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Chapter 1: The Message at the Altar

The blinding light from the phone screen made my eyes ache.

The traditional wedding music played loudly through the massive, flower-filled church. The priest began his solemn, emotional speech. “Vivienne, do you take Harrison to be your lawfully wedded husband, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health?”

Below the altar, five hundred high-society guests sat in the audience. My parents and his wealthy parents were beaming with joy. My best friend, Chloe, stood right beside me in her pink bridesmaid dress. Her eyes were red, and her face looked filled with emotion.

Opposite me, Harrison, dressed in a perfectly tailored Tom Ford tuxedo, bowed his head slightly to look at me. He was exceptionally, breathtakingly handsome. His dark eyes were deep, and a gentle, loving smile played on his perfect lips. That gaze had once made me feel like I was drowning in warm light. I always believed I was the happiest woman in the entire world.

But now, looking at the words on my phone screen, every single word felt like a poisoned needle piercing straight into my heart.

He is marrying you because your side profile is identical to the woman he truly loved. She is dead. You are a cheap copy.

“Vivienne? What is wrong? Are you nervous?” Harrison whispered. He reached out to gently brush a lock of hair away from my cheek. His gesture was so natural, so familiar, carrying an inherent, beautiful intimacy. I used to love his small touches so much. I always thought they were a special tenderness reserved only for me.

I suddenly took a sharp step backward, completely avoiding his hand.

My thick high heels clattered loudly on the polished marble floor. The movement was so forceful that my delicate lace veil trembled. The entire church immediately erupted in confused whispers. All eyes turned toward me, filled with astonishment and curiosity.

Harrison’s hand froze in mid-air. The gentle smile on his gorgeous face stiffened, quickly replaced by pure surprise. Below the stage, his powerful father, Chairman Sterling, frowned darkly. My mother looked flustered, mouthing the words, “Vivienne, what are you doing?”

I didn’t look at them. My gaze pierced right over Harrison’s broad shoulder. I locked eyes directly with the face of my bridesmaid, Chloe.

The fake emotion on her face had not faded yet, but a fleeting, unconcealed panic flashed in her eyes. It was very small. Very fast. But I saw it.

Right before the ceremony started, only Chloe had touched my phone. She said my makeup was a little smudged and wanted to help me touch it up. She conveniently slipped my phone into her small handbag. Then she “accidentally” dropped her bag on the ground, scattering her belongings everywhere. She frantically picked up everything, finally finding my phone and returning it to me just as the music started.

That anonymous message was sent at that exact, perfect moment. It left absolutely no room for doubt.

I stared at Chloe. A cold smirk played on my lips. So that is it, I thought. She was waiting to see my little show. What a wonderful best friend.

Harrison’s voice deepened. He used an oppressive, controlling tone that allowed no argument. “Vivienne. Do not make a scene. Everyone is watching.”

He reached out to grab my arm. His movements were tinged with dark coercion. In the past, whenever he acted like this, I would usually give in and obey him.

But not today.

I decisively pulled away, swiftly withdrawing my arm. Then, under the shocked gaze of hundreds of eyes, I raised my hand without a single second of hesitation.

SMACK!

A resounding, violent slap landed decisively on Harrison’s handsome face. His head snapped to the side.

The entire church fell completely, deathly silent. Not even a breath could be heard. Only the wedding march stubbornly continued to play from the organ. It was ridiculously out of place.

I forcefully shook my hand, which was numb from slapping his sharp jawline. I looked at the stunned priest and the entire guest list, who were staring at me in absolute disbelief. My voice was not loud, but it was clear enough to echo off the high ceilings.

“This wedding is over,” I announced coldly. “Whoever wants to marry him can have him.”

I ripped the heavy, expensive veil from my head. I threw it forcefully to the ground. The pristine white lace immediately became dusty, looking like a discarded piece of trash.

I turned my back on the altar and walked away.

Behind me, the entire hall fell into a deafening chaos. Then, the furious roar of his father shook the entire audience.

“Vivienne! Stop right there!” Harrison snarled, his voice carrying unbelievable rage and humiliation. “What are you going crazy about?!”

My mother’s voice was lost in her tears. “Vivienne! Oh my God, what are you doing?!”

And mixed in with that noise was the feigned, fake-crying of Chloe. “Harrison, look at her face! She is crazy! Come back and explain!”

All I heard was noise. I didn’t care about anyone. Clutching the heavy, silk hem of my custom wedding dress, I straightened my back. I walked proudly down the long aisle, crushing the vibrant red rose petals under my heels.

Chapter 2: The Truth in the Study

Stepping out of the large, heavy doors of the church, the early summer breeze blew against my face. The air no longer smelled of sweet champagne, nor the familiar, cool scent of sandalwood cologne on Harrison. It only smelled of reality.

