet tangled in the heavy, wet silk of my dress.

The world spun. I fell backward, my body hitting the sharp edge of the stone altar steps with a sickening thud.

A sharp, tearing pain shot through my back and scraped along my legs.

I lay there, stunned, the breath knocked completely out of my lungs.

“Are you crazy?!” He rushed straight to Paula, carefully lifting her into his arms as if she were made of fragile glass. “I just told you it was a joke, and you actually get violent?” Tristan glared at me, his eyes filled with pure, unfiltered disgust. “You are such a jealous, vicious woman, Elena.”

My ears rang. The pain in my back was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the coldness spreading through my chest.

“I didn't push her,” my voice came out weak, scraping out of my throat with effort.

“I saw it with my own eyes!” Tristan shouted.

He held Paula securely against his chest. She buried her face in his neck, sobbing pitifully, her arms wrapped tightly around him.

“If you can't even tolerate Paula, then there's no point in this marriage.”

“The wedding is canceled.”

The entire hall erupted into whispers, but Tristan didn't care.

He turned his back on me and carried Paula away, walking straight down the aisle and out the grand doors.

I sat alone on the ruined altar.

My custom gown was torn and stained with dark red wine that looked exactly like blood.

And maybe it was blood.

I could feel a warm, sticky liquid slowly sliding down my calf from where I had hit the sharp stone steps.

The guests began to leave, tossing me looks of pity, disgust, and amusement.

Footsteps approached me from behind.

I slowly lifted my head, my eyes blurry with tears, hoping for a second that someone had come to help me up.

It was Leo and Mia.

Tristan’s eight-year-old twin siblings.

These were the children whose fevers I had stayed up all night to nurse. The children whose parent-teacher conferences I attended when Tristan didn't bother to show up. I had bought their favorite toys while skipping my own meals.

Leo looked at my ruined dress, his young face twisting into a cruel sneer that looked exactly like his brother's.

“You're a bad woman for hurting Auntie Paula,” he said.

Mia didn't say anything. She just stepped forward and spat right at the edge of my torn dress.

“We want Paula to be our mom, not you!”

Then, without a second glance, the two children I had loved with all my heart turned around and ran down the aisle, chasing after Tristan and Paula.

The heavy doors of the hall finally swung shut.

At that moment, the heart in my chest went completely quiet.

Five years of giving up my dreams, skipping meals, and loving a family that I thought would eventually love me back.

It all meant absolutely nothing.