My Groom’s Mistress Tried to Kill Me for My Fortune

The crystal chandeliers of the Plaza Hotel's Grand Ballroom cast a warm glow over the rehearsal dinner. I sat in my wheelchair at the head table, watching Chase charm our guests with practiced ease. He looked every inch the perfect groom—tailored tuxedo, confident smile, and that devastating Harper charm that had once made my heart race.

Now I knew better.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Chase's voice carried across the room as he stood, champagne flute in hand. "I'd like to propose a toast to my beautiful bride."

All eyes turned to me. I smiled serenely, the perfect picture of a blushing bride-to-be.

"Three years ago," Chase continued, his voice thick with emotion that I now recognized as expertly fabricated, "Anna's accident changed our lives forever. But it also showed me what true love means—sacrifice, devotion, and unwavering commitment."

I noticed Robert Harper—Chase's grandfather and the family patriarch—watching from across the table, his bushy eyebrows drawn together in skepticism. In the past week, Lorenzo had been strategically leaking information about Chase's financial missteps to the old man. The seeds of doubt were clearly taking root.

"To Anna," Chase raised his glass higher, "the woman who taught me that love means never having to walk alone."

The room erupted in applause as I reached for my glass with trembling fingers—not from emotion, but from the effort of maintaining this charade.

The doors at the back of the ballroom swung open with a soft thud that somehow silenced the room.

Lorenzo Harper stood framed in the doorway, his tall figure commanding attention without effort.

"Forgive my intrusion," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hushed space. "I wouldn't miss my nephew's rehearsal dinner."

Chase's face contorted with rage. "You weren't invited," he hissed, moving toward Lorenzo with clenched fists.

"Family is family," I interjected smoothly, wheeling myself between them. "We shouldn't exclude anyone on such a special occasion."

The room collectively inhaled. Chase turned to me, confusion and anger warring on his face.

"Darling," he said through gritted teeth, "this isn't appropriate."

"I insist," I replied calmly, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. Something in my expression must have unsettled him because he stepped back, his mask of control slipping for just a moment.

---

The night before our wedding, Chase entered our bedroom carrying two glasses of champagne.

"A toast," he said, handing me a flute. "To tomorrow."

I took the glass, noticing the slightly cloudy appearance of the liquid. "To tomorrow," I echoed, not drinking.

Chase's phone buzzed on the nightstand. His eyes darted to it—Khloe's name flashing on the screen.

"Work emergency," he muttered, snatching up the phone.

As he turned away, I quickly switched our glasses, placing his drugged champagne in front of me.

"Chase," I called sweetly, "aren't you going to drink with me?"

He returned, distracted. "Of course, baby."

He lifted the glass I'd handed him and drank deeply. I pretended to sip mine, watching as his movements gradually grew sluggish.

"Feeling tired?" I asked innocently.

"Mmm," he mumbled, collapsing onto the sofa. "Strange... so tired..."

Within minutes, he was out cold, snoring softly.

I rose from my wheelchair and stood on my own two feet, stretching muscles that had grown stronger with each secret training session. I walked to the window, looking out at the Manhattan skyline glittering in the night.

"Tomorrow," I whispered to my reflection in the glass, "everything changes."

---

The morning of our wedding dawned bright and clear. I sat in my dressing room at the Plaza, surrounded by makeup artists and stylists who fussed over every detail of my appearance.

"Five minutes, Miss Anderson," the wedding coordinator announced, poking her head through the door.

I nodded, my heart racing not with bridal excitement but with anticipation of what was to come.

My phone vibrated on the vanity. A text from Lorenzo: "In position."

I smiled slightly, just as another commotion erupted in the hallway.

"Mr. Harper!" The coordinator's voice was shrill with panic. "You can't go in there!"

The door burst open, and Chase appeared, his face ashen. "Anna, I have to go."

"Go where?" I asked calmly.

"Khloe—" He ran his hands through his hair. "She's having severe pains. She threatened to go to the press if I don't come immediately."

I widened my eyes in feigned concern. "Oh no! You should definitely go then."

Relief flooded his face at my understanding. "I'll be back before the ceremony. Just... wait for me."

"Of course," I said, my voice honey-sweet. "I'll be right here."

He kissed my forehead and rushed out, calling over his shoulder, "I'll leave a note with the coordinator about an emergency business meeting."

As his footsteps faded, I stood from my wheelchair and walked to the window, watching as he climbed into his waiting car.

"Time for war," I murmured, smoothing my hands over the silk of my wedding gown.