He Faked Amnesia to Swap Me for His Step-Sister at the Altar

Everyone in the hospital room turned at the sound. Ethan's eyes met Clarissa's, and a flicker of guilt crossed his face—gone so fast she might've imagined it. His arm snaked around Nina's waist, pulling her close. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Why'd you take so long? The surgery's done already!" He nuzzled into Nina like a puppy seeking warmth. "It hurts so bad. Blow on it for me? Please, fiancée?" Nina's cheeks flushed crimson. "Ethan, how many times do I have to tell you—Clarissa is your fiancée!" Watching tears pool in Nina's eyes, something like reluctance flickered across his face. The words formed on his tongue, but what came out was: "I don't know her. Tell her to get out." Clarissa never imagined this. The man she'd loved for over ten years—his amnesia was an act. Her throat closed. She couldn't force out a single word. A childhood friend rushed to smooth things over. "Clarissa, don't worry. He loves you so much, he'll definitely—" "I really don't know him." Her voice came out cold, slicing through his fumbling reassurance. Under everyone's stunned stares, she turned and walked out. She moved so fast they didn't even have time to react. "Ethan, I told you that you were pushing it too far. Careful—she might actually leave you this time." Ethan's lips curved. His fingers traced lazily along Nina's curves. "Relax. She's easy to coax. One crook of my finger and she'll come crawling back." Outside the hospital, Clarissa sucked in a deep breath. The scene replayed behind her eyes. The wedding she'd dreamed of for so long—over before it even began. Fine. Then she had no reason to stay. She dialed her advisor's number. "Professor, that research project you mentioned—can I still join?" A pause on the other end. "Clarissa, aren't you about to get married? That's three years of closed research. Would your fiancé agree?" Laughable, really. She'd chosen medicine for Ethan. Hundreds of sleepless nights perfecting his prescriptions. Drowning in experimental data. And in his mouth, she'd become a boring, old-fashioned woman. Her voice came out hoarse but steady. "Don't worry, Professor. I've made up my mind." She didn't know how she made it back outside. When she'd rushed to the hospital, her makeup was only half done. Now she stared at her reflection in a storefront window. Mascara streaked down her cheeks. She looked ridiculous. Like a clown. Over ten years together. They'd finally made it. Ethan Vance—celebrated as a genius painter—had been shattered in childhood when his mother abandoned him. After that, he couldn't touch a brush. His once-flamboyant personality dimmed. He locked away his sharpness, even his smile. Clarissa was the one who stayed. Who walked him through recovery, piece by piece. Who chose a medical major she hated, wasn't good at—all for him. Through sheer determination, she helped him break free. He picked up the brush again. That small step took her five years. The day Ethan won the grand prize, he proposed on stage. In front of everyone. She thought that was their happy ending. She didn't expect Nina Winfield to suddenly return from abroad—bringing news of Margaret Vance's death with her. Nina was the daughter of Margaret's second husband and his ex-wife. Yet somehow, she'd been impossibly close to her stepmother.

She told him that before Margaret Vance died, her biggest wish was to earn Ethan's forgiveness. She had come back to atone for his mother. At first, Ethan directed all his grief onto this stepsister. He threw away all decency, grabbed her by the throat and cursed her, and even grabbed whatever was nearby to hurl at her. Nina was bloodied, yet she didn't retreat. Clarissa couldn't stand watching it and tried to comfort him, saying none of this was her fault. Ethan was unmoved, eyes bloodshot, roaring for her to get out. Yet she still came to the door day after day. In a fit of anger, he actually moved houses with Clarissa. Life returned to calm. She naively thought Nina's appearance was nothing more than a small interlude. Until, on the wedding guest list, her name appeared glaringly. She probed about it, and Ethan answered carelessly. "She said a wedding has to have the groom's family present. I couldn't win against her, so I agreed." His tone was light and airy, like he was talking about a stranger. Family? When did they become this close? Ethan noticed her expression was off, wrapped an arm around her waist, his voice seductive. "What, you don't want to see her?" "Then I'll cross out her name right now..." "No need. She is, after all, your stepsister. She ought to attend." Seeing Ethan act like it was not worth mentioning, Clarissa forcibly pressed down the unease surging in her heart and chose to believe him. But what did all of this bring in exchange? Back at the bridal suite. In the portrait Ethan had painted of her on the wall, her smile was so bright. Anyone would think that only with a heart full of love could he paint her like that. Irritable and exhausted, she sat down on the bed, and the mattress suddenly sank. It revealed a smear of black in the corner. She gently pulled it out and discovered it was actually a pair of black lace panties. A roaring sounded in Clarissa's ears. She had worked overtime day and night in the lab just to cure Ethan's hand ailment. And him? He and