The wedding of Autumn Westwood and Franklin Cordon was the event of the year. The place was packed with guests, all dressed to the nines.Down in the front row, my parents were wiping away tears while quietly sobbing, “Our little Autumn’s finally getting married. She’s our everything.”Up above, my soul floated in the air, watching, feeling an ache deep inside. Once, they used to cry over me like that, too.Just then, someone shouted from the crowd, “What a perfect match! Master Franklin and Miss Autumn sure are made for each other!”“Yeah," someone else chimed in. "Not like that fake, Ginger Westwood. She stole the real daughter’s life for over twenty years. Even six feet under, she’s nothing but bad luck.”Autumn seemed to hear my name as well. Her hand paused for a second, and then she smiled—a small, mocking curve of her lips.I laughed bitterly to myself. Of course, she would. I had lived the life that was supposed to be hers for over two decades. She had every reason to sne
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