Marissa and Ashlyn sat on opposite ends of a long velvet bench at the waiting area, two brides lost in a sea of white fabric. Their veils were already down, sheer silk obscuring their faces, turning them into anonymous, porcelain figures.
Marissa, swathed in the luxurious , pearl-encrusted gown of the Grand Duchess, gazed at her reflection on the mirror at the far right of the bench.
" Since heaven has given me a second chance," she thought, her hands clenching into soft fists in her lap, " this time I will not compromise. I will not be a pawn in anyone's game, pitied and then discarded. This life, I will live for myself."
Across the room, Ashlyn adjusted the simpler, elegant gown she now wore. It was beautiful, but it was nothing compared to the one she had given away. She felt a brief, sharp pang of loss, but quickly smothered it with the sweet taste of victory. She imagined Marissa, walking into the Grand Duke's cold embrace, and a cruel smile touched her lips, hidden safely behind her veil.
"With swapped fate and my knowledge of the future, nothing will stand in my way,"she thought with smug certainty. "Marissa is walking into a nightmare, and I am walking into a peaceful, easy life. I have truly outsmarted destiny."
A deep, resonant sound echoed from the main hall. The wedding bells began to ring.
Their maids, who had been hovering nervously by the door, rushed forward for a final flurry of adjustments, straightening veils and smoothing skirts. A moment later, the heavy oak door opened, and their father, Lord Austen, entered. He looked from one veiled daughter to the other, his expression full of pride at Ashlyn who he thought was marrying the Grand Duke.
He offered each of them an arm. Together, the trio walked towards the cathedral's main doors. As the doors swung open, a wave of organ music washed over them, and they were met with the sight of a thousand guests, the entire nobility of the kingdom, turning in their pews to watch them.
The walk down the long, crimson-carpeted aisle felt like a dream. Marissa could feel the weight of hundreds of stares, could sense their curiosity and judgment. She kept her head high, her steps measured and even. Ashlyn, beside her, walked with a lightness she hadn't felt in years, basking in what she believed was the admiration of the crowd.
They reached the head of the aisle, where the priest stood before a grand, sun-drenched altar. And there, waiting, was only one groom.
Carlos Thompson stood tall and proud, a warm, genuine smile on his handsome face. He looked nervous but incredibly happy. His eyes were fixed on the bride in the simpler gown—the woman he believed to be Marissa, his intended. He didn't even glance at the other bride. He was a good man, straightforward and kind, his heart set on the gentle woman he had been promised.
Lord Austen first placed Ashlyn's hand into Carlos's outstretched one. Carlos's smile widened, and he gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Then, their father turned to Marissa, his arm still linked with hers, and looked to the empty space beside her. A tense, awkward silence fell over the front of the cathedral. The organ music faltered.
Just as the silence became unbearable, a servant from the Thompson family hurried forward from a side entrance. He was an older man, the head steward, and his face was pale with nervous tension. He bowed deeply to the priest, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Marissa.
In his hands, he held a rolled parchment, tied with a gold ribbon and stamped with the formidable seal of the Duchy of Denver.
"Reverend Father," the steward began, his voice just loud enough for those at the altar to hear. "His Grace, the Grand Duke Derek Thompson, sends his deepest regrets. Urgent state matters have called him away, and he is unable to attend the ceremony at this moment."
He held out the document. "His Grace has, however, sent the official marriage certificate, which he has already signed and sealed. He affirms his vow and asks that the ceremony proceed as planned in his absence."
A collective gasp swept through the cathedral. The silence was shattered by a tidal wave of whispers that grew louder with each passing second.
"Did you hear that? He isn't here!"
"An insult! He didn't even bother to show up to his own wedding!"
"Poor girl. To be disgraced so publicly. The Austen family will never live this down."
"She must have done something to anger him already. What a terrible omen."
Behind her veil, Ashlyn's smile was wide and triumphant. This was it. This was the exact moment her public humiliation had begun in her first life. She remembered the shame, the hot tears, the feeling of being scorned by the entire world. She had hidden her face from society for months. Now, that burning shame belonged to Marissa. It was a beautiful, perfect revenge.
The priest looked flustered. He stared at the certificate, then at the empty spot on the altar, then at the veiled bride standing alone. "This is… highly unusual," he stammered, unsure of how to proceed.
But Marissa did not falter. She had been expecting this. She remembered this day perfectly. Derek's absence was not a sign of her failure, but a display of his own arrogance and cruelty. It was a test, and this time, she would not fail it.
She turned slightly towards the priest, her posture regal and unshaken. "Please let's go ahead with the vows, Reverend Father," she said. Her voice was perfectly calm, clear, and carried a quiet authority that cut through the surrounding whispers. "His Grace is a busy man who serves the kingdom. I understand his duties. Don't worry about me."
The priest, stunned by her composure, looked at her for a long moment before giving a slow, hesitant nod. He took the certificate from the steward and cleared his throat, calling for silence.
The dual ceremony continued under a cloud of scandal. On one side, Carlos and Ashlyn exchanged their vows. He spoke his with heartfelt sincerity, and she replied with a sweet tone. On the other side, Marissa made her vows to the empty air.
She spoke each word with deliberation and strength, her voice never wavering as she pledged herself to a man who had deemed her unworthy of his presence.
When the ceremony concluded, Carlos, beaming with joy, lifted Ashlyn's veil. He looked at her face for the first time as his wife and gave her a gentle, respectful kiss on the cheek. He was a man of honor; this was his wife now, and he would treat her with kindness.
Marissa stood alone. No one lifted her veil. No one took her arm. As the organ music swelled once more, signaling the end, Carlos led his new bride, Ashlyn, back down the aisle. The crowd parted for them, their faces a mixture of congratulations for the happy couple and pitying, scornful looks for the one left behind.
Marissa followed them, walking the long aisle alone. She could feel the stares on her back, hear the whispers that followed her like a shadow. She didn't care. Let them whisper. Let them pity her. They had no idea what was truly happening.
Outside, in the bright sunlight, Carlos carefully helped Ashlyn into a handsome but modest carriage. He held the door for her, made sure her dress was tucked safely inside, and spoke a few comforting words to her before climbing in beside her. His every action was that of a thoughtful, caring husband.
A few feet away, the Grand Duchess's carriage awaited Marissa. It was a magnificent thing, lacquered black and gold, pulled by four perfectly matched white horses, the Thompson ducal crest emblazoned on the doors. A footman in pristine uniform snapped to attention and opened the door for her. She gathered the heavy skirts of her gown and ascended the steps alone.
As the door closed, sealing her inside the solitude, she finally lifted her own veil. The two carriages began to move, one carrying a happy couple towards a quiet life, the other carrying a solitary, disgraced bride towards a seat of immense power. Their next destination: the Thompson estate.