Nina, on the bed in their bridal suite, had done all the intimate things between lovers. Just thinking of it made her so disgusted she wanted to vomit. With a ding, a message came in on her phone. [I heard your wedding fell through?] [You won't be willing to swallow this anger, will you? Interested in working with me?] Of course she wasn't willing. The person who sent the message was Sterling James. He was Ethan's former closest friend, and also his current sworn enemy. The James family's business in Northridge spread across all industries, and Sterling himself was also quite interested in art. At one art exhibition, he met Ethan, who was just starting out. He took a liking to Ethan's talent, bought one painting after another from him, and introduced him to big shots in the art world. But after Ethan became famous, he was no longer satisfied with burying his head in painting, and also tried to enter the field of art collecting. Many times, he deliberately bid at the very end to win paintings Sterling had long had his eye on. Not out of appreciation, but because he wanted to prove that he was no longer that timid, inexperienced kid who had been obsequious at Sterling's side back then. [It's time to teach him a lesson too, isn't it?] Teach him a lesson? Clarissa hesitated a little. This man had almost occupied all of her youth. Countless emotions mixed together at her chest, seeming about to gush out. At this moment, a friend request popped up on her phone. At a glance she recognized that the person in the profile picture was Nina. She didn't rush to accept, but instead secretly peeked at her most recent posts. In the first one, she showed off in a veiled way: "He really has such a big appetite~ Even in the car it can't satisfy him anymore."

The night Ethan's proposal succeeded, Nina wrote through clenched teeth: "Does true love really have to be bound by worldly conventions? I won't admit defeat!" The day Clarissa tried on her wedding dress, Nina wrote through tears: "That wedding dress looks even more beautiful when I wear it. He said he thinks so too." Who "he" was needed no explanation. The dull ache in Clarissa's chest twisted into something sharper—a blade churning through her insides until every organ screamed. Nina had seeped into his life long ago. Only Clarissa had been kept in the dark. Ridiculous. She'd been foolishly dreaming of a future with him this whole time. The friend request popped up again. [Clarissa, it's okay if you don't want to add me. I just wanted to tell you—the invitation's been delivered. Remember to come to the wedding!] The piercing doorbell yanked her back to reality. The delivery person handed her a thick envelope. She tore it open. A sea of red burned her eyes. It was the invitation Ethan had personally designed. He'd handled everything wedding-related so she could focus on her research in peace. But now, her name had been crudely crossed out. Nina's name scrawled in its place. Even the couple's photo on the cover—Clarissa's half had been cut away, Nina's face pasted over it. She did this on purpose. Clarissa approved the friend request and typed furiously: [What is this supposed to mean?] Nina sent an emoji of a girl covering her mouth, giggling: [Finally willing to accept?] [You got the invitation? We were just short on time, so it had to be handled this way. Don't mind it, okay?] The smugness oozed through the screen. Clarissa ground her teeth: [Don't worry. I'll be there to give you my blessings.] Nina stared at her phone and laughed softly. Ethan's long fingers toyed with the hair at her temple, his voice lazy. "What's so funny?" She burrowed into his arms, her voice sweet and perky. "Nothing. I just think... the way you're treating Miss Henson, she's a little pitiful." "She just got our wedding invitation. She's probably heartbroken right now." After Clarissa left, Ethan had told Nina everything—how he'd been faking the amnesia all along. For a woman he could easily control, there was no need to hide it. As for Clarissa— She'd stayed by his side for years. Even when he hit rock bottom, she never left. How could she possibly bear to leave him now? Her wounded expression outside the hospital room flashed through his mind. He deliberately ignored the faint pang in his chest and snorted. "Don't meddle. When I've had my fun, I'll go back to her." He'd just had a thoroughly satisfying round with Nina, still drenched in sweat. He was in a great mood, humming as he headed for the bathroom. He didn't notice the flash of resentment and malice in the woman's eyes behind him. … On the wedding day, Ethan spotted Clarissa in the guest seats at a single glance. She actually came? Irritation flared through him for no reason. His hand tugged his bow tie looser. Nina reminded him softly, "The ceremony's about to start. What are you thinking about?" Clarissa stared blankly at the stage. She was sitting in the front family section—the seats closest to the altar. Nina had arranged it specially. She wanted Clarissa to witness with her own eyes: their wedding had become his and Nina's. Clarissa didn't understand why she'd come. She'd woken up that morning and walked out as if possessed, her feet carrying her to this familiar address. The wedding setup was exactly what Ethan had finalized with the planning company. Nothing had changed. Even the flowers were still gardenias—her favorite.

