Never The First Choice

Four years ago, at that grand wedding, the bride Sophia Winston ran away.

To save his family's face, Matthew Sullivan knelt on one knee before me in front of everyone.

He held the bridal bouquet that should have belonged to another, his voice so tender it was intoxicating.

"Evelyn, will you marry me?"

In that moment, I knew it was a trap, yet I jumped in without hesitation.

Today, four years later, Matthew unexpectedly brought me to a class reunion.

He considerately peeled shrimp for me in front of everyone, his movements graceful and composed.

He pushed the entire plate of peeled shrimp toward me, drawing envious murmurs.

But no one knew I was severely allergic to shrimp.

Later, when Sophia suddenly fell in the restroom, I instinctively reached out to help.

Matthew shoved me away violently, his eyes cold as ice.

"I never knew you could be so vicious!"

I crashed against the doorframe, a gash opening on my arm.

Blood trickled down my pale skin, staining my dress.

Matthew didn't even glance at me, carefully helping Sophia up from the floor.

The tenderness in his voice was something I had never received in four years of marriage.

"Did you hurt yourself, Sophia?"

Sophia nestled in his arms, her gaze timidly sweeping over me.

"Matthew, don't blame Evelyn. I'm sure she didn't mean it."

I tried to stand up, holding onto the doorframe, but Matthew cut me off sharply.

"Evelyn Anderson, apologize to Sophia."

The wound on my arm burned fiercely, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart.

Sophia only had a minor scrape, yet Matthew acted as if she were gravely injured.

Meanwhile, I was bleeding profusely, and he didn't even notice.

"She fell by herself. Why should I apologize?"

I looked directly at Matthew, my voice surprisingly calm.

Sophia gently tugged at Matthew's sleeve.

"Matthew, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have been here..."

Her tearful expression made Matthew's face darken further.

"Evelyn, don't make me repeat myself."

Staring at this man I had shared a bed with for four years, I suddenly found him utterly unfamiliar.

So, in his heart, I would never measure up to even a single strand of Sophia's hair.

Four years ago, at that wedding, I should have been a guest applauding from the audience.

Instead, by some twist of fate, I became the bride's substitute.

For these four years, I tried hard to be a suitable Mrs. Sullivan.

I learned to dress in ways he liked, use the utensils he preferred, even change my tone of speech.

I only hoped that one day I could warm his cold heart.

Now I finally understood. Some hearts can never be warmed.

I pushed myself up using the wall, ignoring the sharp pain in my ankle.

Matthew was still commanding behind me. "Evelyn Anderson, apologize!"

Sophia pretended to dissuade. "Matthew, don't trouble Evelyn..."

I walked away from the restroom without looking back.

The cut on my arm still oozed blood, every step sending piercing pain.

Remembering my purse was still in the private room, I dragged my injured leg back.

My high heels were long gone, lost somewhere. My bare feet stepped on the cold tiles.

Matthew had specifically asked me to wear those shoes today.

Now it seemed it was all just an act for Sophia's benefit.

He always said, "You represent the Sullivan family's image."