The tension hung thick in the air as I stood there, a reluctant impostor in the groom’s place. The priest’s stern gaze bore into me, and I could feel the weight of the situation. The guests, blissfully unaware of the switcheroo, awaited the ceremony.

My mind raced. Jongin, my best friend, had vanished with his newfound boyfriend, leaving me to face the consequences of his impulsive decision. I glanced at the bride, her eyes wide with confusion. She was about to marry someone. Surprisingly, she held herself well.

The priest cleared his throat, and I straightened my tie, trying to regain composure. I had to play my part convincingly. The bride’s family held a reputation that couldn’t afford any scandal. If they discovered the truth—that Jongin was gay and had fled—I’d be the one facing their wrath.

The organ music swelled, signaling the start of the wedding march. I took a deep breath and stepped forward, my heart pounding. The bride glided down the aisle, her white gown billowing. I forced a smile, praying that my acting skills wouldn’t fail me.

As the vows began, I mouthed the words, my mind racing. Jongin had orchestrated this elaborate ruse. He’d designed the invitation cards, subtly replacing his name with mine. Only his family and the bride knew the truth. To everyone else, I was the groom.

What a smartass, I thought bitterly. If only he’d been this clever before the chaos unfolded.

Jongin’s predicament was dire. As the firstborn, he was expected to produce an heir, but he was gay. His family clung to outdated traditions—the firstborn must father the next generation. Stripped of his title, he’d agreed to this marriage to preserve his family’s standing.

But love had intervened. His boyfriend had changed everything. And now, Jongin was off somewhere, probably with his lover, while I stood here, nervously fidgeting.

The priest’s voice droned on, and I stole a glance at the bride. She was beautiful, her eyes filled with sadness. I wondered if she sensed anything amiss even before the wedding started. Would she be devastated when she discovered the truth?

The vows reached their . I hesitated, then said, “I do.” The bride’s hand trembled as she slipped the ring onto my finger. I felt like a fraud, a puppet dancing to Jongin’s tune.

As the priest pronounced us married, I vowed to myself: that I’d protect her from humiliation, and shield her family’s reputation. Jongin owed me big time.

As I gaze upon her, my heart races. Jung Soojung, known as Krystal Jung, stands before me in a simple white gown. Her features are delicate, her skin flawless. The soft curve of her lips, the way her eyes hold both mystery and intensity—it’s a