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Switching Brides: I Never Said You Were the One Novel Cover

Switching Brides: I Never Said You Were the One

When Gwen Blanchard decides to raise her ex-boyfriend’s child, everyone expects her fiancé to react with outrage. Instead, he remains inexplicably silent, focusing entirely on organizing an upcoming wedding. Misinterpreting his compliance as desperate submission, Gwen arrogantly offers him the role of a legal father. However, her assumption that she is the intended bride proves to be a massive mistake. While he is indeed preparing for a ceremony, he never intended for Gwen to be the one standing at the altar.
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Chapter 4

"Ernest has no family left. Who else would take him in besides us? He wouldn't dare leave, and he has nowhere to go. He's just putting on a pitiful act, trying to make me grovel and beg him to stay for once," Gwen said.

I couldn't be bothered to explain anymore, so I went to the bedroom to pack my things.

It was pathetic, really. After ten years together, aside from a few washed-out shirts, there was hardly anything that belonged to me.

The entire house was filled with either baby supplies and toys Gwen had bought for Quintin, or her designer handbags and brand-name coats, each worth tens of thousands of dollars.

In less than ten minutes, I was done packing.

Seeing me dragging my suitcase out, ready to leave, Keith remarked with feigned nonchalance, "Gwen, it doesn't look like Ernest is joking."

Gwen froze for a moment, then hurried over.

I thought she wanted to stop me, to make me stay. I was just about to refuse when she grabbed hold of my suitcase.

"These are all my things. You've been living under my roof, eating my food—what gives you the right to take any of this with you?"

I let out a cold laugh and nodded. Then, I dropped the suitcase and turned to walk out. But Mr. and Mrs. Blanchard were already blocking the doorway.

"Hold it right there! Name one thing on you right now that wasn't bought with Gwen's money."

"If you're leaving, then leave everything behind!"

Every relative in the room had their eyes on me, enjoying the spectacle, fully expecting me to cave in and apologize. After all, in their eyes, I was just playing hard to get. Now that I'd been exposed in front of everyone, they thought I was just putting on a stubborn act of leaving to try and salvage some sympathy.

Seeing me standing there in silence, Gwen put on a smug, unsurprised smile. "I knew it. Alright, I'm not trying to make things impossibly difficult for you. As long as you—"

Before she could finish, I flung my coat off and walked over to the side. Then, I opened my suitcase and pulled out a single suit.

It was a suit my parents had custom-made for me before they passed away. They had wanted to see me wear it on the day I got married and started a family on my own. Now, I had no choice but to put it on sooner than planned.

I looked up at Gwen, my gaze ice-cold. "This is the only thing my parents left me. I don't want anything else. Gwen, from this moment on, we're even."

Gwen seemed caught off guard by how resolute I was. She stood frozen in place.

But Keith seized the chance to fan the flames from the sidelines. "Ernest, don't be hasty. Mr. and Mrs. Blanchard were just speaking out of anger. You and Gwen have ten years of history—if you walk away now, what about the wedding?"

Gwen, however, just scoffed dismissively. "Keith, don't bother trying to talk him down. Let him go. His family is gone, so where's he going to go anyway? Besides, the wedding is already set up, and the invitations have all been sent out.

"He clung to me for ten years just to get this chance, so there's no way he'd give it up. I bet you that within a week, he'll come crawling back, begging me to marry him."

I couldn't help but let out a bitter, ironic laugh.

Over the years, I'd lost my parents, sold the house they left me to fund Gwen's business, and even deposited every single paycheck straight into her account.

She was so convinced I'd never leave her that, over the years, she had gotten more and more brazen about staying tangled up with Keith.

But she was wrong. She was never my only choice. And if she had actually cared even a little about our wedding, she would have noticed—when she opened the digital invitation on Instagram—that the bride's name written on it was never hers to begin with.

With that thought in mind, I borrowed a phone on the street and made a call.

In less than 15 minutes, a silver stretch Lincoln pulled up in front of me.

The driver opened the rear door, and a woman in elegant attire stepped out, walking straight up to me. She handed me an expensive suit and a brand-new phone.

"That Gwen must be out of her mind. You two were together for ten years—did she really have to be so heartless? Back then, if it weren't for your research, that joke of a company of hers would have gone under long ago."