My husband asked me to let my sister be his “wife” for one night. He said it like he was asking me to pass the salt. 009

I didn’t contact Jackson until three days before the reunion.

Damen’s older brother answered on the second ring, his voice calm, cautious. “Carissa?”

“I need a favor,” I said.

There was a long silence before he replied. “What did my brother do this time?”

That told me everything.

Jackson met me at a quiet coffee shop downtown, and for the first time in weeks, someone actually listened without trying to make me feel insane. I told him about the reunion, about Nikki pretending to be Damen’s wife, about the rehearsals in my living room like I was already erased from my own marriage.

Jackson didn’t even look surprised.

“He’s been lying about his life for years,” he admitted quietly. “But this? This is worse.”

I expected pity. Instead, he gave me something better.

A plan.

The night of the reunion, I wore the black dress Damen once claimed was “too intimidating.” Jackson picked me up in a silver Aston Martin that made the valet nearly choke. When we walked into the hotel ballroom together, conversations actually stopped.

And then I saw them.

Damen had his hand pressed possessively against Nikki’s lower back. Nikki was glowing in a tight emerald dress I probably paid for. They looked comfortable together. Too comfortable.

For one painful second, my confidence cracked.

Then Damen looked up.

The color drained from his face so fast it was almost funny.

“Carissa?” he said, stumbling toward us. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Jackson answered before I could.

“She’s with me.”

The room shifted. People started whispering. I watched Damen panic in real time as his carefully built fake life started collapsing under the weight of one unexpected detail: his own brother knew the truth.

Nikki tried to recover first. “This is pathetic,” she snapped at me. “You really came here for attention?”

I smiled softly. “No, Nikki. I came because someone here deserves to hear the real story.”

Then I reached into my purse and pulled out the small velvet box I’d found hidden in Damen’s closet the week before.

The engagement receipt inside wasn’t made out to me.

And it wasn’t recent.

It had Nikki’s name on it.

That’s when Jackson slowly looked at his brother and asked one cold question:

“How long have you been sleeping with her?”