Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

I held my burning cheek, my throat closing up completely.
"Mom... I wasn't trying to ruin anything—"
"Stop!" she screamed. "I am NOT your mother! Don't you ever fucking call me that again!"
Every word from Mrs. Farrell felt like a knife twisting in my chest.
"You make me physically sick when you call me that. I wish you'd just fucking disappear. Every time I see your face, it reminds me how badly I failed my Katherine!"
Five years ago, my leukemia diagnosis exposed everything. DNA tests revealed I wasn't their biological daughter.
The truth came out: our nanny had switched two babies at birth.
When the Farrells finally found Katherine, she was working under the table in Japan, barely surviving on scraps while drowning in debt.
That same day? I was begging Timothy to blow our savings on some luxury graduation trip to the Maldives.
Their real daughter was struggling to eat while I—the nanny's kid—lived like a princess in their penthouse.
What mother wouldn't hate me for that?
Sharp pain lanced through my chest as tears burned behind my eyes.
When I stayed silent, Mrs. Farrell shoved me hard.
"Say something! You came back to destroy her wedding, didn't you?"
I stumbled backward and my surgical scar slammed into the sharp edge of a table.
White-hot agony shot through my abdomen. I couldn't breathe, couldn't stand up straight.
"Mom, stop it." Katherine appeared beside me, catching my arm. "Leave Skylar alone. My assistant booked her—she didn't know it was my wedding."
"The whole baby thing wasn't her fault. She's as much a victim as anyone."
The second Katherine's face clouded with concern, Mrs. Farrell's anger melted into maternal worry.
Just like she used to do for me—smoothing away every frown with gentle fingers.
*"My sweet Skylar shouldn't look so worried. Mommy's little princess doesn't deserve a single tear."*
Now she said: "Sweetheart, we need a different singer. She's bad luck."
I forced myself upright, swallowing the pain. I tried to sound casual, but my voice came out shaky and broken.
"Yeah, no problem. I'll just... I should go..."
I turned toward the exit and crashed straight into Timothy's chest.
He stepped back automatically, then his eyes caught the fresh red handprint blazing across my face. For just a second, something flickered in his expression.
I couldn't handle seeing whatever that was, so I kept my head down and pushed past him.
Rachel had already left for another appointment, so I called an Uber.
I cracked the window, letting the brutal December wind cut through me. Somehow the cold felt appropriate.
My phone buzzed with a friend request from Katherine. After staring at it for way too long, I accepted.
Her first message was immediate: *"Skylar, please don't hate Mom for what she said. I'm so sorry she hurt you. I hope you can forgive her."*
Then: *"My wedding's in three days and there's no time to find another singer. Would you still be willing to perform? I'd really appreciate it."*
My fingers felt numb as I stared at the screen.
I clicked through to Katherine's Instagram. Her pinned post was a photo of two hands with matching rings next to a bouquet of white roses.
The caption: *"February 14, 2022 - My first love began on the most romantic snowy night ❄️?"*
February 14th.
Less than two weeks after I'd ripped Timothy's heart out and left for Europe.
The betrayal hit me like a physical blow. My chest felt hollow, scraped raw.
But then I caught myself. What right did I have to feel betrayed? I'd told him myself: *"Nobody's irreplaceable, Timothy."*
He'd just taken my advice faster than I expected.
Good for him, right?
The Uber stopped outside my crappy apartment building. I paid through the app and ran toward the entrance, desperate to escape the cold.
But there in the shadows by the door stood a figure that made my heart stop.
Timothy leaned against the brick wall, still in his white dress shirt with a black coat thrown over it. The streetlight carved sharp angles across his face.
"How the hell did you find my address?" The question came out harsher than I meant.
"Police report," he said without emotion. "You listed your home address."
"Right." God, I felt stupid. "What do you want?"
His jaw tightened: "Katherine and I are getting married in three days. I'm not letting our history fuck that up for her."
"Turn down the wedding gig. I'll pay you whatever you would've made."
So that's why he tracked me down. Not concern, not curiosity about why Mrs. Farrell had slapped me. Just cleaning up loose ends.
"I don't need your money."
I wasn't being proud—okay, maybe a little. But we didn't even have a signed contract.
Timothy pulled out his phone anyway, clearly prepared to stand there until I gave in.
My pride wasn't worth freezing to death, so I opened PayPal.
Five thousand dollars appeared in my account instantly. His profile picture flashed on screen: a cute cartoon drawing of him and Katherine in wedding gear.
Perfect couple. Perfect life.
Timothy started walking toward the street, moving like he couldn't get away fast enough.
Then he stopped and turned back one more time.
"Skylar." My name sounded cold and formal in his mouth. "If we see each other around, don't say hi. Don't wave. Nothing. I want Katherine to think we're complete strangers."
*Because that's what we are now,* his tone implied.