Chapter 1
My sister and I were scheduled to marry on the exact same day.
According to tradition, a bride is escorted to the church and given away by her closest male relative.
As the elder sister, Claire should have left first. But my brother, Edward, arrived outside my door bright and early.
"I'll walk you down the aisle first. Otherwise, you'll just whine that I favor Claire."
But when my carriage pulled up to the church, the groom waiting for me was Claire's fiancé, Adrian Hale.
There was still time to fix the mistake, but Edward blocked my path.
"Claire has loved Julian for years. Just this once, don't fight her for him."
"Adrian scored first in the Treasury Department exams. It's not like you're settling."
Adrian believed I had deliberately orchestrated the swap. For years of our marriage, he treated me with nothing but cold disdain.
It wasn't until I lay on my deathbed, severely ill, that he finally held my hand—only to call out Claire's name.
"If there truly is a next life, would you be willing to marry me?"
So, when I opened my eyes and found myself back on the morning of my wedding, I took a step back.
"Edward, I'm not getting married."
~~~~~
"Evelyn, what is this now?"
Edward checked the grandfather clock in the hall, his jaw tightening.
"The ceremony is starting. Stop making a scene and let me get you to Grace Church."
He leaned down, gesturing for me to step forward.
Just then, the sharp clatter of hooves echoed from the cobblestone street outside.
I jerked my head up. A black horse halted outside the iron gates, and Adrian Hale swung down from the saddle.
He hadn't waited for the scheduled time. He was an entire hour early.
Edward straightened up.
"Adrian? Why are you here so early?"
Adrian pulled off his leather gloves, his gaze bypassing my brother entirely to land on me.
"I was afraid someone might try to tamper with the carriages."
His voice was dangerously calm.
"I'm here to ensure Claire gets into the carriage heading to St. Patrick's Cathedral."
My fingertips turned to ice. He had come back, too.
Adrian had rushed over to prevent the exact same disaster from happening again.
Edward forced a stiff smile.
"We still have some time. Evelyn is in a foul mood today, and I was just coaxing her. Come in for a cup of tea."
Adrian didn't move an inch.
"I will wait right here."
Right on cue, my sister descended the staircase, her voice as soft and fragile as ever.
"Edward... if Evelyn isn't ready today, we should postpone mine, too."
"We promised we'd marry on the same day."
With one sentence, she made everyone in the room ache for her.
Adrian hesitated, the look he shot me suddenly laced with blame.
Edward's tone instantly softened.
"Of course we can. As long as you're happy."
Then, he whipped his head back toward me.
"Look what you're doing. Because of your selfishness, Claire has to cancel her own wedding. When are you going to grow up?"
As the early-arriving guests began to filter out, I caught their hushed, deliberate whispers.
"The youngest Whitmore girl is impossibly spoiled."
"Poor Miss Claire. She yields to her sister in everything, and now she's the one paying for it."
"Edward has the worst luck. Raising two sisters on his own, only to be subjected to this kind of grief."
I sat at my vanity, slowly running my hand over my wedding dress. The pearls and lace were exactly what I had chosen.
Our parents died when we were very young. After that, Edward raised Claire and me single-handedly.
At least in the eyes of the world, he always favored me.
If there were new candies, I got the first pick. If there were ball gowns, I chose my colors first.
My sister never fought me for anything. She would just smile gently and say:
"As long as Evelyn is happy."
In my past life, on the day of the wedding, my brother even stayed at my reception instead of accompanying Claire.
I had tried to persuade him back then:
"Claire won't have any family to stand by her side at her church. You should go be with her."
But Edward had insisted:
"You haven't spent much time with Julian. I need to stay here so the Ashford family doesn't walk all over you."
Sitting there, a very old memory suddenly surfaced in my mind.
The year after our parents died, Edward's excellent work at the Department of Justice earned him a basket of hothouse strawberries from a high-society reception.
He divided them into two plates. My plate had pale strawberries; my sister's plate was filled with bright, vibrant red ones.
When I asked why they were different, he said:
"The pale ones are sweeter. The bright red ones look pretty, but they're sour. I saved the best for you."
But when no one was looking, I secretly swapped one. The bright red strawberry from my sister's plate was breathtakingly sweet.
I had muttered to myself:
"Why are the sour ones sweeter?"
It took me years to finally understand. He had been training me my entire life to accept the scraps and believe they were a prize.
It wasn't that my sister didn't fight for things. She simply never needed to.