Swapped Brides: My Fiancé's Betrayal

The night before our wedding, Jason Scott receives the cancer diagnosis of my adopted younger sister, Helena Sanderson.

His expression falters, and he says indignantly, "We'll cancel the wedding tomorrow, Victoria. Helena is very fragile now. I can't risk upsetting her at this point in time."

I reply, "I don't agree with it! Why would my wedding upset her?"

Jason doesn't show any displeasure after my rejection. He even thoughtfully prepares a glass of milk for me.

…

When I wake up the next morning, I realize the house that should be full of excitement is eerily quiet.

Anxious, I dial Jason's number 99 times. He only picks up the call on my 100th try.

"Where did my wedding dress and shoes go?" I ask.

Jason falls silent for a moment. His tone is apologetic when he replies, "I'm sorry, Victoria. Helena wants to experience being a bride once. I can't let her leave with regrets. Please bear with this for now. I'll make it up to you once she passes away peacefully."

As the line goes dead, I sit frozen on the bed, unable to recover for some time.

…

A month later, while Jason is on his honeymoon, I send the livestream of my wedding announcement with his rival, Frank Lawrent, directly onto his phone.

Jason regrets it bitterly.

I pushed past the heavy doors, and the sight of the happy couple standing on the stage hurt my eyes.

"Isn't the bride today supposed to be me?" I asked Jason Scott with a trembling voice, my eyes reddening.

Guilt briefly crossed his face, but he was more upset by my sudden appearance. "Didn't I explain this to you before? Stop causing a scene—there are so many people watching now. We can't risk upsetting Helena."

I replied, "Why should I be the one getting upset then? Wake up, Jason! Your fiancee is me—not her!"

Jason's words tore through my chest like a merciless blade.

"Don't blame Jason, Vicky. It's all my fault. I'll kill myself now—I can't live any more than three months anyway." Helena Sanderson teared up, her body swaying as if she was about to pass out soon.

The sight of her made the crowd's hearts ache.

An unexpected slap left my mind blank, with nothing but the searing pain burning across my cheek.

"She's your younger sister, Victoria. How could you be so heartless as to drive her to her death?" Dad struck me in front of everyone. But the "younger sister" he spoke of was nothing more than a daughter of his fallen comrade.

When I was 10, Dad brought a six-year-old Helena back. He told me that her father sacrificed himself to save him, and asked me to treat her as my own younger sister from then on.

From that moment, I no longer was my parents' cherished daughter—Helena was.

"I'm your real daughter, Dad!" I yelled, covering my flaming cheek in disbelief.

"Helena is just as real a daughter to me as you