The Stand-In Bride
I was adopted solely to be a human shield for the real heiress, absorbing every disaster meant for her. This wedding? It was just the final level of a game designed to pave her way to the top while stepping over my corpse.
In a moment of desperation, I texted the contact in my phone saved as "6'3, 21, Dead Broke":
You coming to crash my wedding tomorrow?
The reply was instant: No. Im not that pathetic.
I turned off my phone and didnt reply.
The next morning, a video went viral on TikTok. It showed one of New Yorks most elusive billionaires, sprinting down a highway in the dead of night, wearing a tuxedo and a look of absolute fury.
1
The night before the wedding, I realized the dress was wrong.
Not only was the size off, but the style was completely different from the custom gown Id selected.
When I confronted the hotel staff, they insisted there was no mistake. They said Mr. VanceHarrisonhad given specific instructions.
Two dresses. One to the Penthouse Suite on the 68th floor, one to the 67th.
Since both brides last name was Whitman, they had triple-checked. No mistake.
Harrison wasnt answering his phone.
I decided to go upstairs to the Penthouse and ask him myself.
But when I pushed the door open, I froze.
The gown that was supposed to be mine was currently being worn by another woman.
My mother was holding her, cooing as the woman pouted playfully. My father and Harrison sat nearby, their eyes soft, practically dripping with adoration.
I stood in the doorway, paralyzed.
I dont know how long I stood there before Harrisons phone rang.
He picked it up, and the smile instantly vanished from his face. He didn't even have the patience to listen, cutting the caller off with a curt, "Ignore her."
When he hung up, my father asked, "Is Quinn causing trouble again?"
Harrison nodded, looking annoyed. "Just the imposter. She actually thinks Im going to marry her. So much drama."
The woman in the wedding dress started to ask a question, but they quickly made up an excuse to send her to another room.
Watching her leave, the smile on my mothers face evaporated. It was replaced by a chilling coldness.
She shot Harrison a reassuring look. "Just endure it a little longer. After tomorrow, the decoy won't be of any use to us."
The "decoy" they were talking about was me.
I gripped the doorframe, knuckles white. I was about to turn and run when a soft voice called out from behind me.
"Can I help you with something?"
It was the woman in the dress. As soon as they saw me, the blood drained from my parents' and fianc's faces.
2
Harrison dragged me back to my room.
He towered over me, his voice ice-cold. "I planned to tell you after the ceremony, but since you couldn't wait, you might as well know now."
Harrison pulled up a photo on his phone. An old family portrait.
It showed my parents holding a baby.
His gaze softened as he looked at the screen. "The Whitman family business wasn't always clean. They made enemies. Their only daughter was kidnapped constantly. One time, it almost killed her."
"So, they hid their real daughter in a different city and adopted another girl to raise as the 'Whitman Heiress' in the public eye."
I wanted to laugh.
But as soon as my lips twitched, hot tears rolled down my cheeks.
No wonder. No wonder my childhood was filled with car accidents and kidnapping attempts.
Every time I was in danger, "Mom and Dad" would show up with a gift, take a look at me, and then rush off to "another city for business."
No wonder they were always traveling.
If I cried and begged to go with them, they would slap me across the face, call me selfish, and have the nanny lock me in the dark closet to "reflect."
Every time I asked, I got locked up. No food, no water.
If I cried too loud, the nanny would "discipline" me for them.
When they returned from their "business trips" and heard I hadn't reflected properly, Id get beaten again.
They said ungrateful children deserved it. They said they were running around the world to give me a luxurious life, yet I was rotten to the core.
Traveling became my biggest trigger. I didn't dare mention it.
Even the city where they hid her became a nightmare for me.
In high school, when a field trip was announced to that specific city, I had a panic attack on the spot. I curled up under my desk, hyperventilating, screaming that I wouldn't go.
Word got back to my parents. They sponsored the trip and forced the school to change the location.
But the new location was terrible, and the trip was ruined.