It's just that now, the person standing on stage beside him is no longer her. Whispers drifted from behind. "The bride is gorgeous. That dress must've cost a fortune." "The groom ordered it from Milan! And did you see her ring? He flew to South Africa and picked out the diamond himself." Murmurs of amazement rippled through the crowd. "But wasn't there supposed to be a different bride? Switched out at the last minute?" The words bored into Clarissa's ears. Her nails dug deep into her palm, but she didn't feel a thing. Ethan had always hated seeing her wronged. Whenever anyone whispered about her, he'd shut them down without a second thought. But now—who was he holding? Who was he gazing at so tenderly? Wait. Her eyes locked onto Nina. The pink diamond Ethan gave her—she'd kept it safe. So what was that ring on Nina's finger? He must have heard the chatter below, because his gaze swept over—casual, deliberate. "Don't spread rumors." In front of everyone, he lifted Nina's hand. "This is the only pink diamond I found." "Anything else out there?" A pause. "Probably glass." The hall erupted. Clarissa thought she'd misheard. The "Heart of True Love" she'd treasured like a priceless gem—glass? The stage lights blazed too bright. Tears spilled before she even realized. She rose to leave, but Nina blocked her path, wineglass in hand. That harmless smile. "Clarissa, I thought you wouldn't come. Our wedding would've been incomplete without you." Clarissa's laugh was cold. "You sent that invitation just to gloat, didn't you?" "What's wrong—afraid your little family reunion doesn't have enough of an audience?" Her voice wasn't loud, but the entire hall went silent. Nina's grip on the wineglass tightened. She leaned closer, voice dropping. "He and I share a mother, Clarissa. You'll never compete with that." "Besides," contempt flickered beneath Nina's smile, "you've only kept him around by guilt-tripping him over healing his hand." "All these years you've had him trapped—don't tell me you actually thought he loved you." "Oh, and one more thing." Her smile sharpened. "Your miscarriage wasn't an accident." Something inside Clarissa snapped. Her voice shook. "What did you say?" Before she could even reach for Nina, Nina pitched backward. She crashed into the champagne tower a server had just wheeled over—glass shattering, shards scattering across the floor. "Nina!" Ethan vaulted off the stage. That face—always so composed—was now twisted with panic. He looked up, eyes bloodshot, and glared at Clarissa. "What the hell did you do?" He helped Nina up gently. She was a mess—palm sliced open, blood welling through the cuts. A single tear slid down Nina's cheek. "Clarissa, I only wanted your blessing. If you couldn't give it, fine—but why push me?" Ethan closed the distance in one stride. His hand clamped around Clarissa's wrist, grinding the bone. The same face she knew so well—but the expression was foreign. Terrifying. His voice turned to ice. "Apologize." Nina's words still echoed in her skull. A few months ago, Clarissa had welcomed their first child with indescribable joy. Then she'd lost it.

