Liora’s POV

If Viola wanted to play the victim, then she shouldn’t be surprised when I played the role too.

My words landed. Evan’s brow furrowed deeper. “That’s not what I meant.”

I took a step back, letting my voice crack just enough.

“Evan, she’s your childhood sweetheart. And me? What am I—your tenth girlfriend? I know my place.”

I watched his jaw tighten. That flicker of guilt? Gone. Replaced with irritation.

“You’re exaggerating, Liora,” he snapped, a little too fast. “Don’t make a scene.”

His patience was thinning. But I didn’t back down.

“Who’s your fiancée—me or her? Because from the way you’re defending that whore, it sure as hell doesn’t sound like me.”

Evan stepped in closer. His voice dropped, low and cold. “Have I been giving you too much freedom lately? Did you forget what I told you? As my wife, you’re not allowed to act like this. If you can’t handle it, I won’t marry you.”

Like a threat.

As if not marrying him would be the end of me.

How arrogant do you have to be, Evan?

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, “If I don’t marry you, who will?” he murmured. “After your father died, I’ve kept your family’s casino afloat. The only reason it hasn’t been bought out or crushed is because of me. You need to think clearly, Liora. I’m the only one left who’s on your side. Don’t make me angry, okay?”

I tilted my chin up, swallowing the urge to slap him. Or throw up. “Alright.”

His eyes softened like I’d passed some test. “That’s my good girl. Let’s focus on the wedding, hmm? I heard you still haven’t picked a dress. Take Viola with you—she’ll help you.”

“Sounds good.” I smiled, bright and blinding.

“And make her your bridesmaid. She’s upset about what you said earlier.”

The sickness I felt wasn’t even about Viola anymore. She might not have been the worst of it. Evan was. The way he acted like a king, like we were all interchangeable. Like women were just… disposable.

Seeing me not rejecting, Evan smiled, pulled out his credit card, hesitated for a beat, then handed it over.

Without another word, he walked off—probably thinking he’d charmed me again. That I was right back where he wanted me. Trusting him. Needing him.

Self-entitled asshole.

The moment he walked out that door, I moved everything I owned to a penthouse apartment I’d quietly purchased months ago. A place Evan had never heard me mention.

He wouldn’t be able to find me. Not unless I wanted to be found.

…

Viola called me early in the morning, her voice practically bouncing through the phone.

“I already booked the wedding salon,” she chirped. “Come on, Liora. I’m picking the dress!”

She sounded so giddy, like she was the bride—or at least the most enthusiastic bridesmaid in history.

When I stepped into the salon, the front was empty. No sign of Viola.

A woman in a sleek suit came over and gave me a bright smile. “Right this way, Mrs. Callister.” She gestured toward the dressing room.

I hadn’t even touched the curtain when I heard a woman gasp inside.

And then, I pulled it open.

Viola stood there, beaming at herself in the mirror, dressed in a white wedding gown. “Stop it…” she said with a laugh, preening like a model mid-photoshoot. Then her eyes found mine, and the smile faltered—just slightly.

“I’m not Mrs. Callister,” she corrected smoothly. “She is.”

The staff member turned a brilliant shade of red. “Oh—I’m sorry, I thought…”

“No worries,” I said, waving it off.

Viola gave a slow spin in front of the mirror, catching my gaze in the reflection. “Do I look stunning?”

She didn’t even try to hide the pride in her voice. It oozed out of her, every inch of her posture smug.

She knew Evan had chosen her. After that day, he must’ve done something—said something—that made it clear she’d won. That she mattered more than I did. And she was reveling in it.

I should’ve walked out now. But I didn’t. The perfect time to walk out was yet to come.

So I nodded once, calm as ever. “Very stunning. No wonder the staff thought you were the bride.”

“That’s right,” she said, twirling again. “I guess I do have that bride energy.”

She gestured toward a gown on the rack beside her. “Since you were late, I picked out your dress.”

I stepped closer. Blinked.

It was… awful.

I wasn’t expecting Viola to choose something beautiful for me, but this was a new level of sabotage. It was plain. Ugly. Unflattering in every possible way.

If I wore that down the aisle, no one would believe I was the bride. They’d assume she was.

Still, I kept my tone light. “And the one you’re wearing now—planning to make it the bridesmaid dress?”

Viola raised a brow. “What, worried I’ll outshine you?”

She was getting bolder. Crueler. As if the closer we got to the wedding, the more convinced she was that I was trapped in their little game. That I wouldn’t dare fight back. And if I did? Evan would just put me back in my place.

So why bother pretending anymore?

She wanted a reaction. I saw it in her eyes, the way she watched my face like it was a game.

Fine. I gave her one. I furrowed my brow. “Now that you mention it, the dress you picked for me does feel a little… underwhelming.”

Her smile twitched. Cracked.

Then came the venom. “Well, you’ll have to wear it anyway. Evan said I’d be helping you. And apparently, helping you means fixing your outdated fashion sense.”

She didn’t even bother hiding her impatience anymore. Viola walked over, tossed the dress straight into my arms—like she couldn’t wait to see it on me. “Go try it on.”

I headed to the dressing room. Less than a minute later, she followed me inside.

The moment she saw me in the dress, she nearly burst out laughing. “You do look stunning, Liora. That dress really suits you.”

