My family thought I was a senile old woman when I warned them my grandson’s fiancée was a fraud. They ignored me. At the wedding, she hugged me and whispered, “This fortune is mine now, old woman.” She thought she had won. But as they were about to exchange rings, I stood up. “Please, wait,” I announced to the silent cathedral. “I have a special wedding gift for the bride.”

The cathedral was a testament to the family’s legacy—a symphony of stained glass, white roses, and opulent defiance against the ordinary. Everyone was smiling, their faces turned towards the altar where my grandson, Daniel, the heir to the fortune I had built, was looking at his bride as if she were the sun. And Isabella, his bride, was indeed radiant. A vision in couture lace, she was beautiful, charming, and a complete fraud.