My Sister Stole My Groom I Married The Don

Isabella finally snapped. "Elara, you're insane! Guards! Get her out of my sight!"

"Not so fast, dear sister." I walked right up to her. "I'm not done. You want to know how Isabella got this ring? She drugged me, stole my ring, and tried to steal my future."

"You're lying!" Isabella screamed.

"Am I?" I pulled a small vial from my purse. "Then what's this? Sleeping pills. Found in your room. With your fingerprints all over them."

It was a bluff, of course.

But her face drained of color. Her body started to shake.

I held up the vial, my voice rising. "This morning, my own sister brought me a cup of tea. To celebrate my big day, she said."

"I drank it, and the world went black. When I woke up, I was locked in a hotel room."

"And my wedding dress, my ring, my groom—she'd stolen them all!"

The guests started whispering.

"If that's true, that's just awful."

"How could a sister do that?"

Isabella panicked. "You lie! I didn't drug you! That vial isn't mine!"

I pointed at her hand. "Marco. Tell them. Who did you give this ring to three months ago?"

All eyes went to Marco.

Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Just then, my father stormed onto the altar. "That's enough! Elara, stop this circus right now!"

He snatched the vial from my hand and smashed it on the floor.

Here he comes. The next character in my script has arrived.

"My apologies for this disruption." Father addressed the guests, his voice dangerously calm. "My daughter, Elara... she isn't well. She has a history of... fantasies. Delusions."

"Dad!" I put on a look of perfect shock. "How could you say that?"

"Because it's the truth!" his voice was cold. "Isabella has been Marco's fiancée since they were children. It was an arrangement between our families. A bastard has no place in this union."

Marco finally found his voice. "I'm sorry you all had to see this."

He pulled out a few photos and held them up for everyone.

"These are photos of me and Isabella. We've been together since we were sixteen."

In the photos, a young Marco had his arm around Isabella's waist. They were kissing.

"Elara was jealous of her sister, so she made up these lies," Marco continued. "She even stole Isabella's ring to pretend she was my fiancée."

A wave of gasps went through the pews.

"Oh, I see now."

"That poor Isabella."

"A bastard's jealousy is a dangerous thing."

I felt their stares, a mix of pity and disgust.

But the pity wasn't for me. It was for Isabella.

"Those photos are fake!" I lunged for them. "You're all in on it! You're framing me!"

"Elara, get a grip." Marco stepped back. "A bastard could never be the lady of the Moretti family. You should know your place."

My father grabbed my arm. "Enough! You've shamed this family enough!"

He dragged me to the side, hissing in my ear. "I'll give you half a million dollars. Get out of New York and never come back."

"I don't want your money!" I ripped my arm away. "I want the truth!"

"The truth?" Father sneered. "The truth is you're a bastard who doesn't know her place! Isabella is my real daughter!"

"And what about me?" My voice started to tremble on purpose. "What am I?"

"You?" My father stared at me, his eyes empty of love. "You were a mistake. A ghost I should have buried long ago. You never should have been born."

Marco walked back to the priest. "Sorry about that. Let's continue. Isabella and I need to sign the marriage certificate."

"No!" I ran forward. "I'm his fiancée!"

But my performance did nothing to stop them.

If anything, it pushed them to seal the deal faster.

Perfect.

Marco and Isabella walked to the signing table.

The lawyer had the certificate ready.

Isabella picked up the pen, shot me a victorious look, and signed her name.

Marco signed his.

The priest announced, "I now pronounce Marco Moretti and Isabella De Luca husband and wife."

I let a single, perfect tear roll down my cheek. “But Isabella… what about Lucas? I thought you were carrying his baby?”

I watched them both go rigid, a poison dart, perfectly aimed.

Whispers erupted through the church as the guests turned on Isabella, their eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Another man’s child? Is she trying to pollute the Moretti bloodline?!”

Isabella snapped. She stormed over to me.

Her hand swung up, and the crack of her palm against my cheek echoed through the hall.

“You shut your mouth! What nonsense are you talking!”