Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 133

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 133**

**Chapter 133**

**Mateo’s Perspective**

The Louvre, Pyramid Square.

Amélie Veyron stood poised in the heart of a specially designated area, resembling a regal swan draped in white. The first sample of her wedding dress, crafted meticulously by Nono, flowed gracefully around her, the fabric dancing with the gentle breeze that swept through the square.

A top-notch photography team surrounded her, their lenses capturing her every move as if she were a queen on the verge of her coronation.

Yet, the person she eagerly awaited was none other than Lucien Constantine.

Regrettably, I wasn’t him.

Amélie’s face lit up as she spotted my car, her joy radiating like sunlight.

“Mr. Vega?” she called out, her voice tinged with excitement.

But as I emerged from the vehicle, her smile faltered, freezing in place.

“Constantine has an urgent international video conference and couldn’t make it. He asked me to come in his place to finish today’s shoot,” I explained, my tone devoid of warmth.

My gaze swept over the wedding dress she wore—Nono’s design was nothing short of exquisite, a true masterpiece in both line and detail. Yet, I couldn’t help but think it was a waste on someone like her.

Amélie’s expression morphed into one of disbelief. After a long, tense pause, she forced a strained smile. “Luen must be joking. How can someone else stand in for a wedding photoshoot?”

“Why not? Isn’t everything between you and him just an act anyway, Ms. Amélie? Don’t tell me you’ve become so immersed in your role that you genuinely believe you’ll become Mrs. Constantine?”

Her reaction was immediate; she flinched as if I had struck a nerve. “Wh-what nonsense are you saying?”

Silence hung thick in the air as I chose not to answer, taking a half-step back. I glanced at the bewildered photographer beside us, snapping my fingers to regain their attention. “Let’s get started. Time waits for no one. Don’t worry—my face is probably more photogenic than that jerk’s anyway. Just photoshop his head onto my shoulders in post-production. A simple fix.”

The photography team exchanged glances filled with uncertainty, clearly unaccustomed to such a bizarre scenario.

Amélie’s expression darkened, her discomfort palpable.

I reveled in her unease, but beneath my amusement, my mind raced. Lucien had sent me here to irritate Amélie, but my true purpose was to observe her, to uncover what she intended for this day.

That bastard, using me so effortlessly.

“You can’t do this! This is my and Luen’s wedding photoshoot!” Amélie finally erupted, her voice rising in frustration.

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, pretending to check a message on my phone while actually sending a quick command to my team: scan the area and scrutinize every unusual corner with precision.

“But he’s not here. You have two choices: either cancel the shoot and become the tabloid gossip queen of the week, or treat me as if I were him. After all, the essence of this event isn’t about who you’re photographed with—it’s about ensuring that it proceeds, right?”

“How do you even know about that? Did Luen tell you?” Amélie pressed, determination etched on her face, seeking an answer.

I met her gaze, my tone chillingly cold. “Are you questioning my capabilities as the Godfather, Amélie Veyron?”

In that moment, she seemed to remember my reputation, and the line of questioning faltered.

My earlier words had struck a nerve—the business dealings involving shares, channels, and the necessity of the wedding proceeding as planned.

I observed her jaw tighten, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress as if it were a lifeline.

Finally, she swallowed her anger, turning to the photographer with a clipped tone. “…Just shoot.”

The photoshoot unfolded like a farcical comedy.

I had no intention of stepping into the groom’s shoes.

I stood casually, shifting my position to ensure that whenever Amélie leaned in, the camera captured more of me than her.

“Smile, Ms. Amélie. Don’t forget, you’re the happy bride right now,” I reminded her sweetly, though the mockery in my voice was unmistakable.

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