My phone vibrated in my hand. It was the anonymous number again. This time, it sent a photo.

The photo was old and slightly blurry. The setting was a tree-lined path on a university campus. A beautiful girl in a white dress stood there. Her long dark hair cascaded like a waterfall. Her side profile was delicate, soft, and flawless. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, making her look incredibly beautiful, like a painting.

Below the photo was a caption: Madeline. Harrison’s first love. She died of a heart condition three years ago. Look at her profile, then look at yourself in the mirror. You are just a cheap replacement.

My hands trembled. My stomach churned with violent nausea.

It all made sense now. It was no surprise that when Harrison first met me at an art exhibition, he stared at me like he had seen a ghost. It was no surprise that he always liked to watch me sit with my head bowed, reading a book. No wonder he always demanded I wear white dresses.

No wonder that whenever he was drunk, his large hand unconsciously caressed the side of my face, his eyes totally empty, mumbling a name I couldn’t understand.

At the time, I naively thought he was calling my nickname. Now, my heart felt like it was being violently crushed by an icy hand. The pain was so intense I couldn’t breathe.

A cheap replacement. Those words were like a brand burned directly onto my soul. I leaned against the cold stone wall of the church. Tears streamed down my face. Not because of Harrison, but because of myself. Because for the past three years, I had foolishly, blindly given my entire heart to a man who was using my face as a mask for a ghost.

A sleek, black Mercedes silently stopped in front of me. The car window rolled down. It was Arthur, my family’s private driver.

His face, usually expressionless, now showed a hint of deep worry. “Miss Vivienne, your father told me to take you home.”

I wiped my face fiercely. I pulled open the car door and climbed inside.

“Take me to the new mansion, Arthur,” my voice was hoarse but steady.

The new mansion. My and Harrison’s spectacular new home. More accurately, the luxurious, twenty-million-dollar villa that Harrison bought to be our marital home. He had even put my name entirely on the property title as a grand gesture to prove his love before signing our prenuptial agreement.

Arthur looked at me through the rearview mirror. He started the engine. The car sped away, leaving behind all the noise and chaos.

My phone vibrated violently in my lap. Harrison’s name kept flashing repeatedly on the screen. I powered the phone completely off. The world immediately became wonderfully quiet.

The mansion was located in a high-end, elite neighborhood where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold. The digital lock recognized my fingerprint. The heavy mahogany door opened.

The enormous crystal chandelier on the ceiling emitted a cold, lonely light. The spacious living room was perfectly clean. Everything here, from the Italian furniture to every small painting, was personally chosen by Harrison. He had once told me, “I will give you a perfect house.” But looking around now, this perfection was nothing more than an elaborately decorated tomb. It was built only to worship a dead girl. And I was just the foolish sacrifice placed on her altar.

I went straight up the sweeping staircase to the large study on the second floor. Harrison had a strict habit; he kept a physical copy of all his important corporate documents here. He worked with an obsessive-compulsive level of care.

I knelt down and pulled at the bottom drawer of his heavy oak desk. It had a digital combination lock.

I tried entering my birthday. Error. I tried entering our anniversary date. Error. I stared at the cold keypad. Suddenly, the name from that message flashed through my mind. Madeline. I remembered hearing Harrison’s wealthy mother once mention the tragic day Madeline died. May 14th.

My finger, as if possessed, typed the numbers: 0514.

With a soft, golden click, the heavy drawer unlocked.

I pulled it open. Inside were neatly arranged, thick files. A beige, hard-cover binder immediately caught my eye. The label on the cover had only one word: Madeline. It was written in Harrison’s sharp, strong handwriting.

My fingers were icy cold as I opened it.

Inside was a massive stack of photographs. All of Madeline. Taken from the front, from the side, smiling, pensive, in the sunlight. These photos were infinitely clearer than the one sent to my phone. Underneath the photos was a thick stack of medical papers containing a detailed file on Madeline: date of birth, family history, and hospital records.

She had suffered from a severe, congenital heart condition since childhood.

The last page was a highly classified document from a charity fund affiliated with Harrison’s corporate empire. It provided massive, multi-million-dollar long-term funding for a research project on heart disease. The funding began three years ago, right around the time Madeline passed away. At the bottom of the document was Harrison’s familiar signature.

The signing date was exactly one month after he and I officially started dating. This meant that immediately after securing me as his physical substitute, he continued to use this massive charity to maintain his deep connection with a dead woman.

In the dark corner of the drawer, there was also a dark blue velvet jewelry box.

I recognized it immediately. That was the exact ring box Harrison used to propose to me. At the time, inside was a huge, flashy, ten-carat pear-shaped diamond ring. He had told me he had it custom-made just for me.

My hands trembled as I opened the velvet box.

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