Not His Bride to Ruin

The night before our wedding, my fiancé, Lachlan Bancroft, the heir to the Bancroft Corporation, demanded that his mistress, Sienna, be my maid of honor.

To everyone's surprise, I calmly agreed. I even arranged for Vanity Fair to feature Sienna in my place for an exclusive pre-wedding interview with Lachlan.

In my past life, my fierce opposition had triggered a vicious campaign of cyberbullying orchestrated by Sienna, and Lachlan had retaliated against me to defend her. He conspired with our business rivals to seize my family's crucial waterfront development project, then stood by and watched as my father suffered a fatal heart attack.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was back at the exact moment Lachlan was demanding control of the development project.

This time, without the Prescott family fortune to prop him up, I was eager to see how Lachlan Bancroft would survive in Boston.

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1

"Father, I agree to his arrangement."

The moment the words left my mouth, my father's face darkened.

I am the sole heir to the Prescott family—one of Boston's oldest shipping dynasties—and a Harvard-educated, top-tier architect.

Our wedding was an event that everyone who was anyone in Boston high society planned to attend; even my business partner from Austin—the founder of the Covington Group—was flying in for the occasion.

This wasn't just a personal insult; it was a blatant humiliation of the entire Prescott family.

Lachlan Bancroft, however, was ecstatic.

"Aveline, I knew you'd understand. We grew up together, after all. You're the kindest woman I know; I knew you'd be reasonable about this."

"Don't worry, you'll always be the one I love most. Once this is all over, she'll quietly step out of the picture. She won't be a problem."

I lowered my eyes, concealing the hatred that was about to boil over.

The pained, desperate face of my father during his heart attack, his cold, stiff body—the images flashed before my eyes.

I stared at the hypocrisy etched onto his face, fighting the urge to strangle him with my bare hands.

I crushed the murderous rage rising in my throat and forced a smile.

"It's just the maid of honor position. As long as you're happy, I don't care."

Lachlan froze, studying me with suspicion. "Aveline, you aren't being sarcastic, are you? If you're truly unhappy, then… I'll just tell Sienna she can't come. We'll do it without her."

He watched me, testing me, but I caught the malicious glint in his eyes.

He knew better than anyone what this marriage alliance meant to him.

His family's business had been running on fumes for years, its cash flow completely fractured. One wrong move, and the entire Bancroft Corporation would be torn to shreds by creditors and competitors.

To fill this massive funding gap and survive the crisis, he had to rely on the Prescott family.

In both this life and the last, he was so bewitched by Sienna's meticulously crafted persona—a stylish, sweet, and ambitious go-getter—that he couldn't face his own desperate reality.

"Lachlan, we've known each other for so many years. Do I look like I'm angry?"

"You know I've loved you since we were kids. Marrying you is my lifelong dream. I know you're only doing this because you pity Sienna. You're just too kind… and that's one of the things I love about you."

A brilliant smile bloomed on Lachlan's face, and he grabbed my hand.