Chapter 2

This time, I didn't shed a tear.

"Dad," I said, setting down my fork, "what if Vincent finds out I'm not Isabelle? What will he do?"

My father frowned. "So what if he knows? You're also my daughter. That doesn't violate the terms of our marriage alliance. As long as you marry him—"

I cut him off. "Vincent is not stupid. And he's always resented me because of Isabelle.

"Every time we have a pack gathering, he looks at me as if I were trash. If you send me to him, it's like a death sentence.

"What will the Costellos think of you when they find out we swapped out the bride?

"Maybe they'll think you're being two-faced, breaking your promise, and disgracing their heir?"

"Violet!" my mother shrieked. "How can you say that? You're making excuses. Isabelle—"

"Isabelle?" I turned to her. "Isabelle's your daughter, but am I not? She's too young to marry Vicent, but am I old enough to take her place?

"You sent me to Gaminboro for ten years, saying it was for my own good. But when I came back, I didn't see you welcoming me with open arms.

"I've only been home for a few years, and you act as if I've gotten all the benefits.

"Now you even want me to take Isabelle's place and marry a discarded heir, all in the name of paying Isabelle back for being kind to me.

"So her so-called kindness is worth my life of happiness in return?

"Mom, is my life that worthless to you?"

My mother opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Marcello suddenly spoke up. "Violet, you've changed."

I smiled. "Marcello, you finally bothered to talk to me?"

He raised an eyebrow, his expression full of contempt.

It was as if he looked down on me for still caring whether he paid attention to me.

"I'm your fiancée. When they tried to marry me off to someone else, you didn't say a word. But the moment I refuse to marry Vincent for Isabelle, you suddenly have something to say. Could your twisted motives be any more obvious?" I asked.

"Violet!" My father slammed his hand on the table. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

"Am I? Didn't you see how he humiliated me? Am I not your own flesh and blood? Am I supposed to be humiliated, used, and tossed aside by you?" I demanded.

I stood up, pulled my Colt gun from my waistband, and slammed it down on the table.

Everyone froze.

I declared, "Dad, Mom, Isabelle, let me spell it out for you. I'm not going. Whoever's supposed to marry him can do it themselves. If you force me..."

I grabbed the gun and aimed it right at Marcello's forehead. "I'll shoot the Rossinis' heir first and then myself. The Salvatores lose an heiress and gain an enemy. Is that what you want?"

Marcello's face didn't change.

"Go on, Violet," he said. "Shoot. Let me see if you really have the guts to kill."

He still looked at me with that same contempt, sure that I was timid and that the gun was empty.

I pulled the trigger as he wished.

The bullet whizzed past his cheek and tore through the back of the chair.

Everyone was stunned by the deafening shot.

Marcello's smile froze, his face gradually turning pale.

He finally realized that I wasn't bluffing.

I flashed him a mocking grin. "Never let your gun be empty when someone's looking down on you."

I turned to my father. "I'm not marrying Marcello, and I'm not marrying Vincent. If you force me, I'll kill whoever you pick. You won't get a new alliance but a new enemy."

My father's cigar hit the floor. My mother fainted right then and there, and Isabelle forgot to cry.

In my previous life, I never got the chance to say any of this.

So, in the end, I was the one who married into the Costellos.

When Vincent saw me get out of the car, the hope and guilt on his face vanished in a split second.

He looked shocked and pissed. "Why the hell is it you?"

I stepped into Vincent's estate, pretending to be Isabelle, afraid that the old Alpha of the Costellos would take it out on the Salvatores.

I was so freaked out that my face went ghost-white. I walked right up to him, teary-eyed, trying to tug at his heartstrings. "Isabelle got sick from worrying about you. There's barely any medical care here, so—"

"Isabelle's sick?" Vincent didn't let me finish. He grabbed my arm anxiously. "What disease did she get? Is it bad? Why didn't anyone call me? We could've delayed the wedding. Why did they let you come?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, realization dawned on him. His face drained of color instantly.

After that night, he locked himself in his room for a week.

I crept in with a glass of milk timidly. Before I could say a word, he slapped the glass out of my hand, shattering it on the floor. Then he lunged at me and choked me.

"You bitch!" Vincent's eyes were bloodshot, seething with hatred. "How could you deserve to be my wife? How could you deserve to be a member of the Costellos?

"Isabelle's always been healthy. This has to be your fault, you bitch! You fell for me, didn't you? You wanted to steal her place."

His grip tightened, inch by inch, until I could barely breathe. "When did you start scheming to get close to me?

"Violet, I was supposed to be your brother-in-law. How could you be so greedy, vicious, and shameless?"

If the bodyguards hadn't rushed in, I was pretty sure Vincent would've strangled me to death.

He went berserk. Even after they dragged him off, he kept thrashing, trying to punch and kick me.

He roared, "Violet, you bitch! You filthy, disgusting bitch. Why is Isabelle sick instead of you? Why?"

His blond hair was a wild mess, and his bloodshot eyes burned with hatred for me.

No one was there to help me. I couldn't reach my parents or Isabelle. I was so terrified that all I could do was hide and cry.

I kept wishing that they'd show up at the Costello estate someday, see how miserable I was, and take me home.

Every time I was done crying, I'd sit there, daydreaming and hoping.

There were maids at the estate.

Even after Vincent lost his status as the heir, he was still properly fed and clothed.

But after I married him, he refused to let the servants attend to him anymore.

He made me serve him personally.

He had a cruel smile and twisted thoughts.

For eight whole years, I carried the title of Vincent's wife, but in reality, I was nothing more than the lowest maid in his estate.

I had to cook every single meal for him with my own hands, but he wouldn't touch it. He'd only throw it straight to the wolfhound at his feet.