My classmates started resenting me. They called me a princess, a psycho.
Those labels stuck to me all through high school, suffocating me.
Harrison continued, articulating every word. "From start to finish, the only person I ever intended to marry was Zoe."
"Marrying you is just a PR move. We need a transition to let Zoe integrate into this circle smoothly."
The real Whitman daughter returns.
Everyone will realize Im the fake.
Many of our high school classmates are in this social circle. Theyll dig up the old "psycho" rumors.
Compared to me, the beautiful, gentle, and cultured Zoe will be instantly embraced.
And I will carry the label of the crazy imposter forever.
Seeing the blood drain from my face, Harrison softened his tone slightly. "As long as you cooperate, for the sake of our years together, I won't treat you poorly."
Years together?
What years?
Wasnt the affection, the family dinnerswasn't it all just a performance for the kidnappers?
I wiped my tears aggressively and forced a grin. "Sure. I'll cooperate. I'll tell everyone how you used a child as bait to protect Zoe. How shameless you"
Before I could finish, Harrison grabbed me by the throat.
Before he could speak, Zoe rushed in from the hallway.
"Harrison! Let her go!" she screamed.
Harrison acted like he didn't hear her. He shifted his grip to my jaw, forcing me to look at Zoe.
He smiled reassuringly at her, then looked back at me with dead eyes. "Look at yourself. In what world do you compare to Zoe? In what world do you deserve to marry me?"
"If it wasn't to protect her, I wouldn't have spent a single second with you."
Zoe pried at his fingers, begging him to stop.
Harrison shoved me away violently.
He ordered the bodyguards to watch me, then grabbed Zoes hand and dragged her out.
Moments later, I heard a heated argument erupting in the hallway.
3
I curled up in the corner, running through every possible escape route in my head.
Suddenly, the quiet click of the door lock echoed in the room.
I walked over. It was my phone, sliding across the floor.
There was a sticky note on the back, three words written in large, hurried letters:
I AM SORRY.
I glanced at it, too drained to care who sent it.
I unlocked the phone and scrolled through my contacts until my finger hovered over: "6'3, 21, Dead Broke."
I bit my lip and hit dial.
He picked up instantly.
But there was silence on the other end. Just the faint sound of breathing.
I steadied my voice. "Hunter... can you come steal the bride tomorrow?"
There was a loud crash on the other end, like something heavy falling.
A long silence followed before Hunter let out a cold, dry laugh. "Quinn, I'm not that pathetic."
I bit my lip so hard it tasted like iron. A sob escaped before I could stop it.
Before he could speak again, I choked out, "Sorry to bother you," and hung up.
Less than a minute later, he called back.
My vision was blurred with tears. My hand shook as I tried to slide the answer button.
The second the call connected, my battery hit 0%. The screen went black.
4
At 5:00 AM, the makeup team barged in.
I was groggily pushed into the chair in front of the mirror.
The assistant set up her tools and left her phone propped up on the counter. It was playing a video on loop.
The makeup artist glanced at it and laughed. "Look at this. 'Billionaire in a tux sprinting down the highway at 2 AM.' Rich people are so dramatic."
She shook her head. "Another 'she runs, he chases' soap opera."
The assistant giggled, grabbing the phone. "It's like a fanfic come to life."
She stared at the screen and sighed. "But imagine not wanting to marry Hunter Sterling. With a face like that? I don't care if he's a tycoon or a tyrant, I'd say yes."
Hearing the name, my brow twitched. "Who?"
The assistant repeated it. "Hunter Sterling."
She had a heavy accent and a stuffy nose from a cold. The way she said it... it didn't sound exactly like my Hunter.
I stared at the blurry back of the man in the video, lost in thought.
Just a similar name.
The Hunter I knew couldn't afford dinner, let alone a bespoke tuxedo. There was no way he was a "Beijing Circle" equivalent billionaire.
I let out a bitter laugh.
If he really was that powerful, maybe he wouldn't have suffered so much because of me.
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