Isabella POV
The chapel organ is already playing when I arrive at the bridal suite.
I'm running late—Sophie had to re-pin my veil twice because my hands kept shaking, and then Mrs. Dahlia needed confirmation about the seating arrangements, and somehow it's already 8:47AM and the ceremony starts at 9:00AM and I still need to fix my lipstick.
I'm reaching for the door handle when I hear my father's voice from inside.
"Vanessa needs this, Richard. The doctors gave her six months, maybe less. You know what this would mean to her."
My hand freezes on the brass handle.
That's not my father's voice. That's…that's Ethan's voice. Calling my father Richard, the way he does when they're talking business.
I stand there, one hand on the door, my forty-thousand-dollar dress rustling with each shallow breath. Three hundred guests are in the chapel twenty feet down this hallway. The organ is playing. This is my wedding day.
"I know it's difficult," my father says. His voice has that particular tone he uses in boardrooms when he's closing a deal someone doesn't want to make. "But we agreed. This is the right thing to do."
"Of course it's the right thing," Victoria's voice cuts in—my stepmother, sharp and certain. "Vanessa is dying. She has one wish. One final wish before she leaves this world."
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my temples. What are they talking about? Why is my stepmother in the bridal suite? Why is Ethan in there with them instead of at the altar?
"The guests are already here," Ethan says. "The flowers are perfect. Everything is ready. We should tell Isabella now, before…"
I push the door open.
Four faces turn toward me. My father by the window, still in his morning coat. Victoria beside him, her hand on Vanessa's shoulder. Vanessa, my bald sister, sitting in a wheelchair I've never seen before, wearing a white dress—not a hospital gown, not regular clothes, a white dress with lace sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.
And Ethan, standing in the center of the room in his wedding suit, looking at me like I'm a problem he's about to solve.
"Isabella," my father starts. "We were just about to…"
"What's going on?" The words come out steady even though nothing inside me is steady. "Why is everyone in here? Ethan, you're supposed to be at the altar. The ceremony starts in ten minutes."
Nobody speaks. The silence stretches like a rubber band pulled too tight.
Then Vanessa's lower lip trembles, and tears well in her perfectly made-up eyes. "I didn't want you to find out like this. I tried to wait, to tell you properly, but there wasn't time and…"
"Tell me what?" I'm looking at Ethan now, only at Ethan. "What is she talking about?"
"Vanessa is dying," Victoria says, her voice cracking with manufactured grief. "Terminal illness. The doctors gave her six months at most."
The floor tilts. I grab the doorframe. "What? When did—why didn't anyone tell me?"
"The diagnosis came through last week," my father says, but he won't look at me. He's looking at his shoes, at the window, anywhere but my face. "It's very serious, Isabella. Stage four. There's nothing they can do."
"I'm so sorry." The words come automatically. I take a step toward Vanessa, my hand reaching out even though we've never been close, even though she's spent years making sure I felt like an outsider in my own father's house. "That's terrible. I had no idea. Is there anything I can do? Any treatment options?"
"There is something you can do," Ethan says.
I turn to him. He's standing very still, his jaw set in that way it gets when he's made a difficult decision and doesn't want to be talked out of it.
"Vanessa has one dying wish," Victoria says. "Just one thing she wants before she leaves this world."
"Of course," I hear myself say. "Anything. Whatever you need, we'll figure it out."
"She wants to get married," my father says quietly. "To experience that one beautiful day. To know what it feels like to be a bride before she…" He stops, clears his throat.
"That's wonderful." I'm confused but trying to be supportive, trying to be the kind person I was raised to be. "I'm sure we can help plan something quickly. It won't be elaborate, but…"
"She wants to marry Ethan," Victoria says.
The words don't make sense at first. They're just sounds, syllables in the wrong order, and my brain keeps trying to rearrange them into something logical.
"What?" I look at Ethan. He's supposed to laugh now. Supposed to say this is a misunderstanding, a joke in terrible taste. But he's just standing there with that careful, neutral expression he uses in business meetings.
"Isabella." My father takes a step toward me. "I know this is shocking. But Vanessa doesn't have much time. She's loved Ethan for years—never said anything because she didn't want to interfere with your relationship. But now, facing the end, she asked for this one thing."
"This is insane." I'm backing toward the door now, my hands fumbling behind me for the handle. "This is—Ethan, tell them. Tell them this is crazy."
