You Chose Her, Remember?

When my dad died, my husband was at the airport—picking up another girl. She looked like me. Only difference? He actually loved her. I was just the stand-in. Three years of marriage? It cost me my dad... and every last shred of self-respect. But at least I finally saw him for who he was. I left the country in a soaked dress. That's when it hit him—what it really meant to lose. "Emily, I was wrong!" "Daniel Wilson, it's too late." Stand-ins don't get love. They get a new beginning. Chapter 1 I spent three years as Daniel Wilson's stand-in for his first love. Swallowed every insult. Every lie. My dad died because of him. And still, it took me walking away in a soaked dress for that cold-hearted Wall Street king to realize... He'd never loved her. He'd loved me. *** Dad died while Daniel was at the airport—picking up another girl. "Dad..." I dropped to my knees by the bed, vision swimming. His hand was still gripping mine, cold but firm, like he had more to say. Right then, it hit me—I was done. One month. That's all I gave myself. Bury my dad. Collect every receipt, every dirty secret. Then I'd be gone. My phone wouldn't shut up—more calls from the hospital. The $300K surgery drained me. I even sold Dad's favorite vintage car. But Daniel? "The company's tight on cash. Two days." Two days. Dad didn't have two days. I called. Hands shaking. It rang forever before he finally picked up. I could hear the airport in the background. "What is it? I'm busy." "My dad's gone." My voice cracked. "Can you come back?" Silence. "I'm in London. Business trip. Handle it. I'll wire the money." "But you're at—" Click. Call ended. I stared at the screen. His location from thirty minutes ago? JFK International. He lied. Why? A nurse walked in. "Please handle the post-death formalities." Buzz. A text from Daniel's assistant: [Mrs. Wilson, Mr. Wilson asked me to inform you there are important guests tonight. Please prepare dinner before eight.] Important guests. I looked at Dad's lifeless face. The weight of it all finally dropped. I went through the motions, numb. Back at the house, I opened the door—and froze. Laughter. A woman's. "Daniel, this place is gorgeous—it's just like my villa in Switzerland." "I modeled it after your style." His voice—soft. Too soft. In the living room, she was draped all over him. That profile—way too familiar. She must've felt me staring, because she turned. And my stomach dropped. That face looked so close to mine—just with more flirt and less frost. "You must be Emily," she said, eyes scanning me. "Tsk. The resemblance is wild." "Sophie, don't," Daniel muttered. His eyes never left hers. Sophie. Sophie Montrose. Finally had the name. The girl from his secret photo album in the safe—every page, her face. I was just the stand-in. "I'll make dinner," I said, eyes low. "No need." Daniel's voice turned ice. "Sophie hates the smell of cooking. I ordered in. Get the room ready—she's staying." "Which room?" "Yours," he said, like it was nothing. "You'll move to the guest room." My hands trembled. The room I'd lived in for three years—handed off like it meant nothing. Because it never really did. Lavender curtains. French vanity. That stupid lavender diffuser on the nightstand. I'm allergic to lavender. Daniel never noticed. Sophie leaned on the doorframe, fingering her diamond necklace. "Heard about your dad. That's rough. But maybe it's for the best. Daniel said those bills were insane. Now we had enough left for this necklace." I laughed, even as the tears came. The money that could've saved my dad? Now hanging off her neck. Chapter 2 That night, I sat alone in the guest room, wide awake, listening to them hook up across the hall. Every creak, every laugh—burned. I started scrolling through old photos and landed on one from three years ago, right after graduating Parsons. That night at the charity auction was when I met Daniel. He bought every piece I showed and said, "There's something special in your work. It reminds me of someone I once knew." Yeah. That someone? Sophie. At 3 a.m., a message popped up from Dad's doctor: [Ms. Egerton, there's something you need to know. Your father actually had a strong chance of surviving the surgery. But the day before, someone canceled the specialist consultation and delayed the operation. He claimed to be your husband.] My phone slipped out of my hand. Just—thudded onto the floor. Dad didn't just die. It was planned. Daniel knew Sophie was coming back. He stalled the surgery on purpose—so I'd be too broken to fight her moving in. To keep his so-called soulmate happy, he let my dad die. Just before sunrise, I