Not The Billionaires Replacement Bride

I stared at that luxurious house. The house that caused my mother to leave me and my father. A house like a palace but filled with monsters inside. I smiled bitterly. If only my father hadn't forced me to come here to deliver the wedding gift. I didn't want to come on my own.

I exhaled and got out of the car. How long had it been since I last saw the woman who was supposed to be my mother? A year? Two years? Ah, yes. Fifteen years. Once again, I smiled bitterly. I didn't hate my "mother," or more accurately, my father forbade me from hating her. A wicked woman who took my sister and left my father just because he went bankrupt and hit rock bottom.

My father, a good man, always forgiving but ultimately abandoned. Sorry, I'm not a gentle-hearted girl like my father. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Because even though my father instilled goodness in me, I grew up to be a cunning girl like my mother.

The servants looked at me with their mouths agape. Why? Are you surprised? Of course, they would be shocked to see me, the famous bride-to-be known for being gentle, loving, and ethical, walking freely. Hmm, one more fact I need to tell you. My sister and I are twins. Identical twins. I, the older one, was born five minutes before her, the obedient and gentle girl.

Ugh. I even want to spit on her. Like mother, like daughter. See, even when we were ten years old, my younger twin knew what would benefit her more. Living with a poor and miserable father or choosing to leave with her mother and prepare for a more comfortable life. Hate? No. My father said I shouldn't hate. "It will only rot your heart," he always said.

Okay, I won't hate. But if I feel disgusted? Is that okay?

My stiletto tapped the marble floor with a resounding echo. Only in my ears, of course, given the crowd's noise; it couldn't possibly be quiet, right?

The large teakwood door with intricate carvings swung wide open, and the bustling sounds of servants moving around with their decorations filled the air. With confidence, I entered the magnificent house, searching for someone I hoped I could still recognize after not seeing her for nearly a third of my life.

"Mommy, that's Karen!" A young boy pointed towards me. I glanced in his direction. Judging by his stature, he might be around 10 or 11 years old. His shout made several adults turn their gaze towards me. Smile? I'm not a friendly person. Sorry about that. My smiles are expensive.

"Sorry, I'm not Karenina," I replied cynically. "I'm here to find Mrs. Caitlyn," I said flatly.

A beautiful woman with a well-maintained face, an undoubtedly expensive and sleek dress, looked in my direction. "Ariana..." she whispered softly. Apparently, she still remembered my name. Should I smile? Or laugh?

With a quick yet graceful movement, the woman approached, extending her arms as if to hug me. But I recoiled. Sorry, it's just a reflex. To me, she was more like a germ to be avoided than a 'Mother' to be loved.

"Don't. Dare. Approach. And touch me," I said, enunciating each syllable. The woman froze. So did the people around. "I didn't come here to be warmly welcomed. I just came to deliver this." I handed over a gift, a check left by my father for my sister. Where's my twin? I didn't see her.

The woman in front of me reached for the paper, then began to cry softly. Sad? My heart had gone numb a long time ago. That's why I didn't feel touched at all. "Alright. My business here is done. I have to go." I turned to leave.

"Wait," she pleaded. I paused for a moment. "Please, Ariana. Please, Mama." She begged softly. I turned to look at her. She gazed at me with hopeful eyes. "Ka-Karen. She's gone. Please help Mama." She asked again.