Chapter 1: The Forgotten Fiancée’s Curse

My younger half-sister—born to my father’s second wife—has become the darling of our family, and she and the Duke of Northfield are hopelessly in love as husband and wife. The Duke, utterly devoted, won’t even touch chicken, duck, or, curiously, catfish at our table, all for her sake. Around here, catfish is a staple on plenty of Southern tables, but not theirs—not if Delilah won’t eat it.

Honestly, it’s almost laughable how the Duke fusses over her. At family dinners, he’ll push away a platter of fried chicken, muttering about Delilah’s tastes, like the rest of us aren’t sitting right there. I catch myself rolling my eyes. There’s a bit of theater in it, like he wants all of Maple Heights to see what a doting husband he is. Sometimes I wonder if he ever liked catfish, or if he’s just putting on a show for the crowd.

Every time my older brother sees Delilah, my half-sister, he can’t help but sigh. “If only Delilah were really my full sister,” he’ll say, “wouldn’t that be something?”

He says it with this wistful, almost dramatic flair, like he’s the tragic lead in a Tennessee Williams play. He’ll shoot her a look across the breakfast table, shake his head, and sigh so deeply it’s like he’s trying to win an award for Most Melancholy. “If only Delilah were really my sister,” he’ll murmur, and the rest of the family just nods, as if it’s the most natural wish in the world.

Everyone adores her. No one even remembers that the Duke of Northfield was once my fiancé.

It’s as if the whole town’s got selective amnesia. At every church picnic and garden party, folks only talk about how sweet Delilah is, how lucky the Duke is to have her. Occasionally, a neighbor sneaks a glance my way, a flicker of pity or curiosity in their eyes, but nobody brings up the past. It’s like my engagement to the Duke never happened at all.

He never cared for me, that much is clear. Still, he personally requested the marriage license from the governor, then orchestrated a scene so I’d be caught meeting another man in secret—all just to make my half-sister a legitimate daughter.

It was cold-blooded, honestly. The way he pulled strings at the governor’s office, set the trap with such care—it made me realize I was nothing but a pawn in their game. All those polite dinners and stiff conversations? Just a mask for something much more ruthless underneath.

My reputation was trashed. And while I ended my life with a white bedsheet twisted tight in my hands, they paraded through town with a bridal procession of limousines stretching ten miles, envied by every soul in Maple Heights.

I remember that day like it was branded into my bones—the bitterness on my tongue, the bedsheet clenched between my fingers. Outside, the whole town buzzed, people crowding the sidewalks to watch the endless stream of black cars—every last one for Delilah and the Duke. The contrast was almost poetic. Or maybe just cruel, if you’re not the type to find poetry in heartbreak.

Afterward, my older brother knew the truth—of course he did—but he hid it, only sighing that it was my own misfortune, that I could never measure up to Delilah.

He never met my eyes again after that. He’d just stand in the hallway, hands jammed in his pockets, and say things like, “Some people just have all the luck, I guess.” It stung, hearing him chalk it up to fate, like I’d just pulled the short straw at birth and that was that.

Reborn on the day of the marriage decree, I swear—this time, nobody’s getting what they want.

The air in my room was charged the second I woke up—like a summer storm about to break. I could feel it thrumming in my chest, a wild promise that this time, things would be different. This time, I wouldn’t be the girl everyone conveniently forgot.

By order of the state, the Governor decrees: The legitimate daughter of the Harrison family is gentle and virtuous, with the grace and intelligence of a lily. Today, she is to be married to the Duke of Northfield…

The decree came on thick, cream-colored paper—the kind that practically screams expensive before you even open it. The county clerk waited in the foyer, hat in hand, while my mother glowed like she’d just hit the jackpot. The words sounded so official, so final. It felt like the state itself was sealing my fate.

Mother handed over a thick envelope with a joy that was almost infectious, sending the county clerk on his way after delivering the decree.

She pressed the envelope into his hands, her smile so dazzling it could’ve powered the streetlights. “Thank you for coming out, Mr. Franklin. We’re truly honored.” The clerk tipped his hat, tucked the envelope away, and left with a bounce in his step that definitely wasn’t there when he arrived.

“My child will be the duke’s wife in the future.”

She said it with a pride that felt almost foreign, like she was talking about someone else’s daughter entirely. Her voice echoed through the house, ringing down the hallways and into every room. I wondered if she noticed my hands trembling at my sides.

The decree didn’t mention my name, because in the Harrison family, there’s only one legitimate daughter. Everyone assumed this marriage was meant for me.

It was an open secret, honestly. No names needed—everyone in Maple Heights knew the Harrisons had one legitimate daughter, and that was me. The rumor mill spun even faster, churning out stories about the wedding, the dress, the guest list. People just love a spectacle.

I forced a stiff smile. She didn’t notice that, right then, she was the only one happy about this marriage.

Inside, I felt like a puppet—smiling on cue, nodding when expected. My mother’s joy was so blinding, she never saw my lips barely move, or the way my eyes slid away from hers.

My older brother’s face was stormy. “Mom, Nadine’s wild. Before she gets married, you need to teach her some manners, so she doesn’t embarrass us after she leaves. If it were Delilah…”

He stood by the window, arms crossed, his voice low and stern. “Mom, you know how Nadine is—always a bit much for polite company. Maybe you should talk to her, make sure she doesn’t embarrass us when she moves in with the Duke. If it were Delilah…” His words hung in the air, heavy as the August heat before a thunderstorm.