At the bridal shop, I saw fresh dark marks across my sister’s back. She whispered, “If I cancel, his father will ruin us.” I kissed her cheek and said, “Then we won’t cancel.” But by morning, the groom had no idea who was waiting at the aisle.

My breath stopped.

The seamstress gasped and stepped back.

“Oh my God.”

Mara saw my face in the mirror.

Every bit of color drained from hers.

She clutched the dress to her chest and whispered, “Please don’t.”

I stepped closer, slow and careful.

“Who did this?”

Her lips trembled.

“Elian.”

The groom.

The charming heir.

The man who kissed our mother’s hand at dinner continue reading …