The wedding ceremony below was so solemn. Affecting. Heartbreaking.
Vivian clung to my father's arm, smiling radiantly as they walked the aisle.
My father proudly surrendered his little princess's hand to his doctor son-in-law, who wore the face and smile of an angel.
All the parents dramatically embraced, consoling themselves over the crocodile tears that somehow looked pretentiously genuine.
All the guests, all the reporters, stupidly smiled and clasped, eating up that staged wedding like it was the most moving and touching event of the year.
Maybe it was.
Because of Vivian's alleged dying state, everyone would certainly see me as the villain for throwing a mocking smirk as I watched this wedding.
I had told Rafael there was a chance Vivian was lying about her condition.
But I had no proof. Just a sliver of overheard conversation.
He asked me to hold that information because stating an assumption, not a fact, would just make people hate me more.
He wanted people to love me. Not see me as the jealous twin superseded in marriage by her younger sister.
My fists balled tighter when they exchanged vows, rings, and finally kissed.
They didn't even change the ring I chose myself.
The ring I specially designed.
I chuckled bitterly.
My chest stung, my stomach churned.
Not from sadness.
It was pure rage. But I refused to shed tears anymore.
My eyes were wide open.
With every blink, I captured every moment:
Roman and Vivian's embrace, the radiant happiness of our parents, faces shining blissfully as if I had never existed.
I needed to remember this.
Record it in my mind. So later, in the future, when my heart grew weak again, these memories could burn the remnant of my soft spot.
The icy air conditioning in this small control room was a chilling contrast to the boiling heat of the anger I held inside.
Rafael was hidden somewhere and would appear later as the climax of the show, he said.
Then came the time for the family speeches.
One by one, starting with the Housleys, they delivered their scripted addresses, playing their roles perfectly.
I knew their script by heart—I was the one who managed it. I laughed bitterly at how funny this backfiring weapon show played out before me.
Now it was my mother's turn.
She was the only one who gave a short, unscripted speech.
Why? Could her conscience not stomach this circus?
There seemed to be genuine sadness when she mentioned how devastated she was that I couldn't join them for this sacred ceremony.
My father stood when my mother sat. I hugged and caressed my own arms, calmly preparing myself for what he was about to say.
The air in the nave shifted. Guests who had looked bored suddenly straightened their backs. The reporters snapped alert, focusing their cameras on my father.
"I still remember the pain my beloved wife endured in the delivery room—" His speech changed.
I clicked my tongue, meticulously watching the tensing expressions of every guest and reporter. This was the highlighted climax.
I gritted my teeth as my father emphasized how heartbroken he was raising identical twins, yet how different our health had turned out.
"On this special day, when her little sister happily stands at the altar, she is battling her hormonal depression. Her manic episode has relapsed—"
My bitter laugh chillingly echoed in the small room. The father I respected, the father I always obeyed, the father whose validation I always craved, saw me only as a vehicle to his own gain.
"It breaks my heart to tell the world about her weakness. We hid it to protect her. But, as a transparent Chief Prosecutor, I need to bring this up. So in the future, this won't rise as an issue to hurt my innocent family."
He was a good performer.
I could even feel the guests form a deep sympathy as they watched his tears—tears I thought he didn't possess.
I flinched. He was the most frightening figure in this entire show.
The attendees applauded as my father bowed, closing his speech.
I smiled wryly, wondering how the pity and respect on the audience's faces would change when I revealed myself.
"Miss, it's time." Rafael's man reminded me.
I nodded, taking one last glance at my reflection in the glass.
I straightened my back. It was common to not wear white to a wedding.
Rafael had told me to wear this white satin dress because the bridesmaid had been treated unfairly. I didn't need to respect the bride anymore.
I squeezed my icy fists hard as I descended the stairs.
From this side, I could hear the MC hesitantly calling the next speaker, the Bridesmaid—my name.
Through the curtain, I saw the panic and confusion flash across Roman, Vivian, and Caroline's faces.
Rafael had switched the MC's cue card.
Caroline immediately made an X gesture with her arms, signaling the MC to skip to the next event.
That was my cue.
I stepped out.
"I hope I'm not late." My loud voice rang out, snapping all eyes directly onto me.
Silence. Stillness. The bride and groom froze like stone.
My mother gasped, but her panic seemed more focused on my father's stern reaction than on me.
He looked stunned, but his composure held.
Even the MC's jaw dropped. He was looking at a ghost.
For God's sake. I was still alive.
I walked straight ahead, hearing the whispers spread through the pew rows.
"Oh my God, she looks more like the bride in the picture."
"They said she has a manic episode. She seems normal."
"Did the depression turn her into a psycho? Did she escape from the asylum?"
"Oh, she's wearing white. She looks like she's the bride."
I smiled faintly, walking steadily toward the MC and gesturing for him to move.
I saw my cousin Victor flustered, signaling two of his men to approach—to drag me out.
But Rafael's men intercepted them.
The hushed commotion caused the reporters to focus their cameras on the scuffle.
My father frowned terrifyingly and glared at Victor to pull his men back.
Indeed, he was more afraid of public opinion than God.
I mounted the MC's podium and pulled the mic to my mouth, savoring the horror on my family and the Housleys' faces.
I still didn't dare meet my father's gaze directly.
"I hope my presence isn't causing too much disturbance at this sacred event. Like you said earlier, you truly hoped your sister was here with you. Right, sister?"
I glanced at Vivian; her eyes were wide, stiff. She forced a smile.
"Y—yes… Of course." She answered rigidly.
Rafael told me to force the most genuine smile I could give right now.
I did.
"As your sister and your bridesmaid, I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry, Vivian, I'm a bad sister to you. But, I hope you can understand, as I'm suffering from Acute Mood Swing. What more was I supposed to do, when your marriage prevented me from being with the man I love, Rafael Kingston."
Roman's face turned pale. His hand dropped, releasing Vivian. His fists were squeezed tight, trembling, ready to shut me up.
Rafael was right. It was more powerful to unleash my anger with a smile than with tears.