Wear My Dress, Meet My Gun

On the flight to Arlencia, a post popped up: [What's it like to have sex in a wedding dress?]

The pic showed a girl yanking some guy's purple tie while he hiked up her gown. His face was blurred, but hers? Straight-up blissed out.

Everyone in the comments was swooning over how in love they looked.

I didn't swoon. I froze.

Because that purple tie? I gave it to Zeke Santoro, my fiancé, a few days ago.

And that wedding dress? The exact custom one he had made for me. There was only one.

I kept zooming in, heart racing, until I spotted a family photo in the background.

My hands were shaking when I called him.

"I wanna see the dress," I said.

He hesitated. "It's at the studio getting final touches. Not with me right now. I'll show it to you later."

I just smiled and hung up.

That was all I needed. Zeke cheated—and the girl? His stepsister, Jella.

Total circus.

I reopened the post and shot her a DM: [Your wedding dress is stunning. I have the same one.]

Jella fired back right away: [What nonsense are you spewing? This was custom-made by my brother for me! A renowned designer did it himself. There's only one in the world! You country bumpkin, stop pretending you know anything!]

I grinned. So Zeke hadn't told her about our little arrangement.

His parents had called out of nowhere, panicked about the Santoro business tanking. After a long sob story, they finally dropped the real reason—they wanted to revive the old pact tying me to Zeke.

A marriage deal.

They were banking on my last name to save them. It tasted like ash, but I said yes. For Zeke.

I actually liked him.

When he found out, he got all emotional. Blew up my phone, reminiscing like we were some epic love story. Swore he'd stayed pure, just waiting for me.

And now? He was hooking up with his stepsister—and gave her my wedding dress.

Yeah, no. They weren't getting off easy.

I forwarded Jella the photo Zeke had sent me: [See? Isn't it exactly the same?]

She snapped back: [I don't believe you! Unless I see it with my own eyes, I won't believe it! Yours must be a fake!]

I grinned. [Then let's meet. We'll see who's real and who's not.]

She bit immediately: [Fine. Tomorrow at 3 PM. Meet me at the bridal design studio.]

I booked the earliest flight and started packing.

Didn't think she'd fall for it that fast. What a clown.

Zeke's taste had seriously tanked.

Not long after, he called. "Sorry, Natalia, the studio's closed. You'll have to wait until tomorrow to see the dress."

Right. More like he couldn't get it back from Jella and scrambled for a lie.

I just said, "Okay," and hung up.

***

The next afternoon, I showed up at the bridal studio right on time.

And Jella? She really rolled in wearing the damn dress.

The staff swarmed her like bees to sugar.

"Miss, your dress is stunning. It must've cost a fortune."

"Your fiancé is so generous. I'm so jealous!"

Her fiancé?

I laughed. "The dress is gorgeous. Sucks it's not yours."

Heads turned. Jella narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"

"Seriously? I'm the one who invited you."

Jella's eyes went wide as she gave me a once-over. "You're the one who said you have the same dress as me?!"

The whole studio went off:

"Same dress? Her? Please—she probably can't afford a hanger in here."

"I clocked her the second she walked in. Looks like a thrift store threw up on her."

"If she really had the same dress, where is it? She's just here to stir drama."

I was done. Pulled out the wedding invite and tossed it at Jella.

"Hey. Nice to finally meet you. I'm Zeke's fiancée—your future sister-in-law."

She blinked. "What are you talking about? Sister-in-law..."

Her voice faded as she looked down at the invite.

[Groom: Zeke Santoro.]

[Bride: Natalia Accardi.]

[Wedding date: August 3rd, Wednesday.]

"Get it now? So take off the dress—unless you want me to do it for you."

My voice stayed ice cold. Our families had history. No need to make this mess bloodier than it already was.

Jella sneered and flung the invite back in my face. "Just my luck—some lunatic shows up today. I don't know how you found out my brother's name, but keep running your mouth and see what happens. 'Future sister-in-law'? Please. Look at that outfit—even my brother's maid dresses better than you."

I paused, glancing at my plain white tee—minimalist, high-end, designed for comfort. Now I was ranked below a maid?

She took my silence as weakness and stepped closer, gripping my shirt.

"Let me guess—you're that pathetic chick who kept paying Zeke's bills, right? And now that he actually treats me like someone special, you're jealous and came to start drama?"

"Pathetic chick? Really?" I laughed, ice-cold.

The Santoros had begged me to marry Zeke.

Back then, he followed me around like a lost puppy. Now I was chasing?

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm done talking. Take that dress off, or I'll have Zeke rip it off you himself."