heard their door creak. Daniel stepped out, spotted me, and froze. "You're still up?" His robe was loose, lips marked up like a crime scene. "Daniel Wilson." I didn't blink. "Did you delay my father's surgery?" His face twitched, then went blank. "The doctor said the odds were low. I just wanted a better specialist." "But he died." I stood. "While you were busy picking Sophie up from the airport." "That was an accident," he snapped. "I'll compensate you." "Compensate me? You think cash fixes dead?" I walked back to the guest room. Time to leave. Three years in that house, and nothing felt like mine. A few clothes, some paint, and what little I had of Dad. By dawn, I was packed and in the living room. Sophie waltzed out of the master bedroom—wearing my pajamas. She spotted the suitcase and smirked. "You're leaving? Daniel didn't say you could." Didn't answer. Just headed for the door. "Stop," Daniel barked. "Did I say you could go?" I turned and actually saw him for the first time. Handsome. Empty. Cruel. Full of himself. This was the guy I wasted three years on. The one who watched my father die so his ex could move in. "Remember this," I said, voice sharp. "You're the one who shoved me out." Then I left. Behind me, Sophie laughed. "She's got a temper. Good. Saves us the trouble." Daniel stayed quiet. Didn't chase me. Didn't care. To him, I was just a placeholder. And I was done. Chapter 3 I planned Dad's funeral by myself. Daniel didn't show. Said he had a board meeting. Funny thing though—during the service, his Insta updated. New post: him and Sophie shopping on Fifth Avenue, all smiles. "Poor Emily, married to a man like that," someone whispered behind me. I just stood there, silent, staring at the altar. After the service, I had to go back to the house. Some of Dad's stuff was still there—especially the painting he loved most. The second I opened the door, I heard Sophie's voice floating from the living room. "Daniel, I wanna learn how to paint. Teach me?" "I don't know how to paint," he said, sounding way too relaxed. "Then have Emily teach me. Didn't she major in art?" I walked in. She was perched on his lap like she owned him. When she saw me, she didn't even blink—just leaned in closer. "Oh, you're back? Perfect timing. Daniel says you're good at painting. Teach me, will you?" I didn't answer. Just kept walking toward the study. "Emily." Daniel's voice dropped. Cold. "Sophie's talking to you." I stopped. Looked over my shoulder. "And?" "Apologize," he said, eyes sharp. "For being rude." Was this real? My dad had just been buried, and he wanted me to apologize to his side chick? "I refuse." "Emily!" He stood so fast Sophie flopped off him, all dramatic. "Don't push your luck." "Push my luck?" I laughed, dry and sharp. "My father just died. And you're playing house with your side chick in our living room. Who's really pushing it here?" Smack. His hand connected with my cheek so hard my ears rang. I froze. Three years, and not once had he hit me—until now. "Who are you calling a side chick?" His voice went dark. "Sophie's my fiancée. You were just a stand-in." Fiancée. Of course. Sophie smirked. "Hear that? I'm the real Mrs. Wilson. You were just the temp while I was abroad." My cheek stung, but I felt nothing. "In that case, let's get divorced," I said. "Divorced?" Daniel looked amused, like I'd told a joke. "You think marriage is some game? You don't just walk away." "Then what do you want?" "What do I want?" Sophie stood, heels clicking as she circled me. "I want you to take care of me, obviously. I mean, I AM the real bride. For starters, my laundry needs doing." She pointed at a basket stuffed with her clothes. "I'm not a maid." "Of course not," she laughed. "Maids get paid. Do you?" Daniel watched like he was enjoying the show. I exhaled slow and steady. I walked toward the study. I was only here for Dad's things. "Stop," Daniel said, stepping in front of the study door. "Do the laundry first." "Move." "Laundry. First." No wiggle room in his voice. Sophie piped up, smug as ever. "Better hop to it, or Daniel's gonna get mad." One look at his dead eyes, and it clicked. This wasn't about chores. It was about breaking me. "Fine." I spun around and headed for the laundry room. Sophie's voice followed, way too happy. "Daniel, she's so obedient." "She knows her place." Cold. Chapter 4 I popped open the washer and stared at the heap of perfume-soaked clothes. My stomach turned. Every piece reeked of the truth—I was just a fill-in. A punching bag they could dress up or tear down whenever they felt like it. Right as I reached for the pile, Sophie's voice cut in. "Wait. That