(Evelyn Hart's POV)
The morning light filtered through the lace curtains like judgment.
It was soft at first, golden and hesitant — the kind of light that belonged to a peaceful morning. But this morning was anything but peaceful. It was quiet, yes. But not the gentle kind. It was the cold, brittle silence that comes before someone breaks.
I hadn't slept.
I sat on the edge of the bed, still in the aftermath of yesterday, still wrapped in the loose robe one of the maids had handed me when I'd returned to my room alone — a bride without a husband.
A switch without a choice.
A villain without a voice.
The room felt hollow. My wedding dress hung over the chair like a ghost of the life I was supposed to live. A pearl had come loose from the bodice, lying silently on the floor. Like a part of me had fallen off — and no one even noticed.
I should've cried.
But crying felt too loud.
---
Downstairs, I could hear the faint clatter of dishes. Voices — hushed, clipped. Not cheerful. No laughter. Just tension wrapped in formality.
The kind of disappointment that settles into a family like dust, unavoidable and suffocating.
I stood up and made my way to the door.
---
The hallway was quiet. Portraits of my family lined the walls, staring down at me with painted smiles and gilded frames — like they knew. Like they had seen it coming.
When I entered the breakfast hall, everything stopped.
My mother looked up first, coffee mug in hand. Her eyes didn't soften. They narrowed.
My father didn't look up at all.
Selena sat at the edge of the long mahogany table, dressed in pastel silk, her hair tied in a neat bun. Not a trace of guilt. Just grace. And a thin, unreadable smile.
The chair beside her — the one that used to be mine — was missing.
Literally gone.
Only six chairs around the table now.
Six people.
And I was not one of them.
---
"Good morning," I said quietly.
No one responded.
The clatter resumed — forks scraping plates, someone sipping tea too loud, as if trying to fill the silence.
I stood there for a moment longer, unsure where to go, unsure if I should even be standing there. The weight of yesterday pressed down harder. Like I was the mistake they couldn't scrub out of the photo album.
Finally, my mother spoke.
Her voice was clipped, precise. "We'll be having a meeting with the Cross family this afternoon."
I blinked. "Why?"
"To fix what you've broken," she snapped, not bothering to look at me. "Or at least salvage what's left of it."
The words struck like glass.
"I didn't—" I began, but my father cut in, voice sharp.
"You embarrassed us in front of every guest, Evelyn. Do you know what it looked like? The eldest daughter switching grooms at the altar?" He still didn't look at me. "They said you planned it. That you tricked Caelan. That you stole your sister's place."
"I didn't—" My voice cracked.
Selena looked down at her plate, expression neutral. Not defending me. Not denying it. Just... eating like she belonged.
I turned to her, desperate.
"You told me I was marrying Zyden. You said it yourself—"
"I never said your name was on the final card," she interrupted softly. "You assumed."
Her voice was calm. Controlled. And that made it worse.
"You lied to me."
She gave me a look. Gentle. Almost pitiful. "Or maybe you just heard what you wanted to hear."
That was it.
That was the nail.
The room shifted. I could feel the verdict settling in the air.
"You let me walk down the aisle thinking—"
"Enough!" my mother barked, standing. "Don't create another scene."
Tears threatened, but I blinked them back. My fists clenched by my sides.
"I didn't switch anything," I said slowly, my voice trembling, "You all let it happen. You let her take everything."
"You ruined the wedding," my father muttered. "Now let it go before you destroy anything else."
And with that, the table returned to their breakfast.
I was dismissed.
---
I don't remember walking out.
Just the burn in my chest, and the sound of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears like a war drum.
I made my way to the garden, needing air, needing something that didn't look at me like I was dirt. The roses were still in bloom, heavy with dew. I sat on the stone bench beside the fountain.
Then I heard footsteps.
Hard. Measured.
Zyden Cross.
I froze.
He was in a black dress shirt now, sleeves rolled, no tie. His hair was perfectly in place, not a strand out of line. But his eyes — they were sharp and cold, like the blade I never saw coming.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just looked at me.
And that was worse than yelling.
"You have nothing to say?" he finally asked, voice low.
I swallowed hard. "About what?"
His jaw tightened. "About what you pulled yesterday."
"I didn't pull anything—"
"You let me believe I was marrying Selena. Do you think that was fair?"
My chest ached. "I thought I was marrying you."
He scoffed. "Right. And that's why you waited until the vows to 'surprise' everyone?"
"I didn't know," I whispered. "I swear. Selena told me I was marrying you. She never corrected me."
"You expect me to believe that?"
I looked up at him, eyes wide. "You think I would choose to humiliate myself like that? You think I would do this to Caelan? To you?"
He looked away. Silent.
That silence hurt more than words.
"I never wanted to be part of this circus," I said, voice breaking. "I was dragged into it. Lied to. I didn't even know my name was on the wrong card until I heard the officiant say it."
He looked back at me.
Something flickered in his expression. Doubt. Pain. Maybe even guilt.
But it was gone in an instant.
"All I know," he said coolly, "is that I was supposed to marry your sister. And somehow, I ended up with you."
I flinched.
He didn't apologize.
He didn't offer kindness.
He just turned and walked away, leaving me on the bench, alone.
Again.
---
Later that evening, I sat in my room, untouched food on the tray beside me.
They were making calls. Arranging damage control. Meetings and explanations. Quiet bribes to the media.
And all of it was my fault, in their eyes.
I was the stain on the perfect family photo.
I used to dream of weddings when I was younger.
Not the dress or the guests — but the feeling.
That someone would choose me.
Look at me and say, "I want you. Only you."
Instead, I got a wedding where I wasn't welcome.
A groom who didn't want me.
A sister who smiled while gutting me.
And a family that erased my chair at the table.
Maybe I didn't belong anywhere after all.
---