Chapter 1 · Betrayed by Him, Wanted by His Brother

Chapter 1

The cathedral bells tolled like a death knell as I stood frozen at the threshold, my pulse hammering against the constricting corset of my designer gown. This was supposed to be my coronation—the day I finally earned my parents' pride by securing the Garcia dynasty's golden heir.

"Smile, Victoria," my mother Eleanor hissed through veneered teeth, her manicured fingers digging into my arm. "The press cameras are rolling."

I forced my lips upward, the expression cracking like porcelain. Even now, drenched in millions of dollars worth of silk and diamonds, I was still just a pawn in their social chess game.

"Remember why we're here," my father muttered, adjusting his tie with a jerk. "This merger makes or breaks our family."

Merger. Not wedding. The word slithered through my veins like ice.

Then the doors opened.

The scent of two thousand white roses hit me first—cloying, suffocating. Crystal chandeliers threw fractured light over three hundred judgmental faces. And there, at the end of the endless aisle, stood William Garcia in his custom Brioni tuxedo, his smile not reaching his cold, calculating eyes.

Something was wrong.

My satin heels sank into the carpet as if it were quicksand. Halfway down, I realized Chloe's seat stood empty. My maid of honor. My only friend.

"If anyone objects to this union..." the priest's voice boomed.

William's grip on my hand turned clammy.

"I can't do this."

His whisper detonated like a grenade in the sacred silence. The crowd gasped as he recoiled from me—from us—as if my touch carried plague.

"William?" My voice sounded alien, broken.

The side door creaked open.

Chloe sauntered in like a panther in scarlet Versace, her smirk slicing through me. No bridesmaid dress. No remorse. Just raw, glittering triumph.

"I choose Chloe," William announced to the gasping crowd. "She understands what it means to be a Garcia."

The subtext hung in the air like smoke: You never did.

"Months?" I choked out. "You've been... with her? While I—"

"—played the perfect little society doll?" Chloe finished, twining her fingers through William's. "Darling, you were always the placeholder."

The whispers metastasized through the pews:

"Poor dear... though honestly, Chloe's better connected..."

"The Lewises will never recover from this..."

"That dress cost more than her dignity..."

I turned to my parents. Mother's face had curdled into something vicious. Father's fists clenched like he wanted to strike—not William, but me.

"Fix this!" Mother seethed.

But there was no fixing the way William's mouth crashed onto Chloe's in front of God and everyone. No fixing the way my $75,000 veil fluttered to the floor like a surrender flag.

So I ran.

Not the delicate, tearful retreat of a jilted bride. This was a wildfire escape—satin tearing, pearls scattering, my reflection fracturing in every stained-glass saint's eyes.

Behind me, William's voice rang clear: "The Garcias demand excellence in all things."

The doors exploded outward under my palms. Sunlight blinded me.

Chapter 1

"Smile, Victoria," my mother Eleanor hissed through veneered teeth, her manicured fingers digging into my arm. "The press cameras are rolling."

I forced my lips upward, the expression cracking like porcelain. Even now, drenched in millions of dollars worth of silk and diamonds, I was still just a pawn in their social chess game.

"Remember why we're here," my father muttered, adjusting his tie with a jerk. "This merger makes or breaks our family."

Merger. Not wedding. The word slithered through my veins like ice.

Then the doors opened.

Something was wrong.

My satin heels sank into the carpet as if it were quicksand. Halfway down, I realized Chloe's seat stood empty. My maid of honor. My only friend.

"If anyone objects to this union..." the priest's voice boomed.

William's grip on my hand turned clammy.

"I can't do this."

His whisper detonated like a grenade in the sacred silence. The crowd gasped as he recoiled from me—from us—as if my touch carried plague.

"William?" My voice sounded alien, broken.

The side door creaked open.

Chloe sauntered in like a panther in scarlet Versace, her smirk slicing through me. No bridesmaid dress. No remorse. Just raw, glittering triumph.

"I choose Chloe," William announced to the gasping crowd. "She understands what it means to be a Garcia."

The subtext hung in the air like smoke: You never did.

"Months?" I choked out. "You've been... with her? While I—"

"—played the perfect little society doll?" Chloe finished, twining her fingers through William's. "Darling, you were always the placeholder."

The whispers metastasized through the pews:

"Poor dear... though honestly, Chloe's better connected..."

"The Lewises will never recover from this..."

"That dress cost more than her dignity..."

I turned to my parents. Mother's face had curdled into something vicious. Father's fists clenched like he wanted to strike—not William, but me.

"Fix this!" Mother seethed.

But there was no fixing the way William's mouth crashed onto Chloe's in front of God and everyone. No fixing the way my $75,000 veil fluttered to the floor like a surrender flag.

So I ran.

Not the delicate, tearful retreat of a jilted bride. This was a wildfire escape—satin tearing, pearls scattering, my reflection fracturing in every stained-glass saint's eyes.

Behind me, William's voice rang clear: "The Garcias demand excellence in all things."

The doors exploded outward under my palms. Sunlight blinded me.