The Substitute Bride’s Reckoning

Seven years after my wealthy birth family took me back, the imposter daughter had become the victim, and I, the true heir, the family's punching bag.

My brother Justin threw me to the homeless. My fianc Lucas abandoned me. My parents forced me to take the blame for their crimes.

Slandered and abused, I fell from the fiftieth floor.

I survived.

Now, as they drown in regret, desperate to atone, I hold the evidence. I swore all of them would pay.

...

Sylvia's POV

Seven years after returning to this elite family, I was still the unwanted stand-in.

Emily, chasing fast cash, had been working tables at a high-end club. She was drugged, assaulted, and brought to the E.R. with severe internal bleeding.

The red glare of the emergency sign burned my eyes.

Sarah, sobbed into my father George's arms, cursing me.

"Emily has suffered for seven years! Why can't you just leave her be?"

Every wail was an indictment of my existence.

Justin, eyes bloodshot like a cornered animal, dragged me from the hospital by my hair.

"Sylvia, every bit of Emily's pain is on you. You hear me?"

He threw me into the stinking homeless encampment under the bridge.

To the filthy, unkempt men gathered there, he tossed a single, casual line.

"Tonight, she's all yours."

In utter despair, I saw Lucas, my fianc.

Like clutching at a final lifeline, I lunged and seized his pant leg. He recoiled sharply, as if from something vile, and kicked my hand away in disgust.

Then I understood.

In this charade of substitution, I had lost everything.

So I let myself fall into the darkness, a hoarse laugh tearing from my throat.

"If my return was a mistake, then let the real her have it all back..."

By dawn, the men had scattered.

My skin was a map of bruises and cuts. My clothes hung in shreds, barely covering me.

The walk home was a gauntlet of stares, each one a needle against my skin.

I pushed open the front door. The living room was thick with the cloying smell of honey.

My mother, Sarah, was spooning warm honey water into Emily's mouth, her movements delicate, as if handling a cracked piece of porcelain.

Emily shrank in her arms like a startled rabbit.

"Sylvia, I'll leave right away... please don't be angry..."

Mom couldn't bear it. Tears of profound hurt welled in her eyes.

She turned to me, her face a mask of heartbreak and accusation.

"Why must you torment your sister?"

"Have you done enough!?"

My father George's face darkened instantly.

"Your sister was fighting for her life, and you were out all night? Where exactly were you?"

Sylvia's POV

"Look at you! A ghost! You look nothing like a Tristian! I've raised an ungrateful viper!"

I stood frozen, my eyes burning.

See? They only care that you were out all night. They never see the shame, the wounds, the filth.

I was about to explain when Justin rose from the sofa and tossed a stack of photos onto the coffee table.

They slapped down and scattered across the floor.

He curled his lips, his smile never quite reaching his eyes, replaced instead by a chilling, cutting disdain.

"You want to know where she was? Take a look."

The scattered photos showed me in my violated state from last night.

Each picture showed a different man on top of me.

Sarah gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide as if she were seeing me, her daughter, for the very first time.

George stared at the photos, his eyes brimming with fury.

He abruptly snatched a blue-and-white antique vase from the table and, without hesitation, hurled it at me.

The vase sliced through the air with a sharp whistle, carrying with it his extreme roar of rage.

"You shameless wretch!"

A loud crash.

The vase shattered against my forehead, ceramic shards slicing my scalp.

What a pity. That was Mom's favorite antique vase, I think.

Warm blood quickly blurred my vision.

"The dignity of the Tristian family, generations of it, shattered by a lowlife like you!"

"We truly shouldn't have brought you back. You should have died in a gutter!"

I wiped the blood from my face. No pain, no grievance, only numbness remained.

"Alright, I'll do as you say."

"What did you say?"

My father's impending accusation suddenly stopped.

I looked at him, repeating each word clearly.

"I said, I'll die."

"Let Emily come back."

My mother looked at me in disappointment, shaking her head, "Sylvia, how could you have become like this!?"

My father gasped for air, sputtering several times, "You... you have the nerve."

Sylvia's POV

Justin continued with his cruel remarks. "Good riddance, saves the Tristian family from having to dirty its ground. Who knows if you'll actually do it."

Hearing my words, Emily's eyes, deep within, held not a hint of fragility, but a smug satisfaction.

She savored the sight of my entire family's accusations, as if watching a thrilling play.

I looked at Lucas.

In the past, no matter how much Justin and my parents favored Emily, Lucas had always stood by me.

