My Fiancé Lost the Bet, So I Chose His Brother

I stared at Eric's message for ten whole seconds.

"Congrats, Tristan, on winning yourself a 220-pound fiancée."

He had even added three party-popper emojis.

One of his friends didn't get the joke.

"He rolled a six and won. Eric really got the short end of the stick."

Eric shot back right away. "A loss? Really?"

Then he dropped a photo into the chat.

It had been taken two years earlier, at a cocktail party I'd gone to.

Back then, I weighed 220 pounds, and even the largest gown I could find barely fit.

I hid in a corner of the ballroom, eating chocolate cake with my head down.

Whoever took the photo had clearly been standing far away.

But even the blurry image couldn't hide my size.

Someone finally broke the silence in the chat.

"Holy shit, she's supposed to be a noblewoman? She looks like a pig!"

"Yeah, that's not a loss. That's a huge win."

Eric kept going. "@Tristan, tell us how it feels to win 220 pounds of pork."

I watched him use me to provoke his brother.

Just a minute earlier, Eric had been sweet-talking me in a private chat.

"All I lost to him was the right to propose to you first.

"It's my fault I rolled lower than he did. Just turn him down tomorrow."

I didn't reply.

But the group chat was already blowing up.

"How could the Don have the heart to suggest this marriage?"

"That's why he let the girl choose."

"But whichever one she picks, the poor guy might get crushed under her on their wedding night."

"Well, that solves the Blade family's succession problem."

None of them mocked me outright.

But every message dripped with sarcasm.

Eric stepped in to stop them.

"That's enough.

"Don't make Emma cry."

He sounded considerate, but he was mocking me for how easily I cried.

My fingers went cold.

Three years earlier, my family's fortunes had begun to decline.

My father, head of the Perrin family, was determined to preserve what remained of our status.

So he proposed a marriage alliance with the country's most powerful mafia family.

I was the only woman in the family of marrying age, and I wanted no part of it.

Eric was the one who reached out to me first.

"Don't you dare choose Tristan over me. Give me a chance."

After that, he pursued me online for a whole year.

When I couldn't sleep, he stayed up all night with me.

Whenever I felt down, he cheered me up.

My father cut me off financially to force me to agree.

And he was the one who stepped in to help.

Eric won me over.

A year later, I came home.

At a gala, I secretly got a good look at him.

He was handsome and fit, brimming with youthful confidence.

To be good enough for him, I worked hard to lose weight.

But I never imagined what would happen next.

I had finally agreed to the marriage and couldn't have been happier.

Then he turned around and gambled away the right to propose to me.

I stared at the group chat.

When Tristan stayed silent, Eric kept provoking him.

He had even opened a betting pool at the casino.

"Will Tristan Propose Tomorrow?"

He put down $10,000 himself.

His right-hand man, Hank Russo, followed with $5,000.

Hank even added, "Tristan's probably learning to speak pig."

Tristan answered immediately. "Show some respect.

"Talk like that and Emma's going to cry."

I finally laughed out loud.

So he knew I would cry.

Yet he'd still brought his whole crew along to watch me do it.

Just then, a new message popped up in the chat.

Jasmine wrote, "Emma's going to join my family someday. Hank, you're being too mean."

She was the Don's adopted daughter, and everyone called her the most beautiful woman of their generation.

A couple of days earlier, she had posted a set of photos on Instagram.

Sun-kissed skin, a hot little bikini.

More than 10,000 compliments filled the comments.

She tagged me. "Emma, I've wanted to be your friend for so long.

"Congratulations."

That was what Jasmine said, even as she bet $3,000.

Her bet was that Tristan wouldn't propose.

Then she added with fake sweetness, "We don't mean anything by it. Don't feel bad about your looks."

Until then, only a handful of people had been talking in the group chat.

Now it was suddenly flooded with messages.

Message after message said, "Jasmine is so kindhearted."

I didn't rush to answer her. Instead, I placed a bet of my own.

Twenty thousand dollars, everything I'd saved from three years of selling my paintings.

I put it all on Tristan proposing to me.

The chat went dead silent.

But I could just picture them laughing at how delusional I was.

Eric messaged me privately right away. "Are you crazy?

"You don't actually think my brother's going to propose to you, do you?"

I looked at myself in the mirror.

My long hair fell down my back, and my waist was slim enough to circle with one hand.

My features, once hidden beneath layers of fat, were now sharply defined.

My beauty was bold, almost intimidating.

Over the past two months, I'd been asked out plenty of times at cocktail parties and dinners.

A talent agent had even cornered me for half an hour to ask if I wanted to shoot ads.

Eric didn't know any of this.

I had wanted him to see the best version of me at the engagement party.

Now it was clear he didn't deserve the surprise.

I didn't expect Tristan to fall in love with me just because of how I looked now.

But I was sure no one would turn down a woman like me or the enormous benefits my family could offer.

I blinked back my tears and replied, "A bet's a bet."