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."

"Have Zeke strip me?" Jella doubled over laughing like I'd just told the best joke ever. "You're nuts. You'll say anything. Strip me? Please. Last time someone spilled coffee on me, my brother broke her arms and legs."

I froze.

The Zeke I remembered was all charm and manners.

Now he was snapping bones for her?

Yeah. I'd seriously underestimated whatever twisted thing they had going on.

Sleeping with his stepsister and risking total disgrace? That wasn't just messy—it was unhinged.

I took a slow breath, trying to keep my cool.

Back when Zeke was still trying to impress me, he had my initials stitched into the hem of the dress. The staff had to know.

I handed a business card to one of the staff. "I'm the owner of that dress. Ask her to take it off."

Jella cracked up. "Seriously? Zeke brought me here himself. Every detail was customized for me."

The clerk gave a tight nod and slid my card right back. "Miss, please don't stir up trouble. That gown belongs to Ms. Santoro."

I blinked. "You didn't even check the name. And you're that confident?"

The staff's smile dropped. "I personally handled her order. The dress fits her perfectly—it's clearly not yours. Keep this up and I'll have to call security."

The customers jumped in, loud and smug.

"Faking a claim to a wedding dress? How desperate can you get?"

"Ms. Santoro's so patient. I'd have called the cops by now."

"Messing with the Santoro family? Please. One word from them and her whole bloodline disappears."

Jella looked like she was about to sprout wings from all the attention.

She put on this fake-sweet smile. "People who cross me usually land in prison, but lucky you—I'm in a good mood. Just head to the entrance, yell 'I'm a whore, I'm sorry' three times, and I'll let it go. Sound fair?"

In twenty-seven years, no one had ever tried to humiliate me like this.

"You want me to say what?"

"You deaf? 'I'm a whore! I'm a whore!' Not hard to understand."

I laughed, cold and sharp. "Good to know you're the whore."

Jella blinked, then her face twisted when it hit her—she'd been played.

Fuming, she grabbed a cup of steaming tea and launched it at me. "Damn you! You dare mess with me?!"

I ducked, but some still splashed, searing a line across my cheek.

That was it.

I snatched a shard off the floor and dragged it across her face.

Blood came quick.

Gasps hit like fireworks. Hands slapped mouths.

Yeah, guess Jella Santoro wasn't used to being touched—let alone scratched.

"She's Zeke Santoro's sister! This psycho's dead meat!"

"That man's obsessed with her—she's his whole damn life!"

"Not even the Pope could get her outta this."

"Sister?" I scoffed. "Since when do sisters sleep with their brothers?"

I turned to the staff, voice like ice. "Listen up. I'm Natalia Accardi. That name on the dress? Natalia. Accardi."

The clerk flinched hard. Someone muttered, "We should call the designer... figure out what's happening..."

"Screw that!" Jella shrieked, clutching her face, eyes wild and blazing. "Call security! This bitch is dead!"

I tilted my head. "Still yappin'? Want a matching scar?"

She jerked back, hands flying to her face. I smirked, eyes flicking to the staff. "Get the dress off her. I'll let this slide. Don't? Your store's done tomorrow."

They panicked—phones out, calling fast.

Then Jella screamed, way too loud—"Zeke! You're finally here!"

Of course she'd messaged Zeke while I was busy. Coward move.

Fine. Let him come. Better to end it now than track him down later.

I looked him over—cold, steady.

Years had done their thing. He wasn't the hoodie-wearing kid chasing me around anymore.

Now? Six-foot-two, clean-cut, suit sharp enough to slice.

His face was sharper now—edges where there used to be softness. But those eyes? Same shape. Just colder. No hint of the way he used to look at me.

Jella bolted to him, dramatic as ever, jabbing a finger at the blood on her face. "Zeke, this psycho's claiming my dress. Said she'd strip me! I talked back and she hit me!"

I laughed, bone-dry, and turned to him. "Wow. Long time, Zeke. No 'hi' for your fiancée?"

"Wait, she's Zeke Santoro's fiancée?"

"No shot. Zeke's single, right? When did he get engaged?"

I didn't look their way. I waited.

Truth was hanging by a thread.

But then he frowned. "Miss, are you okay? Maybe still dreaming or something? I don't have a fiancée."

I froze.

He didn't recognize me?

After my dad expanded the Accardi Famiglia's reach, enemies popped up like weeds. For my safety, I was basically a ghost—rarely seen in public.

The engagement was fast-tracked. Zeke and I only talked on the phone. He hadn't seen me since... well, since before I changed.

But seriously? After everything we were as kids—he didn't recognize me?

Please.

I let out a bitter laugh, but before I could get a word in, a bunch of bodyguards rushed in and slammed me to the ground.

"Zeke! Are you insane?!"

He just stood there, watching me struggle, face blank. "You attacked my family on my turf. You got a death wish or something?"

Jella smirked. "Told you not to mess with me. Faking some sister-in-law crap? Zeke said he's staying with me forever. He'd never marry anyone else."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"That sibling bond runs deep. She's just his stepsister, right? Not even blood-related. Kinda sweet, actually."

"They should just date already. They're perfect."

"Meanwhile, that psycho chick—skinny, pale, pretending to be family. She's not even janitor material."

Each word hit like a slap.

I glared up at Zeke, my voice pure ice. "Last shot. Let me go. Or I'll stop pretending our families ever had ties and let my father erase yours."