Upgraded: From Backup to Bride

To care for Silas Underwood, whose legs were paralyzed after a car accident, Harper Jones gave up a bright future and stayed by his side for five years—without title, without name.

She stood guard as he climbed out of despair, as he emerged from darkness into light, taking over the family business and seizing power with both hands.

Everyone in Augustine City knew how much Silas loved Harper.

He spent lavishly for her, bidding hundreds of millions for rare jewels. He personally planned a grand, opulent wedding—just to make her dreams come true. Whenever she so much as frowned, his heart ached like it might shatter.

But only Harper knew: the same man who loved her so deeply had, on the eve of their wedding, secretly registered a marriage with someone else—his first love, who had just returned to the country.

He couldn't bear to let that woman suffer. He couldn't bear to see her son gossiped about. But deceiving Harper—he could.

Only then did Harper understand: in Silas's heart, she was no more than a weed in the wind.

Five years of lowliness. Five years of willing submission. She had finally come to her senses. She turned and agreed to her family's arranged marriage.

She no longer wanted Silas.

On the day of the wedding, two bridal cars crossed paths.

Silas saw Harper, clad in white, ready to marry someone else.

In that moment, the aloof and proud Silas lost his mind completely.

…

"Harper, you're beautiful."

In the full-length mirror, Harper stood in a white, custom-made wedding gown. Her figure was graceful, her brows and eyes soft and composed, her delicate face glowing with quiet allure.

Behind her, Silas stood close, his broad hand wrapped tightly around her slender waist. His breath, warm and steady, moved slowly up the curve of her neck. The heat made her heart tremble.

"Silas, stop it… There are people outside," she murmured, her body tense, face flushed.

"What's there to be afraid of? We're getting married next month anyway."

His cool fingertips slowly slid into the cutout on her back, moving toward the softness of her waist.

"No… don't…"

Her teeth pressed hard into her lip, her body quivering. She tried to stop him, voice shaky and low.

"You silly, I'm teasing you."

Seeing her flustered, unsure what to do, Silas withdrew his hand and laughed softly, still holding her by the waist.

"I promised you, didn't I? We'll save the most important first time for our wedding night. And that night, I'm going to make sure you can't get out of bed for three days."

Harper's face flushed an even deeper red. She was about to speak when a phone rang sharply in the cramped dressing room.

Silas glanced at the screen, then instinctively looked at her before turning away to answer the call.

Standing quietly at the side, her cheeks still warm, Harper caught the name flashing on his screen—Colby Allen, one of Silas's three closest friends.

"Talk," Silas said.

"Yo Silas, what's up with you and Sophie? It's all over the internet!" Colby's voice came through, urgent.

Sophie Adams.

The familiar name made Harper's heart skip. She looked up at Silas, her eyes searching.

He tightened his grip on the phone, his body stiffening slightly. Then, in fluent French, he said, "I can't speak freely. Switch to French."

There was a pause, then a deep breath from the other end as Colby switched languages.

"Silas, the photos of you and Sophie getting married this morning—they're everywhere. Every damn one of them leaked. Five years ago, you lost your legs saving her. Your family bailed on you. Left you rotting in that house like nothing. And her? She took off to France chasing some stupid acting dream and dumped you for another dude. How the hell did you forget that?"

The foreign language translated itself in Harper's mind like second nature. Every word struck with quiet precision.

She lowered her eyes. Her body trembled uncontrollably, as if dropped into an ice cellar.

She had never imagined the languages she learned, the lessons she studied to stand beside him with dignity, would one day be used for this.

Silas's brows knit tightly, his dark eyes shadowed. His lips pressed thin as he spoke, "I haven't forgotten. But things are hard for her now. If I don't step in, her adoptive parents will sell her to some old man. I can't just watch that happen."

"You've lost your mind, Silas!" Colby's voice cracked on the other end. "What about Harper? If not for Harper, you'd still be stuck in that chair. She never left you, not once. She helped you recover day by day. You're supposed to marry her next month—how can you betray her like this?"