Before I could say anything, Evan’s voice echoed from the front of the shop. “Where are they?”

“Mrs. Callister is in the fitting room,” someone replied.

Viola turned to me with a raised brow… and then promptly dropped to the ground. “Why did you push me?” she cried, loud enough to carry through the entire store.

Liora’s POV

The curtain yanked open. Evan stood there. I was still up on the platform. Viola was on the floor, curled like a fainting damsel. Not moving.

He rushed to her side, arms cradling her like she might break in two. Then he looked up at me, jaw clenched. “What did I tell you the other day? If you keep acting like a drama queen, I won’t marry you!”

I almost laughed. Such a cheap little act—and he’d bought it wholesale.

“Then don’t,” I said.

His face shifted. Like he couldn’t quite process what I’d just said.

“Liora, how many times do I have to tell you? You have no one but me. And you still act like this? I swear, I won’t tolerate it for one more day.”

Viola whimpered softly from his chest, like a Disney character in distress. “I think… I think I twisted my ankle.”

Evan’s eyes snapped down to her, rage barely contained. Then back to me. “Go think about what you’ve done. I want your head clear before the wedding. Or don’t come at all. I’ll have the ceremony with Viola and you and I can just do the marriage license at City Hall.”

He looked so confident. So sure I’d cave. That I’d come crawling, desperate not to lose him.

After all, I’d loved him—hadn’t I? How could I possibly survive watching him walk down the aisle with someone else?

The truth? That would’ve been a dream scenario.

Actually, even better than my original plan. If I didn’t have to go to the wedding at all, I wouldn’t just be saving myself the trouble—I’d be getting a front-row seat to Evan’s spectacular downfall.

I stared at him. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t answer—just let out a noise and swept Viola into his arms. She looked over his shoulder at me, smiling like she’d just claimed some grand prize.

I almost pitied her. Really. How sad it must be, to treat a man like Evan as if he were treasure instead of trash.

…

The wedding day arrived.

Since the day Evan and I last spoke, he hadn’t reached out. Not once.

Instead, it was Viola who showed up—sweeping into the bridal suite like she owned the place, surrounded by a full glam team of stylists and makeup artists.

“Liora, you wouldn’t mind if they did my hair and makeup first, right?” she asked, already sitting in front of the mirror, her tone dripping with arrogance.

I smiled faintly. Since I was about to deliver the biggest surprise of her life, I saw no reason to argue. “Of course not.”

She smirked, satisfied, and said nothing more.

While her team fussed over her hair and lashes, I sat quietly in the corner, reviewing the plan in my head one last time. My heart wasn’t nervous—it was steady, sharp, deliberate. Every detail was ready.

By the time Viola finished preening, there were maybe ten minutes left for me. Typical.

When I pulled out my dress, her eyes immediately narrowed.

“That’s not the one I picked for you.”

It wasn’t. The one she’d chosen was hideous—an insult disguised as satin.

This one, though… plain white, soft, elegant. It wasn’t bridal, not really. But it was perfect.

A gift from Tristan, delivered the night before with a note that said: You’d look stunning in this.

And since I was planning to elope with him today, it felt only fitting to wear it.

“Oh, that one got wrinkled,” I said lightly, holding the new dress up. “Figured I’d use this instead.”

She studied it for a moment. Then, apparently deciding it was too simple to matter, she shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

She grabbed my arm and led me out, insisting we walk down the aisle together—like two queens sharing a throne that clearly belonged to only one.

Just as we were about to step forward, a sudden stir rippled through the crowd. People were turning, whispering.

My first thought was Tristan.

Was he here? If he was late, I might’ve actually had to face Evan—and that would’ve ruined the poetry of this entire plan.

“Liora?”

I turned.

And there he was—Tristan, walking through the crowd in a sharp white suit embroidered with floral details that matched the pattern on my dress.

The room collectively gasped.

“What’s going on?”

“Why do their clothes match?”

“Isn’t that Tristan Vexley? I saw him once at the Southern mafia gathering—”

“He looks incredible.”

“If I didn’t know today was Evan’s wedding, I’d think he was the groom.”

“Shh! Don’t let Evan hear you say that!”

Tristan smiled as he approached, calm and impossibly composed. “You do look stunning in this dress,” he said softly.

“You have perfect taste.” I smiled back.

“The dress or the woman?” he teased, extending his hand.

“Both,” I said, slipping my palm into his.

The moment his fingers brushed mine, a sharp tug yanked me backward.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Evan’s voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. He strode forward, grabbing my other hand with iron force. His face was furious, red, almost shaking.

“You’d better explain this right now, Liora. Because if you don’t—” his voice dropped— “you know how bad it gets when I’m angry.”

I just laughed. A quiet, genuine laugh.

Then I pulled my hand from his grip. “Can’t you figure it out by now?”

His eyes flicked down to where my fingers were entwined with Tristan’s. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“I’m leaving you, Evan.”

I raised my hand—the one Tristan was holding—and let our joined fingers catch the light. “Meet my real fiancé. My soon-to-be husband, Tristan Vexley.”

The crowd gasped again. A wave of whispers swept through the room.

Evan’s face hardened into something murderous. “Repeat that again,”