My father bobbed along beside her, nodding and bowing:
"Exactly! The betrothal gifts have already been paid, the reception's all set up. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste, right?"
Of course.
This was their real plan all along.
The family I had treasured my entire life was willing to grind me into the dirt just so my sister could take my place and marry my fiancé.
Marilyn, now thrust into the spotlight, dropped the sobbing act in an instant.
She blinked those big, dewy eyes and pointed at her own nose with a look of clueless wonder:
"Huh?"
"You want me to marry Harrison?"
She scrunched her brows in a show of hesitation, then gazed up at Harrison with a bashful blush.
"But would Harrison even like a curious little thing like me?"
Harrison looked at me, then looked at Marilyn.
"I like women who are pure and innocent."
"Not social butterflies like your sister."
"She's had eight abortions. Every man in the capital's already had his turn. Marrying her would make me the laughingstock of the whole city!"
"You're the real deal."
He tilted Marilyn's chin up and kissed her right there.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"Not bad, not bad! Swapping brides is a great idea!"
"Call it resource reallocation. Nothing goes to waste!"
"Right? All they need to do is change the name on the marriage certificate!"
"Every man would rather marry a blank page like Marilyn than yesterday's news like Sandra!"
Hearing all this, Greta's stiff expression finally cracked into a thin smile.
"Fine. We'll do what your family suggests. The bride is swapped."
Applause filled the room.
Everyone seemed to think it was a brilliant solution.
No one cared about my humiliation. No one cared about the lies smeared across my name.
"Wonderful. Truly wonderful!"
I let out a cold laugh, brought the microphone to my lips, and clapped along as I walked onto the stage.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"You want to cause another scene?"
"It's settled! Get lost, you shameless tramp!"
Greta jabbed her finger at my face, screaming.
I ignored her completely and pointed at Marilyn, who was curled up in Harrison's arms below the stage.
"You and your son are so sure she's a blank page?"
Harrison and Greta exchanged a glance, neither understanding what I meant.
Only Marilyn, still nestled against Harrison's chest, couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through her body. But her mouth kept up the act:
"I don't understand what you're talking about, sis."