That’s My Bouquet!

The housekeeper’s daughter, Selena Greene, deliberately chose to get married on the same day, at the same hotel as me.

When our cars passed each other on the way to our weddings, she rolled down her window and asked to switch my bridal bouquet with hers. My bouquet, however, wasn’t just any bouquet. It was hand-carved from priceless jadeite by my grandfather himself—a one-of-a-kind heirloom and his blessing for my wedding day.

“Trish,” she pleaded softly, “please. I’ve sacrificed so much for this wedding. I just want it to be perfect. I’ll give it back to you as soon as we get out of the cars.”

My heart softened. Against my better judgment, I handed her my bouquet and took her cheap, plastic flowers instead.

However, when we stepped out of our cars, she refused to return it. Worse still, during her ceremony, she tossed my jade bouquet onto the floor, shattering it into countless pieces.

That bouquet had been my grandfather’s way of being present at my wedding. It was all I had left of him.

Yet, in front of everyone, Selena put on an innocent act and accused me, “Who takes back a bouquet after a switch? A glass bouquet like this is all over online shopping platforms for ten bucks. I’ll just pay you back. Trish, you’ve made my life hard enough on normal days. Do you have to humiliate me on the most important day of my life, too?”

Furious, I confronted her, but she ducked behind my fiancé and my brother, wiping at her eyes like the victim.

My fiancé immediately went to comfort her, leaving me standing alone at the ceremony, humiliated and ridiculed by everyone. My brother, too, called me cruel and heartless. He cut me off financially and threw me out of the family home.

Selena’s husband, having quickly risen to success with the help of powerful backers, unleashed his relentless revenge on the now penniless and alone me. In the dead of winter, hired thugs found me and brutalized me to death.

And Selena? She became their princess, adored by all three of them.

I sank into darkness, full of rage and regret. However, when I opened my eyes again, I was transported back to the day of the wedding.

When I opened my eyes, the sharp pain and bone-deep cold still clung to my body, as if death itself hadn’t fully let go. I doubled over, gagging.

“Miss Scott, are you alright? Are you feeling unwell?” The makeup artist’s worried gaze locked on me.

I turned toward the mirror, my mind reeling. The reflection staring back at me wore a flawless bridal gown that hugged every curve, her makeup perfect down to the last detail.

“Miss Scott, do you see anything you’d like adjusted? If not, we’re ready to head out.”

The bridesmaids standing nearby were all smiles. To them, I was the most graceful bride they’d ever seen.

“Oh, and don’t forget your bouquet.”

The moment I saw the