The air in the registry hall was thick with perfume, whispers, and tension. White roses lined the aisle, golden ribbons shimmered in the soft light, and Evgeny Kozlov stood at the altar in a tailored tuxedo, flashing that familiar, charming smile that had once fooled them both.
He had no idea what was coming.
As the bridal march played, a figure in an exquisite designer gown walked slowly toward him, the veil obscuring her features. Every guest turned to admire the vision of elegance. Evgeny, radiating confidence, took a deep breath and reached out to lift the veil.
The fabric rose.
Gasps echoed through the hall.
It wasn’t Christina.
It was Olga.
Her lips curved into a smile—not of love, but justice. Evgeny’s face drained of color. His hands trembled.
From the back of the room, Christina stepped forward. In a striking crimson dress, she clapped—slowly, deliberately.
“Surprise, Zhenya,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence. “Meet your real bride. Or rather, the woman you thought you could lie to and walk away from.”
Olga spoke next, her voice steady. “You played both of us, Zhenya. Told me Christina was your sister. Told her she was your forever. Turns out, you weren’t ready for two smart women working together.”
The guests shifted in their seats, murmuring. Cameras clicked. The registrar looked unsure whether to proceed or call security.
Zhenya stammered, reaching out, “This is some kind of joke, right?”
“No,” Christina said flatly. “This is exposure.”
Then she turned to the crowd. “For those of you who don’t know, Evgeny here has made a career out of seducing wealthy women and draining their bank accounts. He’s been engaged three times in the past five years. Every time, he disappears just before the wedding—with money, jewelry, sometimes even real estate.”
Olga pulled out her phone and played a recording—Evgeny’s voice, confessing his “methods” during what he thought was a drunken brag.
The room erupted.
Gasps turned to outrage. Relatives rose from their chairs. Someone threw a champagne flute.
Zhenya bolted—but not fast enough. Two security guards, hired by Christina just in case, blocked his path.
The police were called. Evgeny was escorted out, still shouting about how “they couldn’t do this to him.”
Later, outside on the steps of the registry office, Christina and Olga stood side by side.
“We make a good team,” Christina said, offering her hand.
Olga shook it. “Justice wears heels.”
And just like that, a ruined wedding turned into the beginning of something fierce—a friendship forged in betrayal and sealed with poetic revenge.