Valentino's hand-wash only. Don't ruin it." I froze. "What? Got a problem?" She strutted over and yanked the dress out. "This one's fifty grand. Don't screw it up." I grabbed it and moved to the sink. Cold water rushed over my fingers while I scrubbed like a machine. "Use cold water," she added, posted up in the doorway like a hall monitor. "Hot'll wreck the color." I said nothing. Head down. Scrubbing. She kept going. "Honestly? Pathetic. Top of your class at Parsons, and now you're my maid. But hey, that's what happens when you've got MY face." My head snapped up. Her face? I stared into the mirror. Two versions of the same girl stared back—no. She looked like me. "Daniel couldn't sleep the night he saw you," she said, all sugar turning sharp. "Said you were basically my twin. But a knockoff's still a knockoff." I kept scrubbing. The water turned freezing. "Hurry it up. Daniel's taking me to Broadway later." She stretched, smug. "That same theater where you two had your first date. He wants to relive it—with me." My hand slipped. The dress dropped into the sink. Our first date. Christmas. He'd rented a private box for 'Phantom of the Opera.' Guess even that memory was borrowed. "Oh my god, are you brain-dead?" Sophie shrieked. "My dress!" Daniel stormed in. His eyes locked on the soaked fabric. "What happened?" "She did it on purpose!" Sophie dove into his arms. "She's jealous and wrecked it!" "I didn't mean to." "That's enough," Daniel snapped. "I know exactly what this is. You ruined her dress, you replace it." "It cost fifty thousand," Sophie said instantly. Fifty grand. I couldn't even find five to save my dad. How the hell was I supposed to pay that? "I don't have that kind of money." "No money?" Daniel's smile was ice. "Then you'll stay and work it off. Once it's paid, you can go." So this was the trap. A dress. Just another leash. "Fine." I stood, water dripping from my hands. "I'll pay for it." As I walked out, Sophie's voice trailed after me, way too pleased. "Daniel, you're evil. Now she's stuck." "She was never leaving," he said. "A stand-in doesn't get to decide." I clenched my fists, nails digging in deep. Twenty more days. Then I was gone. Chapter 5 That night, they headed out to see a Broadway show. Sophie made sure I knew it. "Daniel says he's got a surprise for me—maybe he's proposing?" Daniel ruffled her hair like she was something precious. "You'll find out soon." As soon as the door clicked shut, I bolted for the study. My dad's stuff was still in a messy pile. I picked through it carefully—his last traces, dumped like junk. A photo album slipped out. Our wedding album. In every shot, I was all smiles. But Daniel? Not once did he look at me. His eyes were always focused somewhere just outside the frame. Now I got it—he'd been staring at Sophie, the version burned into his memory. I flipped to the last page. Tucked inside was an old photo of a younger Sophie, glowing like she belonged in a perfume ad. On the back, Daniel's handwriting: [Waiting for you to come back.] So I'd been standing in for her since day one. I shut the album and spotted something on the desk—an Equity Transfer Agreement. Thirty percent of the company. Going to Sophie. The signing date? Tomorrow. My hands shook as I read. The deeper I went, the colder I got. Some of those shares were backed by my dad's money. Daniel once called it our venture. Now it was about to become his and Sophie's. My phone buzzed. Unknown number. "Is this Ms. Emily Egerton? This is NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital. We've found some irregularities in your father's medical records—" I didn't even finish the call. The front door creaked open. They were back. "You're still up?" Daniel frowned at the lit room. "I'm going to bed now." I grabbed my dad's things fast. Sophie clung to his arm, glowing. "Daniel was so sweet tonight. He booked the whole theater just for us. Oh, and Emily—tomorrow's my birthday. Be ready." Tomorrow. March 15th. I froze. That was my birthday too. "What? Something wrong?" Daniel's voice turned sharp. "No." I dropped my head. 