The night before my wedding, I caught my boyfriend Henry Jenkins in bed with my stepsister.

Seeing my furious expression, he suddenly burst into laughter.

"Baby, this is just a little test for you before the wedding," he said, grinning.

I looked at the two of them, disheveled and panting, and felt a wave of disgust.

What a scumbag!

I scoffed, "I don't accept any test from anyone."

On the night before my wedding, I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me, and his partner was my stepsister.

I had returned to the hotel unexpectedly to grab the wedding ring I'd need for the ceremony the next day.

Just as I approached the door, I heard flirtatious voices coming from inside.

I froze at the entrance, my stepsister Oliva's voice ringing in my ears.

"Henry, why don't we just skip tonight? You still have to get married tomorrow."

"Just get through tomorrow, and if it weren't for the fact that I see Olivia as somewhat useful, I would've dumped her to the curb long ago."

I'm Olivia Reynolds. Oliva Reynolds is my stepsister, two years younger than me. My mother got pregnant with her the year she remarried.

I didn't know what my stepfather Adams and my mother Wendy Irvin had discussed, but after Oliva was born, they insisted on giving her a name that sounded similar to mine.

All I knew was that once she was born, my mother stopped loving me. She doted on Oliva day and night, her eyes filled with affection.

When she was born, she was dark and wrinkled; even the head nurse frowned, seeing no resemblance to a little girl.

Somehow, as the years went by, she blossomed into a stunning beauty.

Meanwhile, I, who had always been praised for my looks as a child, started gaining weight. Dark spots appeared on my face, my skin worsened, and my figure began to change.

I wanted my mother to take me to a dermatologist, but she gave me a disapproving look.

"Girls change a lot as they grow up. It's only natural that you're looking worse," she said.

Then scooped Oliva into her arms and showered her with kisses.

"Oliva is so beautiful; she's going to be a real knockout when she grows up."

Hearing this, I could only lower my head in disappointment, letting tears roll down my cheeks.

In high school, I, who had always ranked in the top ten of my class, hit a wall during one midterm exam.

From then on, my grades never recovered, and I spent three years at the bottom of my class.

However, during the entrance exams, I scored first in my entire school and got into a prestigious high school.

Oliva, who had never liked studying, suddenly seemed to hit her stride during my slump, and her grades skyrocketed.

My mother praised her impressive report cards in front of me again and again.

I kept telling myself that my mom didn't stop loving me; I just needed to work harder so she could share some of the love she gave to Oliva.

But no matter how hard I tried, I barely scraped by SAT and ended up at a mediocre university.

Two years later, Oliva became the top scorer in her SAT, but she turned down offers from top universities to come to my school.

I couldn't understand why, and then Henry appeared. He didn't care about my appearance or figure; he pursued me passionately.

In my first eighteen years, no one had cared about me like that, and I was touched, so I accepted his affection.

We were together then, but Oliva still liked to cling to me. Even when we went on a date, she insisted on tagging along. As time went by, they became familiar with each other.

I didn't know when they hooked up together, and sometimes they even made plans to hang out without me.

I once caught them together, but Henry didn't bother to explain.

He just looked at me impatiently and asked why I was making such a fuss over something so trivial. "Why are you fussing over your own sister?"

Whenever this happened, he would always repeat, "Be good, don't make me angry. I don't want to break up with you yet."

I understood what he meant. After all, I wasn't particularly attractive; I should be grateful that someone loved me at all. So, I had to endure, and the idea of being able to act cute with my boyfriend was something I never dared to hope for.

After graduation, I found a regular job due to my low qualifications, just enough to make ends meet.

My mother had always been dissatisfied with me, but when I brought Henry home, she smiled warmly at him and quickly agreed to our marriage.

I sighed in relief. Although my life had not been smooth sailing for over twenty years, I felt content to be marrying the person I loved.

But tonight shattered the beautiful fantasy I had woven for myself.

When did their affair begin? Remembering my mother's satisfied smile directed at Henry, I wondered if she had known all along.

Why? Why would they do this to me?

That night, I couldn't remember how I had left the hotel. I had spent over twenty years being timid, and even after finding out my fiancé had cheated on me, I still didn't have the courage to confront him. My first instinct was to run away.

All those years of hardship had shaped my accommodating personality, but I refused to let this betrayal go unpunished. I silently vowed to make this bitch couple pay for their deceit.

I barely slept that night, and by eight in the morning, I received a message from Henry.

[Baby, are you ready? I'll pick you up at the hotel.]

Through that text, I could almost see his affectionate face.