She'd blamed herself—the overtime, the irregular hours, the chemical exposure in the lab. She'd cried all night, drowning in guilt. It never occurred to her there could be another reason. She didn't answer him. Instead, she met his eyes and spoke, word by word: "Ethan. Was my miscarriage really an accident?" Panic flickered across his face. "What nonsense is this? I don't even know you!" "Tell me!" She grabbed his collar. In the struggle, her hand connected with his cheek—a sharp, ringing slap. The room went silent. He stared at her in disbelief. When had anyone ever humiliated him like this? "You've lost your mind. Who would want a child with a woman like you?" His voice turned cold. "Get this lunatic out of here!" He waved his hand. She lost her balance and slammed into the corner of a table. Blood ran down her forehead. She didn't feel the pain. She laughed instead—laughed until tears spilled over. No wonder he hadn't looked sad when she miscarried. He'd only said, with that calm face: "You're still young. There will be other children." So he'd never wanted their baby at all. He'd killed it with his own hands. Looking at her ashen face, Ethan felt something twist in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak— Security arrived. She let them haul her up like a puppet, her body slack, her eyes vacant. "Ethan, my hand hurts so much…" Nina's voice came from behind him. He stopped mid-step. Turned around. "Hurry and bandage it. The wedding has to continue." Nina wasn't about to waste this chance. He shoved down the inexplicable unease clawing at him and fixed his attention on her. He'd almost forgotten—today's main characters were him and Nina. As for Clarissa, she could calm down first. They threw her out like trash. Even her glasses were smashed. She picked them up, wiped the lenses, and raised her eyes to the sky. Gray-white, like her heart. There had once been a piece of flesh growing on that heart—a piece called Ethan Vance. Now it had rotted through. Time to cut it out. Her phone buzzed. A calendar reminder: the closed experiment was about to begin. This phase had been designed specifically to develop treatment for Ethan's hand condition. Cases like his—psychologically induced—were rare. She'd never been able to gather enough volunteers for drug trials, so she'd been stuck running animal tests. This wedding was a reminder. Maybe it was time to shift her research direction. After all, research was her livelihood. The love affairs needed to be set aside. Sterling's proposal deserved serious thought. Her advisor texted, urging her back to the lab. She replied: There's one last thing. After that, I'll officially start the experiment. She took a cab to the cemetery. Her child was buried there—the one who'd never taken shape. The last bond between her and Ethan. She was going to say goodbye. To the baby. To the past fifteen years. The sky darkened. Cold evening wind cut across her face, icy and damp. She climbed hundreds of steps, her legs growing heavier with each one. The headstone had no name. No photo. The urn beneath it was pitifully small. When they'd cremated the remains, that handful of ashes hadn't even filled her palm.

"Baby, Mommy's so sorry." She lowered her head, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "But maybe it's for the best. A child who isn't loved shouldn't come into this world anyway." At some point, rain began to fall. The downpour blurred the horizon into a single gray line, dragging Clarissa back to another rainy day six months ago. She'd just found out she was pregnant. She'd rushed to Ethan's studio, bursting to tell him the news. But when she pushed open the door, his face was flushed—flustered, even. She'd been too excited to notice. There'd been a woman's coat draped over the sofa. Ethan said Henry had left it behind. Only now did she remember—Henry never wore colors that bright. Nina had been in that room the whole time. While Clarissa clung to Ethan, gushing about their future as a family of three, Nina must have been hiding somewhere, laughing at her. Laughter echoed through the cemetery, snapping her back to the present. Clarissa looked up and froze. "Auntie, look who I brought!" Nina's voice rang out, saccharine-sweet. "It's your son Ethan! He's forgiven you." She smiled shyly and flashed the massive ring at the headstone. "We got married today!" "Ethan." Nina tugged at his sleeve. "Call her Mom. She'll be so happy to hear it." "Mom…" The word left his lips like it cost him something. Nina practically bounced with joy. "Auntie—no, wait." She blushed. "I should call you Mom now too. I'll take care of Ethan from now on. You can rest easy." In the silent cemetery, their laughter drove into Clarissa's chest like needles. For years, Margaret Vance's name had been Ethan's absolute taboo. No one dared mention her—not even Clarissa. Yet Nina had gotten him here. Made him say that word. All those years of pain so sharp it drove Clarissa to hurt herself. All those sleepless nights. As if they'd never happened. She brushed the dust from her clothes and took one last look at the headstone. She was about to leave when— "Clarissa! Why are you here?" Nina clung to Ethan's arm, eyes wide with fake surprise, smugness barely concealed beneath. "Were you following us?" Ethan's voice cut through the rain, ice-cold. Clarissa should have felt angry. Hurt. But she felt nothing. She wasn't in the mood to tangle with this newlywed couple. Her scene at the wedding had accomplished nothing—Ethan only had eyes for Nina now. She didn't bother looking up. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm visiting an old acquaintance." "What old acquaintance? Since we're all here, why don't we pay our respects together—for the baby's sake…" Nina trailed off at the perfect moment, gazing sweetly up at Ethan. The numbness in Clarissa's chest shattered. She was mourning their child. And they already had a new one. She fought to keep her voice steady. "No. You're not worthy." Nina's smile froze. Her eyes reddened on cue. "Ungrateful!" Ethan snapped. "I still haven't dealt with you for bullying Nina at the wedding. She's being gracious, offering to pay respects together—and you're deliberately attacking her?"