'Just one more day. If I can get through tomorrow...' "What do you need me to do?" "A birthday party, duh." Sophie grinned. "Daniel's friends are coming. You just need to handle the food. For eighty." Eighty people. She wanted me to cater her party—on my own birthday. That night, I laid in the cold guest bed, staring at the calendar on my phone. Three years of marriage, and Daniel had never remembered my birthday. Now I knew the truth. He didn't forget. It just wasn't mine to begin with. *** Sophie's screech yanked me out of sleep. "Emily! You're still in bed? Is the food ready?!" I blinked at the time—6 a.m. Dragging myself up, I stumbled to the kitchen. Counters were buried under ingredients. Cooking for eighty people, solo? They were gonna kill me with a spatula. "Hurry up." Sophie strolled in wearing silk La Perla like she was royalty. "Daniel's guests'll be here soon." I tied on an apron and got moving—chopping, roasting, mixing. Total chaos. "This cake's boring." She sauntered over. "Do it again." I looked at the fresh cake I'd just made, bit my tongue, and started over. "This salad's gross." "This plating's ugly." "Use the Christofle utensils—these are too cheap." She nitpicked like she was running a five-star hotel. I kept working like the unpaid staff. By 2 p.m., guests started showing up—Daniel's Wall Street crew. I recognized a bunch of them. "Emily?" Mark, Daniel's old Harvard buddy, spotted me. "What're you doing in the kitchen?" I opened my mouth, but Sophie jumped in first. "You've got it wrong, Mark." She smiled sweetly. "I'm Daniel's fiancée. She's just the help." Mark blinked, confused, looking between us. "But—" "She's right," Daniel said, sliding an arm around Sophie's waist like it was nothing. "Mark, meet Sophie Montrose—my fiancée." Mark's eyes locked on mine, full of disbelief. I dropped my gaze and turned back to the food. "Emily, bring out the champagne," Daniel called. I set down the knife and headed to the wine cellar. The Dom Pérignon 1996 weighed a ton. My arms ached as I carried it out. "Careful!" Sophie shrieked. "That's Daniel's favorite vintage! You can't afford to drop it!" Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was her voice. Either way, my foot slipped. The bottle crashed to the floor. Champagne exploded across the tile, golden bubbles catching the chandelier light as the room filled with the scent of $500-per-glass humiliation. Chapter 6 "You did that on purpose!" Sophie stormed over and slapped me hard across the face. I didn't move. Just took it. "Enough," Daniel said, tugging her back. "It's your birthday. Don't get riled up." Then he looked at me, all ice. "Clean it up. Meet me in the study after." I knelt down, picking up shattered glass. The shards bit into my fingers—blood mixing with champagne, sharp and jarring. Around me, guests whispered. Some looked sorry. Most didn't. The ex-Mrs. Wilson, on her knees, cleaning up the mess. Real classy entertainment. When I finished, I headed to the study. Daniel sat behind the desk. A small bottle sat in front of him. "Take it," he said, pushing it toward me. I picked it up. Birth control pills. "Why?" "You're not fit to have my kid." Flat. No emotion. "One a day. Don't forget." I stared at it, a bitter laugh bubbling up. Three years of marriage. He barely touched me. And now this? "I said take it." Sharper this time. I opened the cap, poured one out. The tiny white pill sat in my palm like a punchline. "Take it. Now." I popped it in. The bitterness hit fast. "Water?" he asked, annoyed. "No need." I swallowed it dry. Let the taste scorch my tongue. "Every day," he said, waving me off. "Go. Don't ruin Sophie's mood." I turned to leave. "Wait." He opened a drawer and pulled out a little blue box. Tiffany. "This is her birthday gift. Deliver it." March 15th. The day I'd been dreading. I took the box. That stupid robin's-egg blue. "In front of everyone," Daniel added. I gripped it tight, nails digging into my palm. 3 p.m. I told myself—just a few more hours. Back in the living room, the party was in full swing. A five-tier cake rolled in, candlelight dancing across Sophie's smug, glowing face. "Make a wish, Sophie," Daniel said, all soft. She clasped her hands, eyes closed. Then smiled. "I wish to be with Daniel forever." Applause. Someone joked, "So, Daniel—when's the wedding?" "Soon." Daniel glanced at me, sharp and deliberate. "Emily," he called. I stepped forward. "Mr. Wilson asked me to give this to you. Happy birthday." Sophie lit up, opening the box to reveal a full set of pink diamonds, glittering like betrayal. "Oh my God, it's stunning!" She threw her arms around Daniel and kissed him right there in front of everyone. I stood there, silent, like background noise. "Emily?" Jenny's voice broke through. Mark's girlfriend. "Isn't today your birthday too? I swear you and Sophie have the same one." The whole room froze. Sophie slipped off Daniel's arm, smirking. "Seriously? What are the odds?" "It's not a coincidence," I said, calm and clear. "I don't have a birthday." Jenny blinked. "Wait—what? How can you not—?" "Dead people," I said, locking eyes with Daniel, "don't celebrate birthdays." Then I turned and