The Substitute Bride's Twins: chasing his ex wife back

Seraphina Voss sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled to her chest.

The attic room was cold. It had never really felt like a bedroom.

Downstairs, the party was in full swing. She could hear Clara's laugh through the floorboards, bright and easy, the way it always was when she had an audience.

Something had felt wrong for three days.

Her parents kept whispering in hallways. They stopped talking the moment she walked in.

She had been waiting for it to find her.

It didn't take long.

The door burst open. Seraphina flinched off the bed.

Her mother stormed in first, hair pushed out of place, eyes wild with something close to panic. Her father came in right behind her and grabbed her arm without a word, yanking her to her feet.

Pain shot up her shoulder.

"Clara is crying," her mother said. She wasn't looking at Seraphina. She was looking around the bare little room like it disgusted her. "She locked herself in the study. She says she won't marry a monster like Sebastian King."

The name hit the room like a stone in water.

Everyone knew that name. Everyone who knew it knew to be afraid of it. Sebastian King didn't ask. He didn't negotiate. He decided what he wanted, and then he took it.

For months, her parents had been grooming Clara to be his bride.

A heavy silk gown landed on the bed beside her. Ivory white. Covered in lace.

It wasn't meant for Seraphina.

It was Clara's wedding dress.

"You're marrying Sebastian King tonight," her father said. "In your sister's place."

There was no apology in his voice. No hesitation. He said it the way a man announces good news.

"You'll do it without complaint," he added. "It's the only way to save this family."

"I won't do it." Seraphina stood up straighter. "This isn't right. He's expecting Clara. When he finds out—"

"He won't find out until it's too late." Her mother's voice was sharp. She turned to the hallway. "Bring them in."

Two maids stepped into the room. Then two security guards.

Seraphina's heart slammed against her ribs. She stepped back toward the wall.

"Don't touch me."

"Hold her still," her father ordered, and turned his back.

The guards moved fast. One gripped both her arms and pinned them behind her. She twisted and kicked, but it didn't matter. Her shin hit the bed frame as they forced her into the chair at her vanity.

"Be careful with her face," her mother said, arms folded. "She needs to look presentable for the signing."

"Let go of me!" Seraphina's voice cracked. "This is wrong—"

Nobody answered.

The maids stripped her clothes with brisk, impersonal hands. They forced her arms through the stiff lace of Clara's gown. The dress was too big at the waist, so they pulled the corset strings tight—so tight the boning dug into her ribs and stole the breath from her lungs.

They pinned her hair back. They pressed a thick veil over her face.

The room dissolved into grey shapes.

"Perfect," her mother said, studying her through the veil. "With the dim lighting at the King estate, no one will notice until the papers are signed."

"Please," Seraphina whispered. "Mother, please. Sebastian King will destroy me when he finds out."

Her mother gripped her jaw through the lace. Her eyes were cold.

"Then let him," she said. "As long as this family survives, your purpose is served."

They dragged her out without letting her walk properly. The dress swept the floor behind her. They loaded her into a car with a guard on either side, the child locks engaged, and the city lights blurred past the windows.

She understood then, with total clarity, that she had never been a daughter in that house.

She had only ever been a resource they hadn't used yet.

At the King estate, the servants worked on her in silence. No one met her eyes. No one spoke to her. To them, she wasn't a bride arriving.

She was a delivery being prepared for handover.

The corridor to the bridal suite was long and lined with cold stone. Each footstep sounded like a countdown. When the guards finally stopped at the mahogany doors, the head of security turned to her, his face blank.

"He is waiting."

The doors swung open.

The room beyond was pitch black. It smelled of whiskey, cologne, and something heavier she had no name for.

In the center of the darkness stood a tall, shadowed figure, completely still.

The doors closed behind her with a sound like a verdict.