But this time, he wouldn't even look at me.

"Don't upset yourselves over this, he said, his voice unnervingly calm. Then he delivered the final blow. Sylvia has chosen to sink. No one can save her. For the future of both our families... I wish to end my engagement to Sylvia and marry Emily instead..."

Those words were an ice dagger, plunging straight into my chest, the cold seeping through my veins, freezing me to my very bones.

A bucket of ice water dumped over my head wouldn't have left me feeling colder, more utterly frozen.

George, heartily approved, nodding heavily.

"Good! I'll personally discuss it with your parents then."

Hearing Lucas propose to her, Emily couldn't hide her joy, a flush of triumphant color bloomed on her cheeks.

In that moment, I finally understood completely.

In this family, I was their biological child, it was true.

But my mistake was coming back.

And my mistake was foolishly believing I could replace Emily's unique place in their hearts.

If her return was truly what they all longed for, then I would grant them their wish.

I offered no more explanations, turning and walking towards the second floor.

The moment I closed the door, I heard Justin still cursing me, calling me shameless.

"Tch, a lowlife who's been passed around by hobos, putting on airs of superiority!"

Back in my room, I washed away the blood and grime.

In the mirror, a broken body stared back.

They were right, I thought.

I deserved to die.

So, I pulled out the old canvas bag I had brought with me seven years ago from under the bed.

If I was going to die, I needed to leave cleanly.

To leave no trace of myself in this house.

I didn't have many possessions; what I did have fit perfectly into the bag.

Everything else, my parents had bought for me, tailored to Emily's tastes.

Emily loved pink Barbie style, so they decorated my princess room in that style, never once asking if I hated pink the most.

Emily loved wearing dresses, so they bought me a closet full of princess gowns, never knowing I dreaded wearing them.

Just thinking about dresses brought back the visceral fear of my stepfather's hands, reaching beneath my skirt in my childhood.

Just when I thought I had finally escaped hell, overjoyed to be welcomed home by my birth parents, I found a new nightmare awaited me.

When my parents learned of my experiences at my adoptive parents' house, they weren't heartbroken, but disgusted.

They felt I was dirty, unworthy of the Tristian name.

To earn even a sliver of their affection, I forced myself to mimic Emily's every move, her tone of voice, her walk, willingly becoming Emily's shadow.

But what did I get in return?

My parents' resentment: "You wicked girl, why won't you leave your sister alone?"

My brother Justin's retaliation: "You tore our family apart, why did you ever come back!"

My fianc Lucas's disdain: "Damaged goods, what right do you have to marry me?"

I had lived as Emily's shadow for seven years, eclipsed by her 'halo.'

Starting today, I wouldn't do it anymore.

Their love, I no longer needed.

...

I walked downstairs with my bag, finding the living room filled with laughter and cheerful chatter.

They were planning a grand welcome party for Emily.

Emily cried, tears streaming as she buried her face in Mom and Dad's arms.

"Daddy, Mommy, I can finally come home!"

Justin, his eyes red-rimmed, stroked her hair with a tenderness I had never seen directed at me.

"Don't be afraid. I'm here now. No one in this house will ever hurt you again."

Lucas gazed at Emily with profound affection, his voice soft, intimate. "Emily, I'll protect you from now on."

Emily's ears flushed scarlet at his words.

Seeing this, Mom and Dad beamed with joyful smiles.

Watching them so happy, I decided now wasn't a good time to leave.

Otherwise, I'd just ruin their mood again and get another scolding.

So I turned to go back to my room.

But Lucas, with his sharp eyes, spotted me.

He instinctively frowned, his tone unfriendly.

"Where are you going with that bag?"

Everyone's gaze snapped to me.

I didn't want to cause a scene, so I lied.

"To throw out the trash."

Emily blinked at me with a sugary innocence.

"Sylvia, won't you come to my welcome party this weekend? You're important, after all."

Before she finished speaking, Justin's harsh words slammed into me.

"Hmph, touched by that filth under the bridge, and you think you're fit for Emily's welcome party? Don't you dare bring that stench near her."

He paused, as if recalling something darkly amusing, then added. "Come to think of it, Sylvia...weren't you going to kill yourself? Why the delay? Fishing for sympathy again?"

Sylvia's POV

I lifted my head, my gaze slowly sweeping across everyone in the living room.

My father George wore a look of impatience, my mother Sarah's eyes were filled with annoyance, my brother Justin was gleeful, and Lucas was cold and detached.

