Who'S There Joke To Tell At A Party?

My best friend loved playing 'jokes.' On my birthday, she projected my worst photos in front of everyone, saying she just wanted to 'liven up the mood.' When I was on my period, she deliberately gave me a defective pad. Even when she saw the stain on my clothes, she said nothing–claiming she was helping me 'get more attention.' After I started dating, she edited my photos into suggestive images and spread them across social media groups, pricing them like a product. When I finally snapped and confronted her, she just laughed. "I'm just helping you test your boyfriend," she said. "If he doubts you, then he doesn't really love you. How can you blame me?" Later, a man used the information from those posts to track me down and harm me. I did not survive what followed. However, when I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day she first shared those images.

The day after my wife, Evie Sandoval, jumps into the river and commits suicide, her family, the Sandovals, hold a funeral for her. Upon hearing the news, I put on a bespoke suit and a red glittery tie, attending the funeral in full regalia. However, the moment I step inside, her parents begin hurling insults at me. "How dare you show your face, Michael Chandler! You murderer!" "If it hadn't been for you abusing her all these years, Evie would never have jumped into that river!" I simply smile at them and calmly pull out a Bluetooth speaker from my bag before blasting some disco music. "Come on, everyone! Shake your booty to the music with me!"

It was the holiday season, so I took my foster daughter, Megan Delgado, to our mansion for a vacation. However, I found out that the property had been occupied by someone else. The woman who opened the door looked at us with an impatient expression. “What do you want? You’re interrupting my daughter’s birthday party. Are you asking for trouble?” For a moment, I thought I might have the wrong house. That was until I noticed the clothing and jewelry the woman was wearing. Every piece was an exact match with what I kept in my wardrobe here. The timing could not be more telling. Just a week ago, my husband, Richie Delgado, said he was planning a surprise for me and Megan. He asked for the spare key to the mansion. I glanced past her at the crowd of party guests in the living room. “So, you’re saying you’re the lady of the house?” She sized me up and noted my simple outfit. “Who else if not me? You? You’ve ruined my daughter’s party. You’d better beg for her forgiveness now!” she said in a condescending tone. When I did not move, she warned, “My husband will be home any minute now. Do you know who he is? He’s the CEO of Beran Corp! A nobody like you can’t afford to cross him!” They were using my mansion to throw a birthday party for his illegitimate daughter. It was quite the surprise indeed!

Five years ago, I was nearly killed in a car accident while saving my mother-in-law. My injuries were so severe that I spent years abroad undergoing treatment and rehabilitation. The moment I landed back home, I ran into my former college roommate, Vanessa Caldwell. She and her designer-clad friends looked me up and down with open disgust. "Gianna Lott?" Vanessa stared at me. "Is that really you?" One of her friends covered her mouth and giggled. "Vanessa, why does your old roommate look like she just got out of cleaning the airport bathrooms?" Vanessa waved a hand, pretending to defend me. "Don't be rude. Then again, Gianna's mother was a housekeeper..." She paused dramatically before giving me a fake, apologetic smile. "Oh my God, Gianna. I'm so sorry. Was I not supposed to mention that?" I had no interest in entertaining them. I turned to leave, but Vanessa stepped directly into my path. "By the way, my son's first birthday party is tomorrow," she said. "We haven't seen each other in years. You absolutely have to come." I rejected, "No, thanks. I'm not interested." Her friend's expression immediately darkened. "Don't be so ungrateful. Do you even know who Vanessa married?" She leaned closer, her voice dripping with superiority. "Her husband is the heir to the most powerful family in Crownmere. Someone like you could live 10 lifetimes and still never get close to a man like him." Another woman tittered meanly. "Just look at her. She probably doesn't even own a proper dress. Gianna, should I donate one of my old ones to you?" Vanessa raised a hand, putting on another performance. "That's enough." Then, she looked at me with exaggerated pity. "Gianna, I never imagined your life would turn out this badly." She sighed. "For old times' sake, I can arrange a catering job for you at the party. You'll earn a little money and get a glimpse of how the upper class lives." Before I could refuse, she shoved an invitation into my hand. I was about to throw it away when the name listed under "Father of the Birthday Boy" caught my eye and my breath hitched. It was my husband's name, Alexander Whitmore.

On our tenth anniversary, my husband's secure work phone buzzed. "Sorry, honey. Emergency callout." He looked so anxious that I did what I had always done and let him leave without complaint. One second later, my phone recommended a viral video with more than a million likes. Derek Foster's best friend, Mason Reed, raised his glass to the camera, drunk and grinning. "First toast to me. My buddy disappeared, so I stood in as the groom. "Second toast to me. He went on a date, and I told his wife he was at tactical training. "Third toast to me. He handed me his kid to raise, and I became a dad without doing any of the work." The comments exploded. Everyone praised Mason for creating the perfect comedy account. I couldn't laugh. Mason really was raising an eight-year-old boy alone. I called him. "Where are you?" His voice was thick with sleep, but he answered, "Out grabbing barbecue with Derek." I hung up, picked up my newest Birkin, and took a selfie in front of Derek's prized whiskey wall. Then I posted: "Trading in my husband. Thirty-six, seeking two eighteen-year-olds. Ambition optional. DMs open."

My sister, Luna Rivers, is famous in Bridgeburg for being absurdly devoted to her little brother. She spends millions of dollars to throw a party for my 18th birthday. But on the day of the party, she personally locks me inside a small dark room. By the time I smash the door open and stagger into the ballroom, covered in blood from head to toe, she is gently holding another man's hand as they cut the birthday cake that should be mine. That man looks exactly like me. Even the scar on his wrist is identical to mine. I barely take a step forward to demand an explanation when a flood of messages suddenly explode across my vision. "The male supporting character is hilarious. He's just an adopted stand-in. Why's he getting jealous of the main character?" "Just wait. Later, he goes completely insane trying to compete for affection. The female lead will break his arms and legs, then have him admitted to a mental hospital. Serves him right!" The blood in my veins turns to ice. Luna spots me. Her first reaction is to shield the man protectively behind her. Then she snaps coldly, "Don't make a scene. Jeremy is my real brother. I'll explain everything later." Jeremy? We have the same name and the same scar. I really am the perfect replacement.