With his words and actions, he shielded Nina so completely nothing could touch her. That gentleness used to be hers alone. Clarissa couldn't be bothered with them. She carefully set down a chrysanthemum. Baby, I hope next time in heaven you choose your mom well. Don't get reincarnated to me again. Behind her came Nina's deliberately surprised voice. "Ethan, why doesn't this headstone have a photo or a name? Could it be a pet?" "Honestly, I had someone check—this plot has perfect feng shui. I've always wanted to move my mom here!" She turned. "Clarissa, since it's just a pet, it doesn't matter where it's buried, right?" "In your dreams!" Clarissa's voice, rarely, rose. She was so agitated her chest heaved. Ethan scoffed and called over the cemetery manager. "How much is this plot? We'll buy it." The manager looked troubled. "Sir, this isn't a matter of money. This plot already belongs to this lady, and besides, the dead deserve respect..." "Name a price. Money isn't a problem." He was speaking to the manager, but his gaze swept over her—intentional, pointed. She understood him too well. He was warning her not to provoke him. But buried down there was their child. "Ethan, don't—" Nina's red lips curved into a gorgeous arc. "Ethan, don't waste words with her. Just move the grave. Our moms deserve the best." That woman who abandoned him and then regretted it—what right did she have to take her child's grave plot! Clarissa lost all reason. She rushed at Nina, and a hard slap landed on her face. "Touch my baby and I'll kill you!" "Y-you... you actually hit me!" Nina seized the opportunity to cry and collapse into Ethan's arms. Clarissa was immediately pinned down by several people. She'd already been injured at the wedding; she didn't even have the strength to struggle, let alone against these towering security guards. Others grabbed shovels and started digging directly on her baby's grave. The manager spun in anxious circles. "You can't do this..." Clarissa was pressed hard into the dirt. She tried with everything she had to lift her head, her voice hoarse. "Stop..." "Ethan, you'll regret this..." Her eyes were so red they were bloodshot, yet she still clearly saw the indifference in his gaze. Yes. He had stopped loving her long ago. So how could he care about their child? At that thought, her heart—already shattered—seemed to go numb. The next second, her vision went black. ... The sharp smell of disinfectant pulled Clarissa back to consciousness. By the bed, Anastasia Perez saw her open her eyes and sprang to her feet. "Clarissa, you're finally awake! You have no idea how worried I was!" She gripped her hand. "How did you end up like this?" Clarissa smiled weakly. A tear slid silently from the corner of her eye. Anastasia's expression crumbled with heartache, her tone turning sharp. "I called Ethan so many times, and he actually blocked me!" Clarissa gave a bitter smile. He must be "busy." Newly married—how could he care about a stranger? "Clarissa, what exactly is going on between you two?" Anastasia demanded. "I didn't find out until someone mentioned it—he actually married someone else? And the bride is his stepsister? What kind of mess is this!" "Did he hit his head in South Africa? Everyone knows how much he loves you. Back then, for you, he didn't even want his life..." "Forget it, Anastasia." Clarissa's voice was barely a whisper. "It's all in the past." A past only her closest friends knew about. Sophomore year of high school, right after the final bell. Clarissa was passing an alley when someone grabbed her and dragged her inside. If Ethan hadn't appeared out of nowhere and clung to that guy's leg with everything he had, she might have— The one who risked his life for her back then was the same one tearing her apart now. "He and I… it's over." Anastasia's lips parted, then pressed shut. Meeting Clarissa's gaze—hollow, extinguished—she said nothing more. "Get some rest." Three days later, Clarissa walked out of the hospital and headed straight for the airport. She packed light. Over the past decade, Ethan had showered her with gifts—anything he thought she might like, he bought. Every single thing. She left it all behind. A twenty-inch carry-on held her entire life now. Before boarding, she sent one last message. Leave according to the plan. Then she tossed the SIM card and got on the plane. The past dissolved into the clouds below. She never looked back—not once.