My Twin Stole My Wedding and My Life

On my wedding day, my twin sister knocked me unconscious and locked me in the basement.

Then, she stole my identity and married my fianc.

From this day on, your man belongs to me, she whispered, her eyes burning with ruthless triumph.

She was in such a hurry to steal my life.

She never noticed that, down in the dark, I had already stopped breathing.

I died right when the wedding reached its peak.

My fianc, Christian, held the hand of my dear sister, Gwen, as he solemnly swore his vows. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, until death do them part.

This was supposed to be my wedding. Instead, I was nothing but a wandering spirit, floating silently above the venue, watching my own sister steal my life and marry the man I loved.

My gaze drifted down to Christian. He was strikingly handsome, tall and lean, with a naturally cold aura that kept most people at a distance. But to my surprise, this reserved man quietly flushed at the tips of his ears the moment he uttered the words, "I do."

And my sweet sister, draped in a gown as white as fresh snow, looked up at him with adoration, her eyes soft and filled with a deep, blushing warmth. As if she were the one who had spent years loving him. Not me, Nora.

I stood at the edge of the altar, watching them bathed in a shower of flower petals and applause as they made the most sacred promise of their lives. Meanwhile, my physical body lay curled in the endless dark, a slow trail of blood seeping beneath me like a blooming flower withered before its time.

I used to think my heart was made of stone, hardened enough to withstand any storm life threw at me. Yet, watching them kiss, a sharp, physical ache pierced my chest. The room was alive with joy, and they were the center of the world. Only I was entirely out of place.

Unable to bear it any longer, I turned to leave. But after only a few steps, an invisible force violently yanked me back. Only then did I realize something was terribly wrong.

Normally, when a soul leaves its body, it either fades into nothingness or moves on to the afterlife. So why was I still "alive" in this state? Refusing to accept it, I tried to drift toward the exit again. Dozens of attempts only left me exhausted and aching with an ethereal pain.

Accepting my fate, I finally found a quiet corner to sit down. I waited, expecting some grim reaper to come and claim my soul. But instead of death, I was dragged into the dressing room by my dear sister.

I watched her peel off the white bridal gown and slip into a vibrant crimson reception dress. Then, bound to her presence, I was pulled back to the banquet hall. I watched her cling to Christian's arm, moving table to table, raising toast after toast.

That was when I realized my soul was tethered to her. She had made a mess of my life while I was alive, and even in death, I could not escape her. I lowered my eyes, not knowing whether to cry or laugh.

Christian took most of the drinks for Gwen. Even so, she consumed quite a bit of wine.

Gwen actually had a high tolerance; she used to drag me into drinking games. But in front of Christian, I had always claimed to have a severe alcohol allergy and never touched a drop. Gwen did not know about this little lie of mine. Flush with triumph, she drank far too much without realizing it.

As the night wore on, Christian's brow furrowed deeper. Gwen, however, noticed nothing.

Once the reception ended, she dragged me into the bridal suite. She put on a grand performance of a doting, gentle wife, fussing over Christian. But it was painful to watch. A spoiled heiress trying to play the part of a nurturing homemaker was bound to look entirely unnatural.

Christian, smelling of alcohol and exhausted, headed straight to the bathroom. Gwen tried to follow him under the guise of helping him wash up, hoping for a romantic bath together. But Christian quietly escorted her back out.

Thinking he was merely being considerate, she hummed a cheerful tune and leisurely began washing fruit at the kitchen island. Tonight, all the villa staff had been given the night off.

I sat on the sofa, watching Gwen sway her hips and put on a show, feeling a strange sense of amusement. Back when Christian and I were dating, Gwen would constantly pry into our relationship. At first, I answered honestly. But as her questions grew increasingly invasive, it made me uncomfortable, so I started feeding her half-truths.

I told her that Christian was intensely passionate behind closed doors, insatiable in bed, and that we had crossed that line long ago. In truth, despite dating for years, Christian and I had never gone beyond kissing. We had a pact: whenever I felt ready, I would give myself to him. Until then, his affection remained deeply passionate yet strictly respectful.

What had once been a boundary set due to my childhood trauma had unexpectedly sown the seeds for today's drama. The more overtly seductive Gwen tried to be, the further she would push Christian away. Christian loathed deceit more than anything. If he ever found out Gwen was playing him for a fool...

A faint smile curled my lips.

When Christian emerged in his bathrobe, Gwen threw down the half-sliced fruit and rushed into the bathroom to shower and wash off her makeup. Eager to finally consume him, she bypassed her usual long bath. She used my favorite body wash, looking as comfortable as if she were in her own home.

The bathroom steamed up, framing her slender silhouette. Over the years, Gwen had used her stunning looks to cycle through one boyfriend after another, while I had only ever had Christian. She had mocked me countless times for being old-fashioned and prudish, telling me I was wasting my beauty.