It was laughable how he could fake feelings of love and adoration all these years.

Why had he been playing the part of the perfect boyfriend?

This situation was definitely not as simple as it seemed. I needed to figure out what was really going on, but I couldn't act recklessly. The enemy was in the open while I remained hidden, and the current situation still favored me.

However, I was sure I would not go through with the wedding. I couldn't forgive a cheating man, especially when the other woman was my stepsister.

[Might be a little late.] I replied.

Almost immediately, he called me.

I hesitated but eventually pressed the answer button.

"Baby, did you not sleep well last night? That's okay, we've already rehearsed enough. We can just head straight to the ceremony."

Henry's cheerful voice came through, sounding as if he had slept soundly.

Remembering the unpleasant sounds I had heard the night before, I clenched my fists, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Don't be nervous. I'll be right there with you."

When Henry said this, I could hear other people's breaths in the background.

No need to guess who it was.

I lay back down and managed to steal a few more moments of sleep. By the time I got up and took a taxi to the wedding venue, the ceremony was already in full swing.

When I finally arrived, everyone was already there.

Oliva wasn't the bride or a bridesmaid, but she was wearing a white gown and heavy makeup. My mother stood beside her, beaming as she chatted with Henry.

Seeing me arrive, she hurried over and pinched my arm hard.

She complained, "You silly girl, don't you know what day it is? Why are you so late? I called you, but you didn't answer!"

Looking at her, I realized time had left no marks on her face.

People often said I looked just like my mother, both of us cut from the same mold of beauty. Oliva, on the other hand, resembled my stepfather, a rough man with dark skin and a flat face.

How could she have transformed so dramatically in just a few years? As I studied her face, so similar to my mother's, I began to piece things together.

The issue had to lie with them, and I needed to figure it out!

"Stop staring, and go get your makeup done."

My mother said, noticing my distracted gaze and giving me a little push.

Sitting at the makeup table, I was still pondering how to end this engagement without revealing that I already knew the truth.

Just then, Oliva unwittingly handed me the perfect opportunity.

I heard her arguing with my mother outside the door.

"I love Henry, and we're truly in love! Why should that woman get to have him? Can't we think of another way?"

"You've endured for twenty years, can't you hold on for a few more days? Patience is key; our plan is almost complete. After that, you can run off with him, and I won't care," my mother replied.

Plan? What plan?

I seized the moment and quietly slipped out.

I crept up behind them and said, "Mom, what are you talking about?"

My mother was clearly startled by me, and her face turned pale instantly.

"Olivia how did you get out here? I was just having a little chat with Oliva."

In all these years, she had rarely called me by my name. To her, it seemed I didn't deserve to share the name of her precious daughter.

What had I done wrong? I had come into this world first and spent more time with her than Oliva. Why was it that Oliva was the only daughter in her eyes? Was it just because she was the product of her first love?

Years ago, my mother had resolutely divorced my father, not only because he had failed in business and amassed debts, but for another important reason.

Oliva's father, Adams Reynolds, was her first love, her unforgettable first love.

Once Adams had divorced his first wife, my mother eagerly sought him out, and under her relentless pursuit, they got back together.

She abandoned my father but fought for my custody, and I had always believed she loved me, that she couldn't bear to leave me. After all, what mother doesn't love her child?

But my experiences over the years taught me a harsh truth: women often love what they associate with. She hated my father, so she transferred that hatred onto me.

But why keep me close if she despised me?

"Enough, mom! You can endure, but I can't!" Oliva looked down at me with arrogance. "Only those who aren't loved are the third party. Henry and I truly love each other. You should've stepped aside long ago."

My mother stared at me, silent, her face flushing with a mix of anger and shame.

I struggled to process her words. So, according to her, only those who aren't loved are the third party. Did that mean Henry had never loved me?

Just then, hearing the commotion, Henry rushed over.

When he saw the standoff, he seemed to grasp the situation.

"Olivia, listen to me, I really want to marry you, believe me."

I shrugged off his hand from my shoulder. "You want to marry me, but you're with my sister?"

Henry stared at me in disbelief. "You already know? When did you find out?" He pointed angrily at Oliva. "Did she tell you?"

"If you don't want others to know, don't do it yourself. Henry, I've had enough of you these years. Let's break up."

With the goal achieved, Oliva laughed, linking her arm with Henry's.

"Alright, enough pretending. If you're not tired, I am."

She leaned in and kissed Henry on the cheek right in front of me.

My mother watched their intimate display without a word. She simply glanced at me, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes.