CHAPTER 1: THE WRONG BRIDE

The city never slept, but that morning, it held its breath.

Even the air outside felt wrong too still, too quiet, like the world was waiting for bad news.

Somewhere in Manhattan, the sun was rising over a skyline that didn’t care about death. Horns honked, taxis weaved between glass towers, and the subway screamed beneath the streets.

But inside the DeLuca Caldwell on East 74th Street, time had frozen.

Sister Eva Caldwell stood in the doorway of her sister’s bedroom, numb. The bed was still made from the night before untouched.

A garment bag hung on the closet door, the white satin of a wedding gown peeking through the zipper. Ellen Caldwell had tried it on for the last time only yesterday.

 

Now she was gone. Forever.

The scent of roses clung to the room, her perfume lingering like a ghost that refused to leave. Eva stepped inside, each footfall against the hardwood like a memory breaking under her weight.

She had received the call just before dawn. No details, just the words that shattered everything:

 “Your sister is dead. Come home. Immediately.”

The convent walls had always been cold, but this was different. This was real. Raw. It had been five years since she left this house. Five years since she chose silence and God over noise and men. Now, less than twelve hours after her sister’s death, she was standing in her place.

There was a knock at the bedroom door.

 She turned. Her father entered, eyes shadowed with something more calculated than grief. His gray hair was slicked back, his suit crisp and dark more business than mourning.

“She took something last night,” he said flatly. “No note. No warning. How could she do this to herself .”

“Ellen would never, She was happy” Eva began.

  “She’s gone,” he cut in, voice hard. “And the groom arrives in two hours . We don't have time to mourn or think Eva .

The press already knows about this marriage. The investors, too. If this falls apart, we lose everything. Eva please you have to help me.”

She stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

 His jaw tightened. “Eva, You’re identical. You’re already here. The veil will help. No one needs to know you are the wrong bride.”

 “I’m a nun father!.”

  “You were a daughter first.” He replied sharply

And that silenced her.

The next words were quieter, but sharper. “You can save this family. Your sister’s death doesn’t have to be for nothing. Remember how happy Ellen wanted this marriage even when she had no idea of whom she was getting married to.”

 Rage and disbelief swirled in her chest, but underneath it all, something else flickered guilt. For leaving. For not being here. For not knowing her sister had been breaking while she prayed in peaceful silence.

It was too late , too late to safe her beloved sister. The door opened again, this time with the housekeeper, Maria, holding the beautiful dress meant for her twin sister. “You’ll need help getting into it Eva ,” she said softly, her voice cracked from crying. “It was altered yesterday. It should fit.”

 

Eva didn’t speak. Her fingers reached for the gown without meaning to. It was cold to the touch. She hated what it was . She felt like a sinner for the first time in five years. 

Outside, the city moved on, uncaring. Inside, she stepped behind the screen and began to undress removing her habit, her cross, her identity until only the white dress remained. She has never felt so empty. Nothing seem enjoyable about the dress but she was grateful it covered every inch of her . 

 

She wasn’t sure if she was stepping into a wedding or a funeral. 

But she was sure of two things:

 This was not her life. She did not belong here either.

  And yet, she was about to live it.