My Sister Stole My Fiancé,So I Ruined Their Wedding

She looked up to wipe the sweat from her face, and I stopped dead.

Those eyes—they were mine. Especially the light brown beauty mark beneath her right eye, identical to mine down to the millimeter.

Back then, her hair was dry and thin, her skin rough and sallow.

Dust-colored, the kind of girl who could disappear into the mud wall behind her.

But she wasn't timid. Her cracked hands grabbed my sleeve and held on tight.

“Big sister……can you take me with you? I'll be good.”

I looked at that last flicker in her eyes, and nodded.

Dad didn't need convincing. The moment he saw her, he agreed.

I was supposed to have had a biological sister, but she never made it. Mom died in the delivery.

Her mother had named her “Sophie Parker”—a name that meant "hoping for a little brother." That was all she'd been worth to them.

When we offered money, her mother grinned ear to ear and let us take the girl without a single question.

Back in the city, I renamed her Rose Winfield.

Giving her our surname meant making her a real Winfield.

Giving her a new first name was a wish—that her life from now on would be full, and sweet, and nothing like what came before.

I gave her the best room, the best clothes, the best tutors. I handed her everything on a silver plate.

And in the end, she wanted my fiancé too.

The irony was, when Julian first met her, he'd frowned and said：“Why'd you bring home a knockoff version of yourself? No matter how much she looks like you, you're irreplaceable.”

And she had been just as stubborn“I don't need him to like me. As long as you like me, that's enough.”

I told the sales staff to go on helping her, then drove to the bridal boutique.

I still couldn't let it go. I needed to understand.

How had they gone from open mutual dislike to something that grew into love, right under my nose?

The wedding gown had been made to my measurements.

On Rose, who was seven years younger than me, it gaped at the waist.

Julian stood beside me in his groom's suit, hands in his pockets, watching from a distance as a clerk retook her measurements.

“She really does look like you, doesn't she? It's almost like I can see you in a wedding dress.”

“Only she's younger. More alive. And the way she looks at me—it's pure admiration.”

“Not like you. You've always been independent. You've never needed me.”

I turned to stare at him, unable to believe what I was hearing.

The soft curve of his smile told me everything I needed to know.

A younger, more alive version of me.

So that was it. That was it all along.

The knockoff he once sneered at had grown up—but not too much.

An eighteen-year-old “me.”

A “me” who depended on him completely.

Of course he couldn't resist.

My stomach turned.

I bit down on the tip of my tongue until I tasted blood, and only then did the nausea stay down.

His gaze lingered on her. He hadn't noticed a thing.

“You'll be the maid of honor at our wedding, right? Rose and me.”

“And you've done this before—help us with the prep, yeah?”

My mind went blank. “What wedding?”

“Still pretending?” He laughed lightly. “Why do you think we're here trying on wedding outfits?”

“Rose needs this. We can't get the license yet, so she's been set on having a ceremony.”

“You've always been thoughtful—you figured it out, didn't you? That's why you called everyone last night to push the date.”

“You've done so much for us. Once this is all over, the three of us should take a trip together. What do you say?”

Before I could open my mouth, Rose came over holding up her skirt. “Really?! I want to go to Hawaii to chase dolphins, and Iceland to see the northern lights, and Paris to shop for bags!”

The veil draped over her bare shoulders. She did look beautiful.

Sophie Parker had been a weed withering in a corner.

I was the one who had watered her with money, time, and love until she bloomed into the polished, delicate Rose Winfield standing here today.