Yet, after sampling so many men, she had come to pluck the pristine flower I had spent years guarding. Where did she get the courage?

I stared blankly into space for a long time. It was not until I pictured the giant welcome poster at the wedding entrance that the truth finally hit me.

Seven years ago, I had been forced to legally change my name to Gwendolyn. My entire relationship with Christian had been built under her name. Gwen was marrying Christian legally, officially, and in broad daylight.

And I, the other Gwen, was nothing but a shadow living in the dark.

Condensation dripped down my cheek like a tear. How pathetic that, even in death, I still did not know who I really was.

My mind drifted back to my brief, desolate life. The life where Nora was erased to become Gwen.

When I was barely a year old, my father died in a workplace accident. My mother took my sister, Gwen, along with the entire insurance payout, and fled to another city, leaving me behind with my grandmother. My mother chose to take my sister because she believed my sister's birth name carried a blessing for a bright future. I was the discardable one.

Growing up, I never knew the warmth of a parent or the bond of a sibling. While other children were pampered, I could only clutch the single faded photograph of my parents, searching for them in my dreams.

But what hurt more than being called an orphan was the unwanted, predatory attention I began receiving at fourteen. There were the creeping hands of different men who climbed over our low wall at night, trying to slip into my bed. How cruel of fate to give such a vulnerable girl a face that turned heads.

If my grandmother had not grit her teeth to pay for me to board at school, my life would have been ruined long ago. But my tuition had already drained her dry. With the added boarding fees, her spine never fully straightened again.

I studied like my life depended on it, desperate to give her a comfortable life before she passed. After graduation, I received an acceptance letter to a prestigious university.

That was when the people who had been absent for seventeen years suddenly reappeared. Only then did I learn that my mother had remarried a wealthy businessman sixteen years ago, and my sister had been renamed Gwendolyn.

They showered my grandmother and me with sudden affection, paying for her medical checkup and booking us a vacation package. They called it a celebration and compensation.

I did not want to go, but I could not bear to disappoint the hopeful gleam in my grandmother's eyes. She had been trapped in our impoverished, isolated village her entire life, never knowing how vast the world was. I was young; I had time. But my grandmother...

After wrestling with my thoughts all night, I agreed. That trip showed me a world I had never imagined. It also brought a rare, radiant smile to my grandmother's weary face. The resentment I harbored for my mother and sister began to soften.

But when we returned and I saw the medical reports, my world shattered. My beloved grandmother had a malignant tumor the size of a child's fist pressing against her heart. The surgery would cost one hundred thousand dollars. To us, it might as well have been a billion.

My mother approached me in private, finally revealing the true reason for her return. She wanted me to legally change my name to Gwendolyn and share my sister's life.

In other words, we would attend the same university under one identity. My sister would enjoy the spotlight, the prestige, and the social life. I would do the grueling work: attend the classes, take the exams, maintain the GPA, and earn the certificates. Four years later, the degree with Gwendolyn printed on it would belong solely to my sister.

In exchange, they would cover every penny of my grandmother's medical expenses. She also demanded that I appear whenever my sister needed a substitute, and vanish the moment she did not. Most importantly, I was never to disrupt their perfect life.

As she spoke, her posture was elegant, her smile serene. But her words shredded my heart. They had not arranged the medical checkup out of kindness; it was a calculated move to find my weak point. Sharing a life was a polite way of asking me to kneel and let my sister climb over my bleeding body to her golden future.

Suspecting a trap, I took my grandmother to another hospital. But when the diagnosis came back identical, all hope died. For my grandmother, I surrendered my name and became a shadow.

My mother kept her word, paying for the surgery. We both got what we wanted.

By the time Gwen finished her shower, she smelled exactly like me.

The fruit she had left on the kitchen island was now neatly sliced and arranged on a platter. Even the sweet green grapes, my absolute favorite, had been peeled. Without a doubt, it was Christian's doing. But I would never taste them again.

Christian sat on the sofa with his eyes closed, his long lashes casting shadows over whatever thoughts he was hiding. Gwen picked up the platter and walked over to him.

"Is your migraine acting up again?" she asked softly, placing a hand on his forehead.

"I'm fine," Christian murmured.

Christian was guarded; he never complained about his pain to anyone. In the past, I would have gently massaged his temples until he caught my hand and kissed my knuckles. Gwen only knew he suffered from migraines, but she had no idea what I used to do for him.

So, she simply withdrew her hand and offered him a slice of apple on a fork.

"Here, honey, eat some fruit," she said, flashing a sweet smile.

Christian opened his eyes and stared at her in silence.

"What is it?" she asked, blinking innocently.

