The Substitute Bride

Chapter Two

ANASTASIA

“Do you take Christian O’Brien to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, in wealth and poverty, till death do you part?”

The priest’s words rang in my ears, but my attention drifted. I turned to the man standing beside me—the man I was about to marry.

Christian O’Brien.

He was tall. Towering. Built like someone who had never lost a fight. His tailored black suit hugged his broad shoulders, and his dark brown eyes—deep and unreadable—were fixed straight ahead. His face was ridiculously handsome, like it had been carved from marble by a sculptor who wanted to ruin women. And yet, despite his beauty, he looked… cold. Distant. Unreachable.

Nothing like the warm, polished man I’d seen in magazine spreads. This version of Christian had a jaw so tight you could cut glass on it and a stare that felt like ice against my skin.

I swallowed. My voice trembled, but I managed, “Yes. I do.”

The guilt clawed at my chest. It should’ve been Aubrey standing here, not me. She loved him—fantasized about this moment like it was her fairytale ending. And now she was lying in a hospital bed, bruised and broken, while I stood here in her place, wrapped in her dress, wearing her shoes, speaking vows meant for her.

Something about the timing of her attack… it didn’t sit right. It felt deliberate, like someone didn’t want this wedding to happen.

The priest turned to Christian, asking him the same question. He hesitated. Just for a second.

“I do,” he said, with all the enthusiasm of a man signing a business contract.

The crowd clapped. My parents beamed like they’d just won the lottery. Christian’s grandfather, Mr. O’Brien, looked proud. But I couldn’t celebrate. I felt like I’d stolen something sacred—not just from my sister, but from everyone here.

“You may kiss your bride,” the priest said.

I stepped back instinctively.

Christian leaned in, his voice low and sharp against my ear. “What are you doing? We have to kiss.”

Before I could respond, his hand slid around my waist, pulling me close. My heart thudded against my ribs, and my breath caught. The scent of his cologne wrapped around me, and for a moment, everything else blurred.

Then his lips brushed mine—soft, commanding, electric. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

He pulled back slightly, leaned into my ear, and whispered, “This is just for the crowd. Don’t get any ideas, gold digger.”

I froze.

My throat tightened, and my stomach sank. Gold digger? Was that what he thought of Aubrey… or me?

Christian didn’t wait for a reply. “Come. Time to meet the family,” he said, taking my hand like we were a real couple.

I had to fight the urge to yank it away.

As he led me through the room, all I could think was: This is bad. This is really, really bad. Not only was I pretending to be my twin, but now I was married to a man who clearly hated me—and had no clue about the switch.

“Smile,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “Everyone’s watching.”

I faked one. Barely.

His grandfather was warm and kind, shaking my hand like I was royalty. His stepmother… not so much. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. And his stepsister, Carolyn, looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“I want to introduce you to some people,” Mr. O’Brien said cheerfully. “Our lovely new daughter-in-law deserves a grand welcome.”

So I followed. I smiled. I played the role. My cheeks hurt from pretending, and my feet ached from the shoes—too small, too tight. Aubrey’s shoes.

Everywhere I turned, billionaires and politicians buzzed around like bees at a champagne-soaked hive. I felt like an imposter in a dream I didn’t belong to.

Christian, of course, fit in perfectly. Charismatic, charming when he wanted to be. His laugh was magnetic, his presence commanding. Even I couldn’t deny it—he had that effortless something.

And just when I thought I could breathe, a woman in a black dress with sleek purple hair approached me. Her walk was pure confidence, her eyes sharp with something dangerously close to hate.

“I hope you’re enjoying the wedding you fought so hard for,” she said, her voice venom-laced.

I blinked. “I’m sorry… do I know you?”

She laughed bitterly. “Unbelievable. You’re actually going to pretend? You really are something.”

“I’m just tired,” I murmured. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’m Selena,” she snapped. “Christian’s only real love.”

My blood turned cold.

And just like that, I realized—Aubrey wasn’t the only one with secrets. And neither was I.