Chapter 1

The night Alaric Vale proposed to me, my younger sister, Rosalie Mercer, slit her wrists.

Mom took her to Switzerland for treatment. A month later, word came that they had both died in a car accident.

Alaric went to identify the bodies. The ferry he took was caught in a storm, and he was lost at sea.

Dad and my brother, Tristan, went to Switzerland to handle the arrangements. Their plane crashed on the way home.

In just three months, I lost everyone I loved.

I thought they had died because I refused to give Alaric up for Rosalie.

I sold the home we had bought for our marriage and had five empty graves built for them.

After resigning from the architecture firm, I was diagnosed with severe depression and post-traumatic stress disorder.

Every night, I dreamed of them standing beside my bed covered in blood, demanding to know why I would rather let Rosalie die than give Alaric up for her.

For three years, I didn't celebrate my birthday or dare begin a new life.

On every anniversary, I would send a message to the family WhatsApp group, where I was the only one who ever spoke anymore:

“I'm sorry. I've come to see you all.”

On the third anniversary of their deaths, a wedding invitation suddenly appeared in the group.

Groom: Alaric Vale.

Bride: Rosalie Mercer.

When I reached the wedding hotel, Mom was tearfully adjusting Rosalie's veil.

Then Dad walked her down an aisle covered in white roses, while Tristan waited at the altar with the rings.

Not one of the people I had mourned for three years was dead.

Mom stopped me outside the reception hall, her eyes red as she explained,

“Rosalie would die without Alaric, but you refused to let him go.”

“The only way was to let us die one after another in front of you. Then you would blame yourself for all our deaths and never dare go looking for Alaric again.”

She took my hand, almost pleading. “You survived losing your entire family, but Rosalie can't live without him.”

“Just pretend we're really dead. Please leave us alone.”

All this time, they had been alive and well.

I was the only one who had spent three years grieving for people who were never dead.

...

At the reception, they instinctively shielded Rosalie behind them, as if I were some dangerous intruder.

I walked up to Alaric.

“What about the ring from three years ago? The home we bought? All your promises of forever? What did any of it mean?”

“I buried your engagement ring beneath your headstone. For three years, I brought flowers to a man who was still alive.”

“You didn't have to keep loving me. But why couldn't you tell me once that we were over?”

The guests around us gradually fell silent.

Some recognized me as Rosalie's sister.

Others began whispering.

“Isn't that Lenora? I thought the groom used to be engaged to the bride's older sister.”

“So the younger sister stole her sister's man? Is she his mistress?”

The moment the word “mistress” was spoken, Rosalie's breathing quickened.

She clawed at the old scar on her wrist as tears streamed down her face.

“Call off the wedding right now.”

“As long as Lenora isn't angry anymore, I'll give up anything.”

She said she would give him up, but her other hand remained locked around Alaric's arm.

Everyone immediately crowded around her.

Alaric pulled her into his arms.

Tristan frantically called for her medication.

Dad stopped the officiant.

Mom seized my arm and dragged me toward the exit.

“You know Rosalie has severe depression! Why would you corner her at her own wedding?”

In the struggle, my sleeve slipped down.

It exposed the layers of scars left on my wrist over the past three years.

Alaric saw them. His expression visibly froze.

Mom saw them too.

But instead of showing any concern, she quickly pulled down my sleeve and warned under her breath,

“Cover them! Rosalie will be triggered if she sees.”

One old scar on Rosalie's wrist was enough to make my family stop the wedding and gather around her.

But when they saw the scars covering my arm, all they cared about was whether Rosalie might be upset.

I looked at Mom.

“Rosalie gets sick, and every one of you rushes to comfort her.”

“But you lied to me for three years and left me like this, and you're still only worried about upsetting her?”

Mom was silent for a moment.

“You're different. You've always been stronger than her.”

To silence the guests, she took the microphone and announced,

“Three years ago, we accompanied Rosalie to Switzerland for treatment, so we were away from Lenora for a long time.”

“She became jealous because we were constantly with Rosalie. She grew increasingly unstable, was eventually diagnosed with severe depression, and developed serious cognitive impairment.”

“She even began hallucinating that we had died and erected five empty memorial graves for us without permission.”

Dad stepped onto the stage as well.

“We're sorry. We failed to care properly for Lenora while she was ill, and that's why she came here today to ruin Rosalie's wedding.”

I stared at them in disbelief.

I hurriedly pulled up the police notices, case numbers, and supposed personal effects on my phone to prove what had happened.

But Tristan spoke coldly.

“None of those documents was ever officially verified.”

“After you became ill, you couldn't accept that Alaric didn't love you. You interpreted our leaving as our deaths.”

They had first driven me into severe depression with five staged deaths.

Now they were using that diagnosis to paint me as a madwoman.

At last, I looked at Alaric.

“Are you going to say the same thing?”

He avoided my eyes.

After a long silence, he finally spoke in a low voice.

“I did propose to you three years ago.”

“But it was only an act. You were already emotionally unstable, and I did it to calm you down.”

“Rosalie and I were together from the beginning. You mistook my concern for love and convinced yourself that you and I were engaged.”

I stared at him in shock.

I could hardly believe that he had dismissed the love we had genuinely shared as one of my delusions.

To hide his betrayal, he was willing to deny everything that had ever existed between us.

While I stood there stunned, security pushed me away from the aisle.

Rosalie put her veil back on.

Dad took her hand a second time. Tristan offered the rings again. Mom smoothed her train.

Everyone returned to their proper place.

Everyone except me.

Together, they had excluded me from both the family and reality itself.

The officiant asked again,

“Alaric Vale, do you take Rosalie Mercer to be your wife?”

Alaric looked at me through the crowd.

“I do.”