The Replacement Bride

Hilary Windsor

I stretched out on the couch, my legs dangling over the edge as I lazily flipped through TV channels. The faint crunch of chips filled the room as I chewed mindlessly, not paying attention much until the voice of the news anchor broke through.

“This just in,” the anchor began, her smile practically lighting up the screen. “The highly anticipated Windsor fashion show is going on at the moment! Hosted by Emily Windsor herself, the event is set to showcase breathtaking masterpieces that will leave everyone in awe.”

The chip in my hand froze mid-air. My sister, Emily Windsor. The name stung, a reminder of everything that seemed to revolve around her. I clicked the TV off with more force than necessary and tossed the remote aside, irritation simmering beneath my skin.

I reached for my phone, scrolling through I*******m absentmindedly. When a stream appeared on my screen. My sister Emily’s face was up the screen, surrounded by elegant designs being paraded down the runway. My heart sank.

Why wasn’t I invited? My stomach twisted, but I shook off the creeping sadness. “It must’ve been a last-minute event,” I mumbled, trying to rationalize. “Maybe they just forgot to tell me…”

My fingers hovered over the stream, then quickly closed the app. No big deal. I’ll just show up and help. Mom and Emily must be overwhelmed.

Within minutes, I’d showered, thrown on a simple dress, and headed out the door.

When I arrived, the hall buzzed with energy. Guests mingled under sparkling chandeliers, cameras flashed, and models strode down the runway in stunning designs. I slipped in through the back, stretching my neck to see the show.

Then I saw them. My dresses. My heart stumbled.

The models were walking and posing down the runway... I knew those designs. I’d spent endless nights sketching, perfecting, and stitching every detail. They were my designs.

“And now,” the announcer’s voice boomed, “our next collection is by the incredibly talented Emily Windsor.”

As the crowd erupted in applause, Emily walked onto the stage, glowing under the spotlight. A radiant smile plastered across her face. She bowed gracefully, waving like she had created every piece herself.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. My fists clenched at my sides. Why is she taking credit for my work?

Pushing through the crowd, I spotted Vivian Windsor, my stepmother and CEO of all companies and investments standing near the stage, her elegant frame poised as always.

“Mother,” I called, barely managing to keep my voice steady.

She turned to me, her expression softening as she saw me “Hilary darling, you should be resting at home” Her hand reached out to gently pat my arm.

“Why wasn't I told about this event? And those designs are mine. Why is Emily saying It's hers? I spat out, the words tumbling out before I could hold back.

Her smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before it returned. Then she gently placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Oh sweetheart, those were just your practice designs, weren't they? I was going to tell you, that Emily borrowed them to represent Windsor Couture tonight. It's just for the show”

Her tone was calm, so soothing, I almost believed her. She made it sound so reasonable, so normal.

“We are family, You understand, don't you?” She added, her hand cupping my cheek like she always did when she needed me to agree to something.

I hesitated, the anger bubbling within me starting to cool. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was overreacting. “Okay…” I mumbled, letting off the feeling.

“Good girl,” she said, guiding me towards a chair. “Now come sit over here and enjoy the show. Your designs are the star tonight. Be proud of what you created.”

I sank into the seat, staring blankly at the stage as the next collection was announced. Emily stepped out again, earning another round of applause. I clapped along, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.

Then I saw Liam. My husband.

He entered the hall like he owned the place, his sharp suit perfectly tailored. drawing glances from everyone he passed. A genuine smile spread across my face. “So sweet of him to come,” I whispered to myself.

I raised my hand to wave, but my smile faded when I saw where he was headed.

Liam walked straight toward Emily. She turned to him, her face lit up as he wrapped her in an embrace, his hands lingering on her waist for just a moment too long.

I felt my chest tighten. The room suddenly felt too warm. Feeling suffocated, I hurriedly excused myself to the restroom, my hands trembling as I splashed water on my face.

“It's just a hug” I muttered under my breath, staring at my reflection. “Anyone can hug anyone”

As I stepped out of the restroom, I walked straight into a solid chest.

“Easy there, princess,” a deep, smooth voice rumbled above me. Strong hands steadied me before I could stumble.

I looked up to apologize, but the words died in my throat.

The man before me was striking. Tall, sharp-jawed, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that screamed money. Confidence radiated off him, effortless and undeniable.

His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unreadable, and suddenly, I felt small under his gaze. My heart gave an unsteady beat.

“Th… thanks. I have to go,” I mumbled, forcing a tight smile. Without waiting for a response, I hurried past him, but I could still feel his gaze lingering on me, heavy and unshaken.

I searched for Liam, weaving through the crowd. But he was nowhere to be found. Neither was Emily.

“Maybe they left early,” I whispered, trying to reassure myself.

Instead of heading home, I drove to my studio. The quiet hum of the room greeted me as I flipped on the lights and sat at my desk. My sketches lay scattered across the surface, a painful reminder of the runway earlier.

“They were beautiful,” I murmured, forcing a small smile. “It doesn’t matter who gets the credit. I know they’re mine.”

I opened my laptop, scrolling aimlessly through my design page. But then something stopped me cold.