And Emily, cowering in Mom's arms, her eyes holding a hidden excitement and anticipation.

They were all waiting for me to cry, to make a scene, to kneel and beg for mercy.

But I was tired of acting.

I forced a smile, which, combined with my scarred face, must have looked terrible.

"You're right."

My voice was soft, yet steady.

"I shouldn't delay any longer."

With that, I didn't return to my room. Instead, I walked directly towards the elevator leading to the rooftop.

My uncharacteristic calm evidently stunned them all.

"You... what are you going to do?" Sarah's voice, trembled slightly.

I pressed the up button, and the elevator doors opened with a 'ding.'

"Grant you your wish." I stepped inside.

They looked at each other, their expressions shifting from confusion to dawning realization.

Just as the elevator doors were about to close, Justin jammed his foot in.

"You want to die? I have to see it with my own eyes." He sneered, a cruel smirk on his face. "Lest you put on another act and claim we forced you to do it."

Lucas followed him in, his face devoid of emotion. Then came my father George, leaning on his cane, and my mother Sarah, supported by Emily.

The small space instantly became crowded, the air thick with Emily's sickly sweet perfume and Justin's cheap tobacco smoke, making me feel a wave of nausea.

They were my family, yet at this moment, they were like a crowd of spectators eager for a show.

Waiting to witness the final act of me, their superfluous daughter.

The elevator was silent, save for the sound of Justin lighting a cigarette.

He looked at me through the swirling smoke, his eyes contemptuous.

"Jump cleanly. Don't disgrace the Tristian family any further."

When the elevator doors opened, a cold wind howled, stinging my face.

The rooftop was vast, and beneath us stretched the dazzling city lights.

I walked past the expensive lounge chairs and potted plants, heading straight for the edge of the rooftop. The glass railing reached only to my waist; from fifty stories high, everything on the ground looked minuscule.

I turned around, facing my "audience."

They clustered a short distance away, their clothes flapping loudly in the wind.

"Seven years," my voice was a little scattered by the wind, but I knew they could hear me. "I tried for seven years to be the daughter you wanted, the sister you wanted."

I looked at Mom and Dad: "I learned Emily's preferences, wore pink which I hated, ate sweets I disliked. I thought if I was obedient enough, I could earn even a little of your love. I was wrong."

My gaze shifted to Justin, "You always said I stole your sister, that I tore your family apart. Now, I'm giving her back to you."

Then, Lucas. The man I once loved.

"Lucas, congratulations. You finally have a legitimate reason to marry the woman you love. I won't be in your way anymore."

Finally, my eyes rested on Emily.

She flinched, shrinking back behind Mom.

"You win," I smiled, this time the smile was genuine, a release. "This family, these people, they're all yours now. I hope you enjoy this grand gift I've given you."

My father George's face turned scarlet with rage. "You ungrateful daughter! Are you threatening us?!"

"No," I shook my head, "I'm thanking you. Thanking you for utterly breaking my heart."

I paused, changing the subject, my voice not loud, but every word clear.

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you. It was Justin who threw me into the homeless encampment last night. It was Emily who drugged my drink and set me up. And as for you," I swept my gaze over everyone, "you are all accomplices."

The air instantly solidified.

Emily's face turned ashen white. "Sylvia, what nonsense are you spouting! I didn't!"

Justin's cheek twitched. "You're effing crazy! You're slandering me!"

I ignored their frantic denials.

The seeds of doubt had been sown.

I took a deep breath of the cold air, then easily swung myself over the railing.

In that instant, everyone froze.

My mother Sarah let out a piercing scream: "Sylvia! No!"

My father George's cane clattered to the ground.

The cigarette fell from Justin's lips. He lunged forward, his face a mask of shock and a hint of... fear?

Even Lucas's cold mask cracked.

"Sylvia!"

Too late.

I looked back at them one last time. My eyes held no love, no hate, only a vast, hollow stillness.

Then, I leaned back and plunged into the night.

The fall wasn't fear. It was a rush of pure, dizzying freedom.

The wind howled in my ears, like a wild funeral march.

This was definitely faster than the elevator.

An ill-timed thought flashed through my mind.

I closed my eyes. The past seven years-the begging, the despair-flickered through me like a sped-up reel, then slowly faded to black.

Good.

I wanted none of it anymore.

The ground rushed closer. I braced myself.

Not to meet death.

But to be caught.

With a muffled thud.

My body landed on a giant cushioning object, rattling my bones and organs, but without the agonizing pain of shattered limbs.

