Chapter 1 The Replaced Bride

Every woman dreams of marrying the man she loves. So do I. Today, I married the man I've loved for twelve years—only, I did it under my sister Leona Fairchild's name. Though my sister and I share the same face, due to a hospital's negligence, I was sent to an orphanage as a baby. It wasn't until three years ago that I returned to the Fairchild family. As a girl with no roots, I never quite fit into the grand Fairchild Manor. But having grown up without parents, I tried my best to be careful and obedient, hoping to belong, hoping to earn my parents' affection. So two days ago, when my parents and sister begged me to marry Dominic Hawthorne in her place, I agreed without hesitation. First, because I love Dominic Hawthorne. Second, because for the first time, I felt needed by my family—and I didn't want to disappoint them. It's now past midnight. After the wedding ceremony, Dominic left in a hurry, not even giving me a word of explanation. Staring at the diamond ring on my finger, I feel a bitterness I can't put into words. The sound of a car engine cutting off comes from downstairs. It's Dominic returning. I rush to the mirror, quickly fix my hair, and nervously step out of the bedroom. I go downstairs. I take slippers from the shoe cabinet and wait by the door. When I see Dominic enter, I force a happy, wifely smile, place the slippers by his feet, and say, "Husband, you're back—" My voice trails off as I catch the scent of alcohol in the air—mixed with a strong, lingering perfume. My nose stings. Where had he been tonight? The answer is obvious. But I know my duty. I'm here as a substitute for my sister. My relationship with Dominic affects the alliance between the Fairchild and Hawthorne families. Though my heart aches, I still try to smile. Ignoring his coldness, I follow him upstairs and call out, "Husband." I look up—only to see him already removing his shirt. His toned, muscular body stands out under the dim, intimate bedroom light, strikingly sensual. My face flushes red to the ears. I quickly turn away, about to apologize, when a strong arm snakes around me from behind. Before I can react, I'm lifted off the ground. When I come to my senses, I'm already thrown onto the bed. The mattress is soft, but the impact was hard—my back aches faintly. Dominic stands beside the bed, looking down at me. His sharp-featured face is silhouetted in the moonlight. I can't see his expression, but I feel an icy chill radiating from him. The next moment, he suddenly speaks, asking, "What's your name?" "Me?" The question throws me into panic, but I answer, "Leona... Leona Fairchild..." I'm not Leona Fairchild. My name is Lydia Fairchild. But I can't say that. As soon as I answer, he leans down, one hand gripping my hair tightly, forcing me to look at him. He enunciates each syllable coldly, "Leona Fairchild. Right?" Now I can see his face clearly. His deep, dark eyes are utterly devoid of warmth—instead, they burn with bone-deep hatred. As he says my sister's name, his black eyes flicker with a dangerous, barely contained rage. Though it's the height of summer, cold sweat beads on my forehead. My heart pounds with fear. His grip on my hair keeps my face locked toward him. I can only stare back, nodding as vigorously as possible. My heart is racing. Dominic seems satisfied with my admission. His gaze grows even colder. He says, "Since you came tonight, you must be prepared. I've never been a good man." The instant the words leave his lips, I hear the sound of my red dress tearing. The next moment, he ignores my struggles and thrusts into me.