Substitute With His Nightmare

Chapter 1

Antonella

It was my sister’s wedding. Well, my half-sister’s. But you wouldn’t know it by looking at me. The way I was dressed and treated, I might as well have been the hired help. In fact, I’d been playing that role for so long that even I sometimes forgot I was supposed to be part of this family.

Ever since my mother passed, things had shifted in ways I never thought possible.

Growing up, I’d thought my parents, Freda and Dani, were the perfect couple. I never saw them argue or fight, and in my childish naivety, I assumed our family was unbreakable. But now I see things differently. My mother’s polite smiles had hidden something—a sadness she never shared. Dani, my father, wasn’t the devoted man he seemed to be. His flaws became glaringly obvious after my mother’s death.

Her death.

The official cause? Unknown. But no one, not even my father, believed it was natural. I thought he’d investigate, avenge her death, do something to honor her memory. Instead, he mourned for a few days—just enough to make it look respectable—and then brought Sasha and her daughter Jenna into our home.

The realization that my father had been having an affair was crushing, but the aftermath was worse. Sasha wasn’t content to just play house; she took over everything—our home, our lives, even my mother’s company. And Dani let her.

Now, Sasha and Jenna treat me like I’m an outsider. A servant. And today was no different.

“Toni!” Sasha’s shrill voice echoed across the grand reception hall, pulling me from my thoughts.

I turned slowly, masking my frustration with a polite smile. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Come here now!” she barked, her tone sharp enough to slice through the noise of the wedding preparations.

I walked over, dreading whatever task she had for me now.

“Is there a problem, ma’am?” I asked carefully, though I already regretted opening my mouth.

Sasha’s manicured fingers closed around my arm, her grip like iron. “I told you not to call me that!” she snapped, her perfectly painted lips curling in disdain.

My slip. I hated calling her “mom,” but sometimes it slipped out, and every time, she made sure I paid for it.

“Sorry,” I muttered, lowering my gaze to avoid her icy glare.

Sasha yanked me closer, lowering her voice but not her venom. “Listen to me, you stupid girl. You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do.”

My pulse quickened. Something was wrong. Sasha’s usual smugness was replaced with agitation, her perfect composure cracking at the edges.

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sound calm even though dread coiled in my stomach.

“You’re marrying Bruce,” she hissed.

My jaw dropped. “What?”

“You heard me. Jenna isn’t going through with it, so you’re taking her place.”

“Who the hell is Bruce, and why am I marrying him?”

“Are you questioning me?” Sasha raised her hand threateningly.

I froze. “No, ma’am,” I said quickly, swallowing my anger.

“Good. Now get in that room and dress up. Look as good as you possibly can—not that it’ll help.”

She shoved me toward a nearby suite and slammed the door shut behind me. The lock clicked, and I realized I was trapped.

I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my shoulder where Sasha’s nails had dug into my skin. The room was suffocating, the ornate decor closing in on me.

A wedding gown lay sprawled across the bed, its ivory fabric shimmering under the chandelier’s light. It was beautiful, elegant, and completely wrong.

“Why me?” I whispered to the empty room.

Since my mother’s death, I’d been nothing but a pawn in their endless games for wealth and power. Sasha had stolen my mother’s company, driven it into the ground, and now she was trying to salvage it by marrying Jenna to Bruce Pritchard, the son of Dani’s enemy, Alex.

At least, that had been the plan. Now, for some reason, Jenna wasn’t the bride—I was.

I stared at the dress, bile rising in my throat. Jenna must’ve learned something about Bruce that made her back out. But what?

My gaze darted to the door. Maybe I could run.

The thought electrified me, and I sprang to my feet, rushing to the door and twisting the knob. It didn’t budge. Of course. Sasha was too cunning to leave me an escape.

I sighed, leaning my forehead against the door. Running wasn’t an option. I’d have to play along—for now.

Reluctantly, I turned back to the bed. The dress looked as though it belonged to someone else—someone happy, someone who wanted to get married. I stepped closer, hesitated, then picked it up.

The fabric was soft against my fingers, but wearing it felt like putting on a shroud. Still, I slid it on, the weight of it pressing against my chest like an anchor.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the girl staring back. Her dark eyes were wide with fear, her face pale, her expression resigned.

“Get it together, Toni,” I whispered, straightening my back. “You’re not going to let them break you.”

But deep down, I wasn’t so sure.

Sasha returned about thirty minutes later, her face a storm of tension and impatience. She didn’t even pause to take me in; instead, she yanked me out of the room, her fingers gripping my arm so tightly I winced.

“Let’s go,” she snapped, her heels clicking furiously against the hotel’s polished marble floor as I struggled to keep up.

We rushed through the lobby, Sasha’s pace unrelenting. I stumbled once, nearly tripping over the hem of my gown, but she didn’t slow down. It was as though she were trying to outrun her own nerves.

We reached the car, and I slid in without a word, my heart pounding in my chest. The driver pulled away from the hotel, and I stared out the window, watching the city blur past.

I wanted to ask a hundred questions. Why was this happening? What was wrong with Bruce? Why had Jenna been pulled out of this arrangement at the last minute? But I knew better than to speak. Sasha wasn’t in the mood to entertain my curiosity—or anything else, for that matter.

“Can you not breathe so loudly?” Sasha hissed, breaking the silence. Her irritation crackled in the air like static.

Before I could respond, her phone rang. Her entire demeanor shifted.