"I didn't betray her!" Silas snapped, almost instinctively. "The news of my marriage to Sophie will be kept sealed. The wedding with Harper will proceed as planned. As for the marriage certificate—I'll forge a fake one for Harper."

"You can keep this quiet for now, but not forever. What happens when she finds out?"

"She won't," he said, firm and certain.

As long as Harper didn't find out, Silas was confident he could keep the balance between the two women.

He knew just how much Harper loved him. He was certain: even if one day she learned everything, she would never leave.

"Do you know Sophie brought a child back with her this time?"

Silas lowered his gaze. His voice tightened. "I know. That child needs a father. After I marry Sophie, the boy won't have to suffer from gossip anymore."

Colby wanted to continue talking, but Silas hung up without another word.

Harper's body trembled uncontrollably. Just moments ago, her face had been glowing with joy. Now, it had turned ashen. Tears blurred her vision, and a strange numbness spread across her scalp.

Sophie had returned. And because Silas didn't want her to suffer, he married her.

Sophie's child came back with her, too. Silas, afraid the child might be hurt, had willingly stepped in to play the father.

Then what about her? What was she?

A housemaid? A warm body in bed? A workhorse, spurred forward with a few sweet words, ready to toil herself to death for the company?

Were the past five years just a joke?

Anger, humiliation, sorrow, and grievance surged within Harper's chest, pressing down so heavily that she could barely breathe. Her limbs weakened. Instinctively, she reached for the nearby coat rack.

She barely managed to steady herself. Eyes red, she stared hard at Silas's back, wanting to ask him what she truly meant to him.

"Silas, you…"

A message notification chimed, cutting her off.

Silas read the message and immediately straightened his clothes. He turned and pressed a soft kiss to Harper's forehead.

"Harper, darling, something urgent just came up. Try on the dress, then head home without me."

He didn't even look back at her. Still typing on his phone, he turned and strode out of the fitting room without another word.

The door slammed shut with a weighty finality.

Harper's legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor. She wiped at her tears with trembling fingers, the taste of bile sharp in her mouth.

What sort of emergency was so urgent that even she, his personal assistant, didn't know about it?

She didn't need to think too hard. She could guess who had just messaged him.

Her heart throbbed as if someone had pierced it with a blunt knife. Her organs seemed to cramp from the inside out. The sheer fabric over her chest wrinkled under the grip of her right hand, clenched tight in anguish.

Tears blurred her reflection in the mirror. Fat drops rolled down her face, staining the satin wedding gown with dark, spreading blooms.

Time lost meaning. Only when muffled voices from the shop assistants outside pierced her haze did Harper finally gasp for air. Planting shaking hands on the floor, she forced herself up.

The mirror showed a stranger - puffy-eyed, makeup ruined, lips twisted in self-loathing.

"Pathetic."

She looked like a woman who'd groveled in the dirt for scraps of love.

Five years. Her heart, her soul, every damn day - she'd given everything to Silas. And still, his heart stayed locked in ice.

If that was the case, so be it. She was done.

With a sudden jerk, she ripped the white veil from her head.

She quickly changed out of the wedding gown, wiped away the tears from her face, and pulled out her compact to fix her makeup.

Every motion flowed swiftly, smoothly, but carried a distinct finality.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself in the mirror. Her reflection looked calmer now. She gathered the heavy folds of her wedding dress and pushed through the door.

"Remember Mr. Underwood? The one who ordered that designer gown? He called out of nowhere yesterday, demanding another dress at the last-minute. Rich people really do whatever they want."

"Wait—I heard the new one's a different size."

"Seriously? So it's for someone else?"

Harper's steps faltered. Her grip on the dress tightened, fingers trembling. The words stabbed through her.

"Miss Jones, is everything alright with the dress? Mr. Underwood insisted on a custom design and paid top dollar to have a foreign designer take your measurements and—"

"It's not what I want. Take it back."

She thrust the gown at the startled assistant, her voice icy. Then she turned on her heel and walked out before the tears could surface.

The moment she stepped out of the bridal shop, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

"Grandpa. I'll do it. The arranged marriage. Just give me a month to tie up loose ends. Then I'm coming home to get married."