walked out. Chapter 7 Sophie's laugh echoed behind me. "She's really something. Daniel, where'd you dig up this little gem?" I shut the door to the guest room and yanked a small box from my bag. My birthday gift to myself—a plain silver ring etched with one word: 'Reborn.' Emily died today. Tomorrow, someone else shows up in her place. My phone buzzed. It was the doctor from earlier. "Ms. Egerton, we've discovered something serious about your father's death. Someone injected him with an unapproved drug right before surgery. That's what caused it to fail. You need to come in—we've called the police." Unapproved drug? My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone. Fury shot through me like fire. This wasn't just negligence. They killed him. The doctor's voice was still playing on a loop in my head when someone knocked. Four o'clock. Every second dragging me closer to escape. "Emily, come out." Daniel. I opened the door. He stood there in some overpriced Tom Ford suit, holding a white box. "Put this on." He tossed it at me. Inside was a wedding dress—ivory French lace, glittering with Swarovski crystals. The same one I used to stare at in Kleinfeld's window. "Why?" "Don't ask questions." His voice snapped. "Be downstairs in thirty." I just stood there, heart pounding. I changed. Looked at myself in the mirror. Three years ago, I pictured myself walking down the aisle at St. Patrick's in a dress like this. Instead, Daniel dragged me to City Hall for a rushed signature. Two hours left until showtime. "What are you standing there for?" Sophie shoved the door open. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. "Tsk. Not bad. Shame, though—it's mine." "What're you talking about?" She leaned in, all smug and whispery. "Today's my engagement party with Daniel. You're just here to model the dress. Test the lighting." A stand-in. Even now. "Oh, and one more thing," she added, flipping her hair. "Press'll be everywhere. Watch your mouth. Just tell them you're my stylist, cool?" My fists curled, nails cutting deep into my palms. Downstairs, the ballroom looked like a Hollywood set. White roses. Chandeliers. Red carpet. All glitz, no soul. "Get on stage," Daniel barked. "Photographers, start shooting." Flashbulbs popped as I posed like a lifeless mannequin. "Smile," the photographer said. I forced one. It felt worse than crying. "No, too stiff." Daniel stepped onto the stage. "You don't look like a bride." He slid an arm around my waist and leaned in, voice low. "Do a good job, or maybe I'll move your dad's grave to Potter's Field." Direct hit. Potter's Field—where New York buries the forgotten. I sucked in a breath. Flashed the kind of smile that could blind. "Much better," he said, satisfied. For the next hour, I was on display. Smile, pose, hold. They adjusted my stance, the lighting, the angle—like I was just another prop in their perfect shot. "Alright, looks good." Sophie finally showed up, draped in a custom Oscar de la Renta. "My turn." I stepped off the stage—almost. "Wait," Daniel said. "You stay." "What?" "You're the bridesmaid." Bridesmaid. At my husband's engagement party. With a side chick. "Daniel, don't you think that's a bit much?" Even Sophie hesitated. He shrugged. "What's the problem? No one here knows who she is." The doors opened. In came Manhattan's elite—perfect smiles, tailored suits, and glances sharp enough to cut. The emcee kicked things off, full of scripted praise for the "perfect couple." Polite applause followed. "And now, let's hear from our beautiful bride-to-be." Sophie took the mic like she'd practiced this speech a thousand times. "Thank you all for being here to celebrate our happiness. "Daniel and I were high school sweethearts. We spent some time apart while I studied in Europe, but now—we're finally back together." Then she looked at me. "There's someone I need to thank especially." My heart skipped. "My dear friend Emily," Sophie said, flashing that smug, knowing smile. "She's taken such good care of Daniel these past three years. I'm truly grateful." The whispers in the crowd said it all. They got the message loud and clear. Sophie stepped in front of me. "Now that I'm back, it's time to set her free." She held out a check. One million dollars. A million to erase three years of my life—and my father's. "Take it," she murmured. "It's enough to leave New York. Start over." I took the check—and tore it straight down the middle. Then again. Let the pieces flutter to the floor. "Emily!" Daniel snapped. I grabbed the mic. "Yeah, no thanks," I said, cool as ice. "I don't need a gift. Because Daniel Wilson and I? We're legally married."