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When My Boyfriend Chose My Stepsister
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After eight years of love, I only asked Daniel for one thing: to pick me up in a wedding car on our wedding day.
But the car never came.
I waited, held on, and finally went to the venue myself. There, I saw her–Daniel’s beloved, draped in the wedding dress he had personally chosen for her, tears streaming down her face. And Daniel stood by her side, watching her with that same gentle smile I had once thought was mine.
I glanced down at the missed calls on my phone, each one a reminder of my desperate hope. A bitter smile crept
onto my face as I realized, he had forgotten me completely, while I had been waiting all along.
In the past, I would’ve demanded an explanation, but this time, I remained silent. I watched them bask in applause, the picture of perfection.
“Why are you covering your face?” I finally spoke. “Your hands don’t look good, either.”
Then, I reached into my bag, pulled out the wedding ring, and tossed it at their feet. Daniel’s eyes flashed with a glimmer of guilt, but his first response wasn’t to stop her from wearing my dress–it was to tell me to apologize to
her.
“You’re still as unruly as ever. Is it really necessary to be so cruel to your sister just because I didn’t pick you up on time?” Daniel’s voice dripped with condescension.
“You’re making a scene. You’ve completely lost your grace. Maybe you shouldn’t get married at all! Just go home and stop being such an eyesore!” Helena shot back, squatting in front of me to slip on her high heels without a hint of concern for my feelings.
The crowd around us instinctively moved to shield Helena, clearly worried I might lash out in jealousy. They believed I was envious of her, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Yes, Helena was my stepsister, but she had never really lived with us. Instead, she chose to cohabitate with Daniel, a scandal that sent shockwaves through our conservative campus. When word got out, everyone assumed I was the one who tipped off the teachers, but in reality, it was Helena who had begged me to help them maintain their
façade.
I stumbled over my words as I tried to explain myself to Daniel, but all I received in return was a cold, hate–filled glare. Helena, unable to bear the gossip and whispers surrounding them, chose to break things off and study abroad
in the so–called socialite class.
Watching Daniel in such a fragile state tore at my heart. But amidst my concern, I recognized an opportunity. I shamelessly positioned myself by his side, and this arrangement stretched on for eight long years.
Over time, Daniel’s demeanor toward me shifted. Initially impatient, he gradually stopped pushing me away. By the end, he would bring me gifts from his business trips, and I convinced myself that this was love. I became the first
to back down during our fights and cold wars, willingly accepting whatever crumbs of affection he tossed my way.
What I failed to remember, though, was that Daniel had once hated me.
As I watched the two of them standing so close together, a wave of relief washed over me. In the past, I had clung
to this relationship, refusing to let go, but now I feel newfound clarity.
I wiped away my tears, sighed, and turned to leave, finally ready to walk away from the pain. Just then, I heard Daniel call my name, his voice cutting through the air. When I didn’t turn back, he rushed over and grabbed my hand.
“Go back! Apologize to Helena first, or I’ll throw the ring away!” His grip was firm, and I looked down at the ring he held, suddenly realizing how strange this all felt.
In the past, I envied those girls who wore wedding rings and married happily. I had brought it up with Daniel countless times, each time met with his impatience, his dismissive tone making it clear that my dreams were
nuinlanmo
When My Boyfriend Chose My Stepsister
countless times, each time met with his impatience, his dismissive tone making it clear that my dreams were
unwelcome.
“We’re not getting married right now, so why do you want a wedding ring?” Daniel scoffed, rolling his eyes at me. “I advise you to read fewer novels and stop fantasizing about being the heroine.”
He gestured dismissively at my washed–out clothes, but deep down, I knew I could be my own heroine. I had given up my career for him, sacrificing my dreams along the way. Now that I was finally on the verge of getting married, Daniel refused to show me the ring, claiming he wanted it to be a surprise.
I was filled with anticipation, but that excitement shattered when I saw Helena’s post on social media. There she was, wearing the ring, her caption complaining that the diamond was too small and not worthy of her wedding. The realization hit me like a slap. Daniel had given me the ring she didn’t want.
Fighting back the pain, I looked at him indifferently. “If you want to throw it away, go ahead. I don’t want the ring.” “I don’t want second–hand goods like you, either,” he shot back.
At my words, something snapped inside Daniel. In a fit of anger, he hurled the ring away, letting it clatter to the ground in front of me.
As I watched the scene unfold, I couldn’t deny the truth. Daniel didn’t love me. The realization hit hard, yet the chaos around us distracted everyone as they rushed to soothe him, completely ignoring my presence on the street. I let out a bitter laugh, crumpling all the veils and tossing them into a nearby trash can before making my way home. My stepmother sat on the sofa, her eyes narrowing at me with a mocking glint.
“I warned you not to go. If Daniel didn’t show up, you would’ve seen just how unwanted you really are. But you had to go and make a scene, didn’t you?”
I couldn’t help but smirk at her words. It was clear why she had been so adamant about stopping me. It was all about ensuring her daughter had the perfect wedding.
I shot her a contemptuous glance. “You probably knew that Helena was out partying at sixteen, didn’t you?” Her expression soured, the corners of her mouth tightening in rage. She fumed silently, jumping up and down with frustration, but couldn’t find the words to retort. In a fit of anger, she slammed the door behind her, leaving me feeling oddly liberated.
Daniel didn’t call me for three days. By the time he finally walked in, I was lounging on the couch, absorbed in my phone.
He entered with heavy silence, guilt written all over his face, and without a word, made his way to the kitchen. As I glanced up, my eyes fell on the table laden with seafood–an extravagant spread he must have prepared in an attempt to make amends.