His Placeholder Bride, My Bitter Revenge

Avery Trevino POV: The realization slammed into me with the force of a physical blow. Two voices, two sets of memories, two women. They merged and twisted in my mind, creating a single, devastating truth: I was merely a stand-in. A carefully chosen replacement for the woman Grant truly loved, the one he could never fully possess. My entire existence in his life had been a carefully orchestrated illusion, a cruel substitute for a love that had always belonged to someone else. My chest burned, a suffocating weight pressing down on my lungs. There were no tears, just a dry, hollow ache. The scream that tore through my soul remained trapped, unheard by anyone but me. My phone buzzed again, vibrating against the polished table. It was Clara, a voicemail this time. Her voice, slightly subdued, filtered through the speaker. "Avery... Mom's really upset. Please, just come home. We need to talk. We're worried about you. Dad even misses you. Please, just... come home for dinner." A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I had nothing left to give, but the thought of my parents, of their frail hopes, tugged at something deep inside. After a long moment of internal debate, I sent back a terse text: Be there. I clutched the small, ornate gift box I'd picked up, a peace offering, as I pushed open the front door of my childhood home. The sound of shouting immediately assaulted me. "How could you be so useless? So weak?" My father's booming voice, laced with frustration and anger, reverberated through the living room. My mother, a small woman whose spirit had been slowly eroded by years of financial strain and her husband's temper, stood hunched over a spilled pot of soup, her face pale. Clara hovered nearby, wringing her hands, her eyes wide with fear. "Dad! Stop it!" Clara cried, trying to intervene. "It was an accident!" He merely glared, his face contorted. "Accident? Everything is an accident with her! Just like Avery's wedding debacle. You're both useless!" He swatted Clara's arm away, sending a spray of hot broth onto the pristine white rug. "What good is a family if your own daughter can't even hold onto a rich man? What good is it?" His words, sharp and cutting, sliced through the air, aimed directly at my mother, but clearly meant for me. My mother flinched, her shoulders trembling. Her eyes, usually so full of gentle resignation, were filled with a profound, helpless misery. Something snapped inside me. The exhaustion, the betrayal, the crushing weight of my own heartbreak-it all coalesced into a cold, fierce resolve. I walked directly into the center of the living room, placing the gift box on a nearby table with a soft thud. "Avery, no! Don't!" My mother whimpered, grabbing my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. Her eyes pleaded with me not to escalate the situation. But I couldn't stop. I looked directly at my father, my gaze unwavering. "Don't you dare talk to her like that." My voice was low, steady, a chilling contrast to the chaos around us. He scoffed, turning his anger on me. "Oh, the prodigal daughter returns! What, did your powerful fiancé finally kick you to the curb after you made a fool of yourself? What gives you the right to speak, after disgracing this family?" He took a step towards me, his face flushed with rage. "You think you're so noble, so independent! But look at you! You couldn't even keep your rich man!" "Rich man?" I echoed, a bitter laugh escaping me. "What about your family's honor, Father? The 'honor' you clung to so desperately, even when you abandoned us for another woman? The 'honor' you lost when you pawned off my mother's jewelry to pay your gambling debts?" The words, long suppressed, poured out, raw and unforgiving. "You talk about disgrace? You lost your family's dignity a long time ago. Don't you dare try to pin that on us now." His face paled, then flushed crimson. He raised his hand, trembling with fury, poised to strike me. I didn't flinch. I stood my ground, my eyes locked on his, a quiet defiance burning in their depths. I was tired of running. Tired of pretending. Just as his hand began its descent, a calm, authoritative voice filled the doorway. "Mr. Trevino. I hardly think violence is the answer here." My head snapped towards the sound. My heart leaped into my throat. Grant. He stood there, impeccably dressed, his face a mask of cool authority, his eyes sweeping over the chaotic scene. A shiver ran down my spine. Before I could react, he was beside me, his hand gently but firmly resting on the small of my back, drawing me subtly into his side. "Avery, darling. I apologize for my tardiness. Traffic was dreadful." He turned to my parents, a practiced, charming smile gracing his lips. "I trust there hasn't been too much trouble? I understand the wedding venue had a slight mishap with a burst pipe, which caused an unfortunate delay to our rehearsal. Nothing we can't fix, of course." He smoothly covered for his absence, for the chaos he had undeniably caused. My father, stunned by Grant's presence, stammered, his anger draining away, replaced by an oily deference. His eyes, fixed on Grant, widened in awe. "Mr. Sutton! No, no trouble at all. Just a... a minor family misunderstanding. Nothing you need to concern yourself with, sir." His voice was utterly transformed, fawning and obsequious. Grant merely smiled, a polite, unreadable expression. "Good. I came to apologize to my beautiful fiancée for my absence. And perhaps," he glanced at the spilled soup, "help clear up any... misunderstandings." He gestured slightly to his security, who had silently entered behind him. Within moments, the mess was being cleaned, discreetly and efficiently. Then he produced a small, velvet box. "A little something for the family, to smooth things over. A token of my goodwill." My father's eyes gleamed as he opened it. Inside, a shimmering, expensive watch. His face, moments ago contorted with rage, now split into a wide, eager grin. "Oh, Mr. Sutton! You are too kind! Too kind!" I watched, a cold detached horror settling over me. My family, so easily bought, so susceptible to his charm and power. I had seen this before. In his office, in his carefully curated public appearances. This was the Grant Sutton the world knew, the man who could charm the birds from the trees, and bend even the most obstinate will to his. But an unwelcome memory flickered in my mind, a phantom echo of the video from the jewelry store. She was terrified, but she stood her ground. And that… that was it. That's when I knew. The words reverberated, clashing with the scene before me. This calculated display of power, this smooth manipulation, it was all to reel me back in. I was the suitable choice. The one who stood her ground when backed into a corner, just like Ivory. My perceived strength, my independence, they were not loved for themselves, but for their reflection of another, older love. My waist was gently squeezed, pulling me back to the present. Grant leaned in, his voice a low murmur next to my ear. "Dinner's ready, Avery. Let's eat." The dinner was a forced spectacle of politeness, my parents now eagerly fawning over Grant, their earlier anger forgotten in the presence of his wealth and influence. I picked at my food, each bite tasteless, a bitter reminder of the charade. After what felt like an eternity, we finally stepped out of the villa, the cool night air a welcome relief. I stopped, turning to face him, my gaze unwavering in the faint glow of the porch light. "You're a master, Grant," I said, my voice quiet, almost a whisper. "A master of illusion." He frowned, a slight furrow appearing between his brows. "Avery, what are you talking about?" I let out a soft, mirthless laugh, taking a deliberate step back, creating a physical distance between us. "The wedding is off, Grant. For good." His brow furrowed deeper. "Avery... don't be ridiculous. This is just a misunderstanding. We can fix this, darling. We can-"