Christian shook his head. "I've already brushed my teeth. You have it."

"Oh." Gwen sat down beside him and began eating.

After a moment, a playful thought seemed to strike her. She popped a grape into her mouth and leaned over him on the sofa, pressing her lips to his. At the contact, Christian's brow twitched imperceptibly.

"Open up," she mumbled against his lips.

Christian did not budge. His dark, piercing eyes looked down at her. He seemed to be studying the physical shell in front of him, questioning if the soul inside was truly the woman he knew. In the end, he kept his mouth closed.

Feeling rejected, Gwen tossed the fruit plate onto the table in irritation and stormed into the bedroom. Christian sat alone in the dim light for a long time before finally following her.

The moment he lay down, Gwen clung to him like a vine.

"Come on, honey, it's our wedding night," she purred, her voice dripping with suggestion.

"I'm exhausted. Let's just sleep," Christian said. He pulled up the covers, closed his eyes, and turned away.

Watching Gwen's frustrated face, I burst into laughter. She had stolen my identity to get close to him, but she did not even know that Christian loved it when I called him "Chris." Christian was not driven by lust, but he had absolutely no resistance to that nickname. If she had whispered "Chris" in his ear, he would have handed her the world.

Too bad she did not know.

She had always sneered that Christian was too high-born for a country girl like me to even dream of. Yet she thought she could use her usual cheap seduction tactics to force him into her bed. It looked like she had a long, frustrating road ahead of her.

Once she realized she could not handle Christian, would she try her old tricks and demand that we share him too? Too bad I was already cold and stiff.

How would she react when she finally saw my corpse? I rested my chin on my hands, imagining the scene. It was going to be highly entertaining.

After all, she could only choose one: her innocence or her title as his wife. If she chose innocence, she would have to confess everything she had done and become a public laughingstock. If she chose to remain the wealthy wife, she would have to erase my existence entirely.

But in a modern, heavily policed society, disposing of a body was no easy task for a pampered girl.

The bed was wide. I lay down right in Christian's arms, closing my eyes with a smile. From today on, I would never have to run to Gwen's side at her beck and call.

Because I was dead.

By the time Christian got out of bed, Gwen was still fast asleep. He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at her for a very long time. His expression was as unreadable as ever.

On my second day as a spirit, with no phone and no books, I was forced to hover near Gwen. Bored out of my mind, I floated around the room in endless circles.

It was not until ten in the morning that Gwen finally yawned and woke up. She took her sweet time washing her face and brushing her teeth before ordering the maid to prepare her breakfast.

Once full, she dug through my suitcase with a look of pure disgust, threw on one of my casual outfits, grabbed the key to the basement, and headed out. She was practically vibrating with rage, clearly eager to drag me over the coals for some perceived slight.

I floated ahead of her, practically buzzing with anticipation to see her reaction when she saw me. And I was not disappointed.

The moment she pushed open the basement door, the smug grin froze on her face. A sharp, piercing shriek tore from her throat, which she instantly muffled with both hands, terrified of being heard.

I hovered above, watching her take slow, trembling steps toward my body. I watched her shaky fingers reach out to check for a breath that would never come. I watched her stagger backward, eyes wide with horror and raw panic.

I watched her collapse to the floor, staring in absolute terror at the long, rusty metal nail driven straight into my chest.

In the seven years since we reunited, she had always looked down on me with cold arrogance. This was the first time I had ever seen her so thoroughly undone. It was exquisite.

Aside from the copper tang of blood, a faint, sweet rot was beginning to cling to the stagnant air. Having enjoyed her panic enough, I turned to look at my own body. My skin had lost all color, and the parts submerged in the pool of blood had turned a sickly purple-black. I looked like a discarded, broken ragdoll.

Her blow had been clumsy and brutal; the back of my head where she had struck me was a gruesome mess. Unable to look any longer, I floated out of the basement.

"Mom? It's me... Can you... can you come to Nora's hotel room?"

"I think... I made... a mistake..."

"Just come quickly, I can't explain it over the phone."

"Please hurry, Mom, I'm so scared..."

Gwen sobbed into my phone, tears smearing her carefully applied makeup. She looked utterly pathetic. I sat cross-legged in the air, leisurely enjoying her breakdown.

Once she quieted down, Gwen locked the basement door and returned to the first floor. Perhaps the agonizing wait was too much to bear, so she turned on the television to drown out the silence.

But with my sudden death weighing on her, she could not focus on the screen. She kept darting anxious glances at the front door, looking completely unhinged. I, however, found the show highly entertaining.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Gwen flew to the door faster than she had ever moved in her life, tears spilling over before she even turned the handle.

"Mom, Nora is d"

The word died in her throat. I peered curiously over her shoulder to look outside.

Standing at the door was none other than Christian.