But Ethan won't look at me. He's staring at the floor like there's something fascinating written on the carpet.
"I agreed," he says quietly. "I know it's not ideal timing, but Vanessa is dying. How can I say no to that?"
The room spins. I grab the doorframe again, my knuckles going white. "You agreed? Without talking to me? Without—today is our wedding day!"
"I know." Finally, finally he looks at me. "And all the arrangements are perfect. The chapel, the flowers, the reception—everything is exactly the way you planned it."
"We're not canceling the wedding," Victoria says, and something in her voice makes my blood run cold. "We're just making a small adjustment. Vanessa will be the bride instead of you."
"You're giving her my wedding?" My voice is rising now, cracking. "My wedding that's starting in eight minutes?"
"It's temporary," my father says quickly. "Vanessa has six months, maybe less. After she passes, you and Ethan can get married properly. Have the big celebration you always wanted. Right now we're asking you to…"
"To what?" I'm shouting now, and I don't care. "To stand aside and watch my fiancé marry my stepsister in the wedding I planned? Using my flowers, my venue, my guests?"
"Think of it as lending him," Vanessa says softly. She's not crying anymore. Her eyes are clear and sharp. "Just for a little while. I just want to know what it feels like to be loved, to be married, before I die."
"Then marry someone else!" The words tear out of me. "There are seven billion people in the world. Marry literally anyone else!"
"She wants Ethan," Victoria says coldly. "She's loved him since the day she met him. And unlike you, she doesn't have time to find someone new. She has six months. You have your whole life ahead of you. Surely you can be selfless enough to wait."
I look at my father. "You're really asking me to do this. On my wedding day. You're really standing here asking me to…"
"Don't be selfish, Isabella," he says, and his voice has that edge it gets when he's disappointed in me. "Your stepsister is dying. This is her last wish. What kind of person would you have to be to say no?"
The kind of person who values herself. The kind of person who won't be treated like a placeholder. The kind of person I'm realizing I've never been allowed to be in this family.
"I'll come back to you," Ethan says. He steps forward, reaching for my hand. "After everything is—after Vanessa passes. Nothing changes between us. I love you. This is just a temporary arrangement to give a dying woman one happy memory."
I look at his hand extended toward me. Six years. Six years I've been with this man. Six years of building his career, supporting his dreams, planning our future together. And he's standing here telling me he's going to marry my stepsister in a few minutes and expecting me to understand.
"How long have you known?" The question comes out quiet, deadly calm.
Ethan's hand drops. "Known what?"
"How long have you known about this plan? How long have you been agreeing to marry her while I've been planning our wedding?"
A muscle twitches in his jaw. "Isabella…"
"How long, Ethan?"
"We only decided last week," my father says. "After the diagnosis."
But Ethan's face tells a different story. I've been reading that face for six years, and I know when he's hiding something.
"You're lying." I look at my father. "You're all lying. This wasn't decided last week."
Victoria's expression turns cold. "Does it matter? The situation is what it is. Vanessa is dying. The wedding is happening in five minutes. You can either be gracious about this or you can be selfish. Your choice."
I look at Vanessa in her white dress, in that wheelchair she's never needed before. At Victoria with her hand on Vanessa's shoulder like a chess player protecting her queen. At my father who can't meet my eyes. At Ethan, who's still standing there like this is reasonable, like this is something I should accept.
"The guests are waiting," my father says. "We need to make a decision."
"You've already made the decision," I say. "All of you. Without me."
I reach up and pull the veil from my hair. The pins scatter across the floor, tiny pings against hardwood that sound too loud in the silence. I hold the veil at arm's length and let it drop.
"Isabella, don't be dramatic," Dorathy starts.
"I'd rather burn in hell," I say, "than watch this happen."
I turn and walk out of the room. Behind me, my father calls my name. Ethan says something about being reasonable. But I'm already moving, my dress sweeping the hallway floor, my heels clicking against marble.
Sophie appears at the top of the stairs. She takes one look at my face and doesn't ask questions—just falls into step beside me.
"We're leaving," I tell her.
"Okay." She pulls her car keys from her purse. "Where are we going?"
"Anywhere but here."
I walk down the main staircase of the Sinclair estate. Through the foyer. Past the chapel where three hundred guests are waiting. I can hear the confused murmur starting, people turning to look, but I don't stop. I don't slow down.