After Exposing My Fiancé's Fake Heir, I Married His Brother

The vintage Cartier watch on my wrist showed 11:37 PM. Less than twelve hours until I would become Mrs. Brandon Quinn. The thought should have filled me with butterflies, but instead, a strange heaviness had settled in my chest all evening.

I smoothed down the silk of my robe as I paced the bridal suite, my reflection catching in the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hamptons shoreline. The rehearsal dinner had gone perfectly—champagne flowing, toasts that made everyone tear up, my parents beaming with pride. Everything exactly as it should be.

So why couldn't I sleep?

A soft breeze from the open balcony door ruffled the papers on my vanity—seating arrangements and final schedule confirmations. My eyes drifted to the corner of the room where a navy jacket was draped carelessly over the back of a cream armchair.

Brandon's jacket.

He must have left it earlier when he'd stopped by to deliver the diamond earrings I would wear tomorrow—'something new' to complement my grandmother's pearl necklace.

I crossed the room, lifting the jacket to hang it properly. Something solid shifted in the inner pocket, the weight familiar. His phone.

My fingers hesitated. Brandon was likely asleep by now in his own suite, as tradition dictated. He wouldn't miss it until morning. I should call his best man to return it.

But the weight of it in my hand felt wrong somehow. Brandon was never without his phone. Never.

Before I could question myself, I slipped it from the pocket. The screen lit up at my touch, notifications cascading across the lock screen. My breath caught.

*Jenna: I'm going crazy thinking about you. Last night was...*

Jenna. My best friend since boarding school. Maid of honor. The sister I never had.

My fingers trembled as I entered his passcode—my birthday, a gesture I'd once found endearingly romantic. The phone unlocked with a soft click that seemed to echo in the silent room.

The text thread opened before me, and the world tilted on its axis.

Photos. Explicit. Unmistakable. Brandon and Jenna entwined in positions that made my stomach lurch. Timestamps from last week, last month, six months ago.

And worse—much worse—images of ultrasounds with Jenna's name clearly visible, followed by texts discussing their 'plan.'

*Brandon: Mother says the pregnancy will seal the deal with the board. You're sure you can keep this up?*

*Jenna: For nine months? Easy. By then you'll have control of everything and Evelyn will be none the wiser.*

My vision blurred. The phone nearly slipped from my grasp as I scrolled through months of betrayal. Every loving word Brandon had whispered to me echoed back as hollow mockery.

With mechanical precision, I forwarded everything to my email, then printed the evidence from the suite's desktop. Each page that emerged felt like another knife in my chest.

Dawn was breaking when I stood outside Brandon's suite, evidence clutched in my hand. My knock was steady, belying the storm raging inside me.

'Evie?' Brandon opened the door, hair tousled from