I lay in the darkness, gasping for air. Beneath me was a colossal safety air cushion, specially for the fire department, already prepared.

It had been hidden in a construction blind spot on the side of the building, perfectly avoiding everyone's gaze.

The air cushion rapidly deflated, emitting a hissing sound.

The door of a black SUV beside me slid open, and a young man in a black T-shirt jumped out, his eyes exceptionally calm.

"Miss Sylvia," his voice was steady, "are you alright?"

I pushed myself up, my body aching. "I'm fine, Dorian."

He helped me up, swiftly moving away from the collapsing air cushion and into the car. The moment the car door closed, the outside world instantly fell silent.

The car smoothly drove out of the alley, merging into the traffic, like a single drop of water vanishing into the ocean.

Those on the rooftop would surely believe I had fallen onto the cold pavement, reduced to a blurry mess of flesh and blood.

Dorian handed me a bottle of water and a first-aid kit.

"Your new identity and phone are in the compartment; the safe house is ready."

"Thank you." I took a large gulp of water, the burning sensation in my throat finally easing.

I looked at my reflection in the car window-pale, disheveled, but my eyes were completely different from a few minutes ago.

I leaned down and retrieved the worn canvas bag at my feet.

Unzipped it, pushing aside the few old clothes.

Beneath them lay a laptop and an encrypted hard drive.

This was my real luggage.

For seven years, I had lived as a ghost in that house.

No one would guard against an unassuming presence.

So I copied the illegal contracts from George's unsecured computer.

I recorded Justin, drunk, bragging about his underground racing and money laundering.

And my "pure and kind" sister, Emily.

I'd already looked into her so-called sugar daddy. I knew the truth about her "humiliation" at the club-it was a stunt she staged herself to frame me and lock in her victim status.

The hard drive contained recordings, videos, transfer records, and chat screenshots.

Enough to send the Tristian family and Lucas's family straight to hell.

They thought that destroying me would leave them free of worries.

They were wrong.

They wanted me dead.

And indeed, I "died."

The meek, timid, love-starved Sylvia had died on that rooftop tonight.

The one who remained was born for revenge.

I closed my bag, the zipper's 'snick' was like the sound of a bullet sliding into the chamber.

"Dorian." I spoke, my voice disturbingly calm.

"Miss Sylvia, your orders."

"Begin."

Sylvia's POV

The car pulled into a quiet old alley and stopped beneath an unassuming residential building.

Dorian turned off the engine and handed me a key and an access card.

"Miss Sylvia, this is it. Third floor, 301. The apartment is completely secure, food and water are stocked, and the internet is a private line."

I took the key, the cold metal feeling real in my palm.

"Thank you for your trouble."

"I'm just doing my job," Dorian said simply. "If you need anything, contact me on your new phone."

I nodded and opened the car door.

The night air was damp, clinging to my skin. I looked up at the building; its exterior walls were mottled, moss clinging to the corners-the kind of ordinary building that wouldn't draw a second glance if abandoned in a city corner.

Perfect.

I liked this kind of anonymity.

Upstairs, I unlocked the door to 30

A faint scent of disinfectant mixed with the fresh smell of new sheets.

The apartment wasn't large, one bedroom and a living room, but it was spotlessly clean. The furniture was simple and practical: a bed, a desk, a wardrobe. No unnecessary decorations, none of the pink I detested, none of Emily's imposed preferences.

I dropped my old canvas bag on the floor and unzipped it.

The laptop and hard drive lay quietly beneath a few old clothes.

I didn't touch them immediately. Instead, I walked into the bathroom.

I turned on the shower, and hot water cascaded over me.

I closed my eyes, letting the water wash over my body. The wound on my forehead stung as it met the hot water, making me flinch. I reached up and touched it. The congealed blood was washing away, and fresh blood began to seep out again.

I looked at myself in the mirror, at the gash on my forehead from the vase.

When my father George threw it, his eyes were filled with disgust and rage.

He would probably never know that it wasn't the first time he wanted me dead.

Seven years ago, when the Tristian family first took me in, I was small and thin from years of hunger, my skin dull and dark-a living contrast to their gilded world.

Once, he brought me to a business dinner. I didn't know how to use a fork and knife. I mangled my steak, and the juice splattered onto a lady's designer purse beside me.

Her face tightened.

My father apologized over and over. At home, he locked me in the basement.

"How could I have a daughter so...unpresentable!"

"You are simply a disgrace to our family!"

