Chapter 1
At my own wedding reception, my sister grabbed the mic, announced she'd say my vows—because apparently the "poor little mute" couldn't manage on her own.
I stood there helpless while she gazed at my husband with trembling, lovesick eyes.
And nobody—not a single soul—told her to stop.
"Iris can't speak for herself," Serena crooned into the microphone, voice like honey poured over broken glass, "so I'll speak on her behalf. As her big sister... it's the least I can do."
I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached.
Big sister. Right.
The girl who'd stolen my identity for twenty-four years, lived my life, slept in my bed, spent my inheritance—and now had the audacity to stand three inches from my husband and sigh like a dying swan.
She turned to Ezra Wolfe—my husband of exactly forty-seven minutes—and let a single tear slide down her porcelain cheek.
"Ezra... I know fate wasn't kind to us. But please—promise me you'll make her happy. Love her the way you would've loved me."
The crowd erupted in whispers.
"Oh my God, Serena's so selfless—"
"That mute girl doesn't deserve any of this—"
"Everyone knows Ezra and Serena were meant to be together."
I snapped internally.
"Are you kidding me? This is MY wedding! MY husband! And you're up there performing your one-woman Broadway show like I don't exist? God, Serena, you parasitic, scheming, two-faced—"
"Shut up," a low voice cut through the noise. "You're giving me a headache."
I froze.
Ezra Wolfe—cold, untouchable, feared by half the city—had his jaw clenched, brow creased in visible irritation.
And he was looking straight at me.
Not at Serena. Not at the crowd.
At me.
The woman who hadn't said a single word.
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I stood there helpless while she gazed at my husband with trembling, lovesick eyes.
And nobody—not a single soul—told her to stop.
"Iris can't speak for herself," Serena crooned into the microphone, voice like honey poured over broken glass, "so I'll speak on her behalf. As her big sister... it's the least I can do."
I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached.
Big sister. Right.
The girl who'd stolen my identity for twenty-four years, lived my life, slept in my bed, spent my inheritance—and now had the audacity to stand three inches from my husband and sigh like a dying swan.
She turned to Ezra Wolfe—my husband of exactly forty-seven minutes—and let a single tear slide down her porcelain cheek.
"Ezra... I know fate wasn't kind to us. But please—promise me you'll make her happy. Love her the way you would've loved me."
The crowd erupted in whispers.
"Oh my God, Serena's so selfless—"
"That mute girl doesn't deserve any of this—"
"Everyone knows Ezra and Serena were meant to be together."
I snapped internally.
"Are you kidding me? This is MY wedding! MY husband! And you're up there performing your one-woman Broadway show like I don't exist? God, Serena, you parasitic, scheming, two-faced—"
"Shut up," a low voice cut through the noise. "You're giving me a headache."
I froze.
Ezra Wolfe—cold, untouchable, feared by half the city—had his jaw clenched, brow creased in visible irritation.
And he was looking straight at me.
Not at Serena. Not at the crowd.
At me.
The woman who hadn't said a single word.
---