The Don's Wedding Betrayal：The Real Heiress Strikes Back

The night before my wedding, a trending post from a local forum surfaced on my feed. "Tomorrow's my wedding. I swapped my fiancée's vitamins with sleeping pills. Her foster sister will take her place at the altar. How do I stop feeling guilty?" The comments were tearing him apart, but the poster didn't care. "The one I love has always been her foster sister. If it weren't for the fact that she's the true Moretti blood heir and marrying her is the only way to secure the alliance, who'd want to marry that shrew?" "She's head over heels for me anyway. Once it's a done deal, all I have to do is sweet-talk her a little, and she'll hand over every last cent of the dowry." Someone asked what he'd do if his fiancée refused to let it go. His reply was casual, almost bored. "Then I'll let my girl take the hit for now. Marry the shrew, get the money. Once I've got control of the rackets, I'll bleed the Moretti fronts dry and toss the shrew into the gutter as an apology to my girl." The comments exploded with outrage, calling him an ungrateful snake. Then a familiar profile picture appeared in the likes. "She stole everything that was supposed to be mine. Once I pull off the switch, not only will her fiancé be mine, her territory-backed dowry will be too!" Her profile picture matched his. A pair of matching cartoon dolls, the exact same ones the counterfeit daughter kept displayed in her room. I picked up the vitamins from my nightstand and swallowed them without hesitation. What they didn't know was that they'd counted their chickens far too early. —— The next morning, the sun was already high in the sky by the time I woke. I pressed a hand to my forehead and stumbled out of my room. The compound was too quiet. The kind of quiet that only settled over the Moretti estate when something had already gone wrong. The hallway smelled of cold espresso and candle wax from the chapel preparations, but there was no music, no voices giving orders, no soldiers moving furniture for the reception. I nearly walked straight into my mother. Her eyes were still rimmed with tears. She froze for two full seconds when she saw me, then gasped. "Bianca Moretti! What are you doing here?" My father rushed over at the sound of her voice. His gaze bounced between me and the wedding motorcade disappearing down the road beyond the iron gates. The signet ring on his right hand had stopped moving. "If you're here, then who just got into the Falcone procession?" I blinked, the picture of confusion. "How is that possible?" "Adriana gave me new vitamins yesterday. After I took them, I got so drowsy I slept straight through till now." The festive atmosphere in the villa evaporated in an instant. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances. Two soldiers by the front entrance shifted their weight, hands drifting toward their waistbands before a look from my father held them still. My mother was the first to react. Her expression turned to ice as she seized Rosalia Russo by the arm, the woman who had been quietly inching toward the door. "I kept wondering why a former nanny was sobbing harder than the bride's own mother at the send-off. Now it makes sense. The one you sent away was the counterfeit daughter you gave birth to!" Rosalia flinched and tried to pull back. Her eyes darted around the room, and when she spoke, the words came out in stammering fragments. "Signora, what are you talking about?" "The young miss overslept on her own. How is that my fault?" My father turned to the household staff, his voice sharp as a blade. "What are you standing around for? Go drag that wretched girl Adriana back here. Now!" The words had barely left his mouth when the house secretary came rushing in, pale-faced. "Don Moretti, sir, the Falcone estate just sent word. The ceremony is already done." My mother let out a cold laugh. "So they exchanged vows. So what? A sparrow doesn't become a phoenix just because you put it in a cage. A fake is still a fake." She turned on her heel and led the entire entourage straight toward the Falcone compound. I caught the rosary folded tight in her palm, the beads nearly white against her knuckles. I lowered my gaze and followed obediently behind my parents. Inside, though, I was smiling. The ceremony was the least of it. When our two families had sealed the alliance pact, Damian Falcone had insisted on a traditional wedding. A family with a hundred years of heritage, he'd said. Old customs that had to be honored. A veiled bride. A guarded cathedral. No photographs until the covenant was spoken. Now it all made sense. He'd been planning this from the start. The bride would be veiled the entire time, making it effortless for Adriana to slip in unnoticed. And given the timing, the deed was almost certainly done by now. Far more than just vows had been exchanged. Beside me, Rosalia could barely contain the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her tongue touched her lower lip, quick and wet, as if she were already rehearsing whatever excuse she'd offer next. That only confirmed what I already knew. What was done was done. When I was still an infant, Rosalia had deliberately swapped me with Adriana. It wasn't until we were ten years old, when Adriana took a bad fall and a blood test revealed the truth, that the switch was finally exposed. She was no Moretti at all. My parents had spent a fortune tracking me down and bringing me home.