I Have Three Brides, and One Will Kill Me

“You should wear it. Maybe then you’ll finally be half as impressive as him,” she said with a smug smile. “I’m just helping you improve, as your future wife.”

“You’re serious?” I asked flatly.

She nodded, completely pleased with herself.

“Of course. It’s for your own good. But let’s be clear—the gift isn’t entirely free. About the gala the day after tomorrow—Phineas doesn’t have anything decent to wear.

“So he’ll need your ‘Starlight’ tux.”

That was it. I laughed, stunned at her audacity.

“Bernice, the Starlight tux isn’t just some suit—it’s part of my family’s legacy. Only the heir of my family wears it. And it’s my wedding gala suit. What the hell gives Phineas the right to wear it?”

Her expression soured. She looked really disappointed.

“I really thought you’d come to terms with being a nobody by now. But clearly, you’re still delusional.”

I pointed to the door behind her, my voice cold and flat. “Get. Out.”

That night, I checked the villa’s security cameras as usual.

There she was—climbing into Phineas’s bed.

They didn’t even try to hide it, playing out their little love scene right in front of me like it was a game.

I thought she’d come back empty-handed and humiliated.

Instead, the night of the gala arrived—and I couldn’t find my suit.

The Starlight tux was gone.

Forced to wear a plain black one, I showed up… only to see Phineas, parading through the crowd, wearing my tux, holding Bernice’s hand.

People stared. Envious. Whispering.

And I understood—when asking nicely didn’t work, Bernice just took it.

She literally stole my tux.

As I walked in, the mood shifted. The room went quiet, tension cutting through the air.

All eyes were on me.

As soon as Bernice spotted me, her smile dropped instantly, replaced by annoyance.

“Oh, come on, Cyril. Can you not act like a damn child for once?” she snapped. “You swore you couldn’t wear anything but that tux, and yet here you are in something else. I call that drama.”

Phineas chuckled awkwardly, pretending he had no clue how valuable the tux was.

“Sir, please don’t be mad at Bernice. It was my idea.”

The way they acted, like they were in on some inside joke and I was the punchline… My patience cracked.

“Well, isn’t that convenient…”

But before I could unload my rage, I saw it—the sleeve. A rough edge. Sloppily altered.

I stepped forward, my eyes narrowing.

“You cut the Gainsboroughs’s heirloom?” I asked, my voice low but shaking with fury.

Bernice moved in front of Phineas protectively.

“I told him to. The suit didn’t fit. What’s the big deal?”

I stared at her, and I swear I could feel fury boiling in my chest.

“That tux is a symbol of my family’s honor. It’s been passed down through generations—stitched, patched, never cut. I told you that. Yesterday. I made that crystal clear.”

Phineas tugged at her sleeve, clearly getting nervous.

“Sir, I swear I didn’t know. Please don’t make me pay for it—I can’t afford that.”

Before I could reply, Bernice huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Cyril, you own dozens of tuxes. He wore one. Why are you so pressed?

“And honestly? He wore it better than you ever did.

“And this whole ‘don’t cut the heirloom’ nonsense? I’m your future wife. If I say cut it—we cut it.”

‘Typical Bernice. She wants the title, but she doesn’t want the marriage. She wants the power, but not the price.’

What she didn’t know? She was never going to be my wife.

I let out a cold, mocking laugh. My voice dripped with contempt.

“Bernice, what makes you so damn sure you were ever going to be my wife?”

Bernice’s brows knitted, but her tone brimmed with overconfidence.

If it’s not me, then who else would it be?” She scoffed.

“I am going to be your future wife,” she declared. “Let me spell it out for you, Cyril—once I marry into your family, I'll tear down all your backward traditions, one by one!”

But just then, the room buzzed with sudden unrest.

Grandpa stepped out from behind the crowd, his face carved from stone, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Bold words,” he spat. “You think you can rewrite the family legacy before even setting foot through our door?

“Unfortunately for you, you never were—and never will be—Cyril’s choice.”

His voice echoed through the hall, silencing every whisper.

“He chose the woman who shielded him through the hardest years of his life. The woman who raised him.”

He turned to the crowd.

“He chose… Geraldine Godwin!”

Bernice shot up from her chair, her face pale, her eyes wide.

“No… No way!”