His roar from the other side of the door was warped with rage.

I starved for a day and a night in that cold, damp dark. Curled in the corner, I was sure I would die there.

Then, Lucas came.

He secretly brought me bread and milk.

Through the door, his voice was as gentle as moonlight.

"Sylvia, don't be scared. You're just not used to it yet. It'll get better."

"I'll always be here for you."

That sliver of kindness became the sole light I clung to for survival over the next seven years.

Now, it was laughable.

That light was merely scraps tossed to a beggar, yet I treated it as a feast.

I turned off the water and toweled dry. The first-aid kit held antiseptic and bandages. I dressed the wound, clumsy but thorough.

After all that, I felt alive again.

I opened the wardrobe. Inside were a few new T-shirts and jeans, all simple, plain. I pulled one on, walked into the living room, took a bottle of water from the fridge, twisted the cap, and drank half of it down without stopping.

The cold liquid slid down my throat and into my stomach, extinguishing the last bit of burning pain.

Alright.

Time for business.

I placed the laptop on the table, plugged it in, and inserted the encrypted hard drive.

Booting up, I entered a long, complex password.

The screen lit up, its pale blue light washing over my face.

Inside the hard drive, hundreds of files sat sorted into folders:

George Tristian-Overseas Assets-Illegal Transfers

Justin Tristian-Underground Racing-Gambling-Money Laundering Evidence Chain

James's Group-Project Bidding-Bribery Records

Emily Tristian...

My finger hovered over Emily's folder.

I clicked it open. Inside, there was a single video file.

The footage was shaky, clearly shot in secret.

In the clip, Emily was sitting with a greasy middle-aged man, giggling coquettishly.

"Mr. Tyler, I'm really counting on you for this one," Emily said sweetly, pushing a glass of wine towards the man.

The man's hand went straight to her thigh, giving it a squeeze. "Don't worry, it's just about ruining your sister, right? Easy. I've prepared the drugs; she'll have a great 'time' with all those men."

Emily showed not the slightest reluctance; instead, she smiled even sweeter. "Mr. Tyler, you're so good. After this is done, I'll be sure to reward you properly."

"How will you reward me?"

"What do you think?" She winked, her finger tracing circles on the man's chest.

The video ended there.

I had bought this from one of Mr. Tyler's henchmen.

Emily probably never dreamed that the pawn she'd used to scheme against me had betrayed her for a price.

I closed the video, my face devoid of emotion.

They all thought I was a docile lamb, but they didn't know that a lamb, pushed to its limits, could become a biting wolf.

For seven years, while playing the part of their Sylvia, I'd been gathering evidence in the shadows.

Every one of them had a lever I could pull.

Now it was time for them to learn how it felt-to fall from the clouds and land in the dirt.

I didn't start with Emily.

That fruit, I'd save for last. It would taste sweetest once she'd climbed to her peak.

My eyes settled on Justin's folder.

My dear, hot-headed, oblivious brother.

He'd be the perfect gauge for the Tristian family's reaction.

From the pile of recordings and footage, I chose the shortest clip.

It happened six months ago. Justin had been out partying, drank himself blind, and got dragged home by his friends. As I brought him water, he was on?his group chat, bragging to his usual crowd.

"That Sylvia...she's bad luck. If it wasn't for her, my sister wouldn't be suffering. I've wanted to get rid of her for ages."

"Last time, under the bridge...those homeless guys were useless. Should've filmed it and leaked it. Would've ruined her for good."

On the recording, his voice was slurred, but every word dripped with hate.

I edited the audio, cutting out his friends' voices until only his drunken monologue remained.

Then, I hacked into the city's most exclusive?supercar club's group chat.

Justin was a member-one of the loudest ones.

What he cared about most was his rep-his standing with the crew.

I created a burner account and dropped the recording like a piece of hot gossip.

"You won't believe this. Tristan Group's golden boy, drunk off his ass, confessing to everything he did to his own sister."

Having done all that, I closed my laptop.

The clock read three in the morning.

The grand rooftop finale must have reached the police by now.

I turned on the TV to the local news channel.

A breaking news banner scrolled across the bottom of the screen:

"BREAKING: Sylvia Tristian, daughter of Tristian Group's chairman, fell to her death early this morning from the 50th floor of Hua Ding Tower. Police are investigating."

Fell to her death.

Four words. They wrote the final period on my twenty-four years.

I?watched, a faint smile on my lips.

No need to rush.

The real show was just beginning.