After My Fiance Chose My Stepsister, I Married His Uncle

On the eve of my wedding, I stumbled upon William Beaufort entwined with another woman, their betrayal unfolding before my eyes.

I didn’t shed a tear, nor did I cause a scene. Instead, I calmly reached for my phone.

With a steady hand, I dialed a number I hadn’t used in years, sealing my fate with a decision that would rewrite the course of my life.

On the wedding day, William waited endlessly, his anticipation giving way to unease. Just as he reached for his phone to call me, his eyes caught a live broadcast lighting up the screens: me, radiant and unapologetic, getting engaged to another man.

Rumors flew that he had lost his mind right then and there, his carefully constructed world crumbling with every second of the broadcast.

When the clock struck midnight, my birthday quietly slipped into memory, marking another year William had chosen my stepsister over me.

But this time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t shout or swallow my grievances like a martyr.

Instead, I picked up my phone, ready to take charge of the life I deserved.

I dialed that long-forgotten number, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “Mr. Spencer, I agree to marry you.”

A heavy silence hung on the other end, stretching for two heartbeats before his voice broke through, laced with disbelief.

“Avery, marriage isn’t a game. You’re the one who taught me that.”

My eyes fell on the birthday cake before me, its frosting slowly slipping away, much like the illusions of my past.

Bitterness surged within me, but I didn’t waver. “I know.”

There was a pause, and then his deep, magnetic voice softened, carrying a warmth that wrapped around me like a gentle embrace.

“On the 9th of next month, I’ll come to Riverdale to meet you.”

I closed my eyes briefly, the weight of his words settling over me. “Alright. I’ll wait for you.”

…

It wasn’t until the next day that William remembered my birthday.

He placed a mango-flavored cake in front of me, his expression a mixture of guilt and feigned effort, completely oblivious to my mango allergy.

“Avery, happy birthday. I was too busy last night and forgot. I got this especially for you today.”

I didn’t beam with joy as I once would have. Instead, I met his gaze briefly and said with quiet composure, “Birthdays can only be celebrated in advance, not belatedly.”

As for last night, at that same hotel, I had waited alone with my birthday cake.

While I had been waiting alone, William had been enjoying a candlelit dinner with my stepsister in the private room next door.

A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes as he took my hand, his voice low and embarrassed.

“Sorry, Avery. I’ll definitely remember next time.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a velvet box, revealing an intricate, custom-made bracelet.

“I had this made just for you,” he murmured, his tone gentle as he reached for my wrist.

But just as he was about to fasten the bracelet, a cheerful voice rang out from the doorway.

“William, you’re here!”

Amanda Kennedy, accompanied by my father and stepmother, swept into the room with a confident air, her gaze locking on William as she clung to his arm with practiced affection.

“Didn’t you say last night that my sister’s birthday wasn’t worth celebrating?” she asked sweetly, her voice dripping with mockery.

William glanced at me, guilt shadowing his eyes, and subtly signaled her to stop.

“Amanda, don’t start. I’m making up for Avery’s birthday.”

Her eyes lit up as they landed on the bracelet. “Wow, it’s gorgeous! I want one, too!”

Without hesitation, Amanda reached for the bracelet on my wrist. Still, instinct took over, and I swiftly shook her hand away.

Amanda’s face crumpled instantly, and tears spilled down her cheeks in a performance worthy of an actress.

“I’m sorry, sister,” she whimpered pitifully. “I didn’t mean it; I just really liked the bracelet.”

My father’s frown deepened, his tone brimming with displeasure. “Avery, it’s just a bracelet. Let your sister have it.”

I stayed silent, my gaze steady on William. He shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat and offering a soft smile. “Avery, why not let Amanda have this one? I promise I’ll get you an even better one next time.”

Even he had chosen Amanda’s side.

After last night, when he had ignored my birthday to wine and dine with her, his bias was hardly shocking.

With a father who only saw Amanda and a fiancé who bent to her whims, I found myself surprisingly numb, with no sadness, no pain, only a quiet resignation.