The Substitute Bride's Revenge

Chapter 2

"How old is Oliver?"

Ethan Carter's voice was cold, sharp. His knuckles tapped against the desk with a clipped rhythm that made the silence heavier.

I stared at the wedding band on his finger—sleek, silver, untarnished.

Ten years, and he still wore it. As if Isabella Clark had never died.

"As his..."

Ethan's lips curled, the word sour in his mouth. "Guardian, your performance has been underwhelming."

Guardian.

I bit down a bitter laugh.

Years ago, Ethan had fallen hard for Isabella—the Clark family's golden girl. He'd gone against his own family to marry her.

The Clarks, nobodies before, seized the opportunity. With one marriage, they catapulted into the upper crust.

But the good luck didn't last.

Isabella died giving birth, and the Clarks scrambled.

That same night, they handed me—their adopted daughter—over to the Carters like a consolation prize.

Ethan never remarried.

But he also couldn't raise a child alone.

So the families struck a deal: a ten-year arrangement.

I became Oliver's "special guardian." No real title. No rights. Just a glorified babysitter in a golden cage.

"I'm here to let you know…"

I set the paperwork on the desk, my tone even.

"The agreement has expired."

"Thank you," I added with a faint smile, "for your generosity these past ten years."

Ethan's gaze darkened.

His hand snapped out, gripping my wrist so hard I winced.

"Are you threatening me?"

His voice was low, dangerous.

He leaned in close, breath hot against my skin.

"If you're so desperate to stay… you could always give me another heir."

"No."

I pulled away, yanking my hand free.

I'd lived with the brand of illegitimacy my whole life. I wouldn't pass that curse on to another child.

I turned without a word, walked to the safe, and retrieved the household ledger and seal. I laid them on the desk, my voice calm as I listed the final handover details.

Then he snapped.

Papers flew as Ethan slammed his fist onto the desk, sending documents fluttering to the floor like torn feathers.

"Sophia!"

He stepped forward, crushing the paperwork under his designer shoe.

"Don't overestimate your importance," he said, voice like steel. "You were never more than a placeholder."

The heavy door slammed behind me as I left.

Outside, sky lanterns drifted into the night—glowing softly, weightless and bright.

Every year on this day, the Carters lit those lanterns. A ritual to honor the day Ethan met Isabella.

They called it my birthday.

What a joke.

The night I was sent here, my adoptive mother dug her nails into my chin and hissed,

"Remember—if you want to survive in that house, you have to become Isabella."

She was right.

Ethan did remember this day.

Once a year, he'd let himself be gentle. Pretend I mattered.

As if one night of affection could compensate for the rest of the year.

"Thud!"

Something struck the side of my head—a sharp, sudden pain.

I looked up.

Oliver stood on the second-floor landing, slingshot still aimed, a smug grin tugging at his young face.

"Get out of my house!" he shouted.

"Next time, it won't be just a rock!"

I looked at the boy I'd raised.

The ribs I cracked teaching him to ride a bike still ached every winter.

But now?

All he had for me was hate.

Ten years.

Gone.

Just like that.