Revenge Wears a White Dress

Revenge Wears a White Dress

Bing Caratozzolo

5.0
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On the eve of my dream wedding, everything seemed perfect with my charming fiancé, Ethan Blackwood. Our partnership was built on mutual respect and shared ambitions, or so I believed. Then, his mother raised a toast to Chloe Hayes, the "dead" childhood friend Ethan rarely spoke of, the girl who supposedly died saving him. The next day, as I walked down the aisle, all eyes were on me, but Ethan' s were fixed on the church doors. A stunning woman stood there, frail but firm, her voice echoing, "Ethan? I came back for you." My groom' s face went white. He whispered, "Chloe?" In front of the city's most influential people, Ethan stumbled towards her, pulling her into a desperate hug, completely forgetting I existed. My white silk dress turned into a humiliating shroud as cameras flashed, capturing my public discarding. He finally looked at me, with no love, no apology, just annoyance. "Olivia," he stammered, "I... I' m sorry. I don' t know what' s happening." His attention quickly returned to Chloe, whom he shielded, calling her "fragile" and leaving me abandoned at the altar. The headlines screamed: "Billionaire Groom Abandons Bride at Altar for Ghost of Dead Girlfriend!" My parents, concerned only about stock prices and reputation, told me to "handle this" and "not look weak." I watched as articles about Chloe' s death vanished from the internet, Ethan already controlling the narrative to protect her. Alone in my hotel suite, I wondered, who was I without him? I was just the woman publicly discarded. That night, my phone rang. It was him. "Liv, are you okay?" he asked, but then Chloe' s voice cut in, dripping false innocence, "Oh, Ethan, tell her I' m so, so sorry." My rage finally boiled over. "Get her off the phone, Ethan!" He defended her, spoke of his guilt, then offered to "compensate" me. I laughed, a bitter sound. "You think this is about money?" I was a placeholder. The moment his ghost became flesh, I was disposable. He pressured me, "Liv, please, just try to be reasonable." I gave him an ultimatum: "You tell her to leave. You come back here and explain yourself to me, alone." Chloe wailed in the background, "Oh, Ethan, she hates me!" His voice hardened, blaming me, "Do you hear that, Olivia? Is that what you want? To be this cruel?" I hung up, the phone clattering to the floor. He was still in love with her. I was the third person in a two-person story. With cold resolve, I pulled off my engagement ring and threw it out the window. Then, I called my agent. "Book my flight. I want to leave tomorrow."

Introduction

On the eve of my dream wedding, everything seemed perfect with my charming fiancé, Ethan Blackwood.

Our partnership was built on mutual respect and shared ambitions, or so I believed.

Then, his mother raised a toast to Chloe Hayes, the "dead" childhood friend Ethan rarely spoke of, the girl who supposedly died saving him.

The next day, as I walked down the aisle, all eyes were on me, but Ethan' s were fixed on the church doors.

A stunning woman stood there, frail but firm, her voice echoing, "Ethan? I came back for you."

My groom' s face went white. He whispered, "Chloe?"

In front of the city's most influential people, Ethan stumbled towards her, pulling her into a desperate hug, completely forgetting I existed.

My white silk dress turned into a humiliating shroud as cameras flashed, capturing my public discarding.

He finally looked at me, with no love, no apology, just annoyance.

"Olivia," he stammered, "I... I' m sorry. I don' t know what' s happening."

His attention quickly returned to Chloe, whom he shielded, calling her "fragile" and leaving me abandoned at the altar.

The headlines screamed: "Billionaire Groom Abandons Bride at Altar for Ghost of Dead Girlfriend!"

My parents, concerned only about stock prices and reputation, told me to "handle this" and "not look weak."

I watched as articles about Chloe' s death vanished from the internet, Ethan already controlling the narrative to protect her.

Alone in my hotel suite, I wondered, who was I without him? I was just the woman publicly discarded.

That night, my phone rang. It was him.

"Liv, are you okay?" he asked, but then Chloe' s voice cut in, dripping false innocence, "Oh, Ethan, tell her I' m so, so sorry."

My rage finally boiled over. "Get her off the phone, Ethan!"

He defended her, spoke of his guilt, then offered to "compensate" me.

I laughed, a bitter sound. "You think this is about money?"

I was a placeholder. The moment his ghost became flesh, I was disposable.

He pressured me, "Liv, please, just try to be reasonable."

I gave him an ultimatum: "You tell her to leave. You come back here and explain yourself to me, alone."

Chloe wailed in the background, "Oh, Ethan, she hates me!"

His voice hardened, blaming me, "Do you hear that, Olivia? Is that what you want? To be this cruel?"

I hung up, the phone clattering to the floor.

He was still in love with her. I was the third person in a two-person story.

With cold resolve, I pulled off my engagement ring and threw it out the window.

Then, I called my agent. "Book my flight. I want to leave tomorrow."

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My mother' s voice cut through the party noise. "If it wasn't for my sacrifice, how could Kyle be so successful today?" She was openly boasting that she' d given my college fund to my cousin, Kyle. I stood hidden in the shadows, my hands shaking. Years of scholarships, working dead-end jobs, meticulously saving every penny for my Ivy League dream-all gone. "Ethan was never going to amount to much anyway," my aunt, her sister, added with a sneer. "Look at him now. A dead-end job, a miserable wife." My parents had enabled it all three years ago, when I'd been eighteen, acceptance letter in hand. "There's a family emergency," my mother had said. "Kyle has an amazing opportunity to study in Europe, and they're a little short." A little short for his tuition, but my entire life' s savings for my own education was apparently disposable. Now, Kyle swaggered through the party, designer suit, wealthy wife, a life that should have been mine. And I, Ethan? I was trapped in a mind-numbing warehouse job, just paying the bills for a small apartment I shared with a wife I didn' t love and a daughter who deserved so much more. "Ethan just doesn't have the drive," I heard my mother tell a neighbor. "He's lazy. Not like Kyle." The words hit me like physical blows. My vision blurred. The anniversary cake I bought with my overtime pay, a small gesture of connection, slipped from my numb fingers. It crashed to the floor. "Ethan! What is wrong with you?" my mother shrieked, rushing over, not to me, but to the mess. "You clumsy idiot! You've ruined everything!" My father followed, his face a mask of disappointment. "Can't you do anything right?" They stood there, judging me. My aunt and Kyle smirked. Later, my last twenty dollars, a fruit basket, rejected. "We don't need this cheap junk," my father said, not even looking at me. "Go make yourself useful. Your aunt needs another drink." That night, listening to them celebrate the man who stole my future, something inside me finally broke. The buried resentment ignited. It wasn't just about the money. It was about my life. And I was going to take it back.

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