On Our Wedding Day, He Gave My Wedding Dress to His Sister

On our wedding day, my fiancé gave the wedding dress I had made by hand to his sick sister—and let her marry into the DeLuca family in my place.

Everyone told me to give in because she was fragile, while I was strong enough to endure it.

That night, I walked away, revoked my access to the family, and left my mother’s atelier.

Later, his sister’s fake illness was exposed, and my fiancé got down on his knees, begging me to come back.

But I was no longer the woman who would sacrifice everything for them.

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I returned to the bridal suite and sent Damien one message.

The wedding is off.

His call came less than ten seconds later.

“Mara, have you made enough of a scene?”

His voice was low.

“Celeste slit her wrist. The doctor said she can’t be upset again. Are you really going to fight her over a ceremony right now?”

The ring box sat open on the vanity. Inside were the bands I had picked up myself, our names engraved along the inner edges.

“Damien, today is our seventh anniversary. It is also the wedding we spent six months preparing.”

“I know.”

“But this is a life-or-death matter. You have always been the sensible one. Help her get through this.”

I said nothing.

“She has severe depression. All she wants is to wear a wedding dress and stand at the altar with me once.”

“It won’t be legally binding. Our marriage agreement hasn’t changed. You’re still my fiancée.”

On paper, maybe. But in the DeLuca world, the woman who stood beside the Don at that altar became his Donna in the eyes of the family.

He paused, then lowered his voice.

“Once she’s stable, we’ll file the marriage license tomorrow.”

I asked, “Then what am I today?”

The line went quiet.

“Today, we make her feel safe.”

My mother’s voice came from his side.

“Damien, stop wasting time on her.”

“Mara has resented Celeste since they were children. Celeste isn’t as strong as she is. She isn’t as healthy. Now she can’t even have one wedding without Mara making it about herself?”

“If Mara dares to come here and cause trouble, I’ll pretend I never had that daughter.”

“Mom, today was supposed to be my wedding.”

“You and Damien have been together for seven years. Will one day kill you?”

Her voice hardened.

“It might kill Celeste. She just came back from the hospital.”

Damien spoke again.

“Mara, don’t make this bigger. The DeLuca family is outside. You know what this ceremony means.”

Of course I knew.

That was why I had embroidered the wedding dress myself.

The neckline carried the DeLuca black eagle. The skirt carried the vine pattern passed down through Ellison Atelier. For three months, I had worked through the night and pricked my fingers until the stitches blurred.

Damien had once held my hands and promised that the entire DeLuca family would know I was his only bride.

Now he said, “One more thing.”

“Say it.”

“Celeste saw your dress. She likes it.”

“Take it off and have someone send it over. If she wears it, she’ll calm down faster.”

I looked at the white dress in the mirror.

“Do you know how long I spent on this?”

“I know. I’ll have a better one made for you later.”

“No need.”

“Mara.”

“I’ll bring it.”

He exhaled.

“Don’t overthink this. I’ll make it up to you after Celeste gets better.”

I ended the call.

My bridesmaid opened the door.

“Mara, the guests are asking where Don DeLuca is.”

“He isn’t coming.”

She froze.

“He is next door, marrying Celeste.”

I wiped the red from my lips, removed the dress, and put on a black coat. The bodice still held the warmth of my body when I folded it into a paper garment bag.

No one outside stopped me.

The hallway between the two banquet rooms was lined with white roses and DeLuca guards. They had the same flowers, the same music, even the same priest. Only the bride had been replaced.

Half an hour later, I walked into the banquet hall next door.

The room was loud enough to swallow the wedding bells outside.

DeLuca soldiers stood along the walls. Relatives surrounded Celeste, laughing and congratulating her. A white shawl covered her shoulders, and fresh bandages wrapped one wrist.

Damien stood beside her, wiping her tears.

My mother held Celeste’s hand.

“Our Celeste is beautiful today.”

My father nodded.

“Damien is responsible. We can trust him with her.”

My aunt lifted her glass.

“Celeste is lucky. Mara is too forceful. What man could stand that forever?”

A cousin added, “She has always tried to outshine Celeste. Don DeLuca is right this time. A man should protect the weaker one.”

Damien saw me and came over quickly, blocking my view of Celeste.

“Why did you come yourself?”

Then, lower, “Celeste just settled down. Don’t upset her.”

I handed him the bag.

“The dress.”

He took it.

“Mara, I know you were wronged today.”

“After Celeste recovers, I will give you a bigger wedding. The venue, the guests, the dress—anything you want.”

I did not answer.

He turned to leave, then stopped.

“Since you’re here, find a seat.”

“Don’t make Celeste think you brought the dress unwillingly.”