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Married to My Sister's Fiancé Genre: Forbidden Romance | Drama | Billionaire Tagline: She ran away. I took her place. Now I wear her ring-and sleep in her bed. Blurb: On the night of her engagement, my perfect sister vanished. To save our family's name, I was forced to marry her billionaire fiancé, Adrian Black. Cold, powerful, and suspicious, he knows I'm not the woman he proposed to. But as the nights grow longer and the lies thicken, we both begin to feel something real.
Chapter 1 The Vanishing Bride
I always thought my sister was flawless.
Isabelle Sinclair-golden-haired, blue-eyed, with a laugh that turned heads and a presence that silenced rooms. She was everything I wasn't: poised, perfect, adored. The heirloom diamond on her finger shined brighter than anything in our lives, a symbol of her impending marriage to Adrian Black-Manhattan's most eligible billionaire, a man as cold as the winter skyline he ruled from.
And then, she disappeared.
It started on a rain-slicked Thursday.
The wedding was three days away. Our penthouse was bustling with florists, stylists, and wedding planners barking into phones. Champagne glasses clinked, fabrics were draped, and Isabelle was nowhere to be found.
At first, I thought she was being dramatic-she had a flair for theatrics. But when the hours ticked by and her phone went straight to voicemail, panic crept in. By midnight, she still hadn't returned. Her bed remained untouched. Her white veil, still in its silk box. Her dress, untouched. Her perfume, sitting uncapped on the vanity.
Gone.
My mother's voice cracked with desperation. "We cannot let this become a scandal."
My father-who cared more about company shares than his daughters-paced the living room like a tiger in a cage. "If the press gets hold of this, we'll lose everything. Black Enterprises will pull out of the merger."
And then, Adrian Black walked in.
His presence sucked the air from the room. Six-foot-two, dressed in a navy tailored suit, his dark hair slicked back with surgical precision. His jaw was sharp enough to wound, and his eyes-gray, cutting-landed on me like a target.
"She's gone," he said. Not a question. A statement.
"She'll be back," my mother replied quickly. "She probably needed... air."
He turned slowly, his gaze pinning her down. "Isabelle doesn't just vanish. She's calculated. She plays games, not hide-and-seek. So where is she?"
No one had an answer.
No one but me.
Because two weeks ago, Isabelle had slipped me a letter. A simple envelope tucked beneath my pillow, as if she'd known she might not make it to the altar.
If you're reading this, Ivy, then I couldn't go through with it. Tell them I'm sorry. Tell them I love them. But I can't marry Adrian. I can't live that lie.
I hadn't believed her. Until now.
"Ivy," my mother said, her voice trembling. "We need to talk. Alone."
We stepped into the kitchen, away from the staff and the chaos. Her eyes-normally glassy from her midday gin-were sharp for once.
"We cannot afford for Adrian to walk," she said. "You know what's at stake."
My stomach twisted. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you're going to marry him."
I laughed. Actually laughed. "That's insane. I'm not Isabelle. I can't pretend to be her."
"You don't have to pretend long. We'll handle the paperwork, the press, everything. Just keep him happy. We'll make sure she returns-eventually."
I stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "This isn't a play. This is a marriage."
She gripped my wrists. "We built everything on this union. Adrian's funding our expansion. If he backs out, we lose the company-everything your father has worked for."
I shook my head. "You want me to sacrifice my life for a business deal?"
"You don't have a life, Ivy." The words stung more than she knew. "Isabelle was the one everyone saw. You? You're the shadow. This is your chance to be someone."
And that was how it began.
Two days later, I stood at the altar wearing my sister's dress.
Adrian didn't flinch.
He stared at me like he knew.
Like he saw through the ivory lace, through the veil, straight to the heart of the lie.
"You look... different," he said as we posed for wedding photos.
"Different how?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Less polished. Real, maybe."
"Is that a compliment?"
He smirked. "That depends. Are you Isabelle?"
My throat went dry.
I didn't answer.
And he didn't push.
The wedding was grand and cold-like him. A winter palace of white roses and chandeliers. My vows trembled. His didn't.
We kissed. Cameras flashed. And just like that, I became Mrs. Ivy Black-while the world believed I was Isabelle.
That night, I stepped into a penthouse suite dripping with luxury. But all I saw was the man I had just married, unbuttoning his cufflinks and pouring two glasses of scotch.
"To new beginnings," he said, handing me a glass.
I sipped it with shaking hands.
He watched me. Studied me.
"You're quieter than usual," he said.
"I'm tired."
"You weren't tired yesterday."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "You were snappy. Demanding. You sent three bridal boutiques into therapy."
"I guess marriage changes people."
He didn't smile.
Instead, he walked to me-slowly, deliberately-and cupped my chin. His thumb brushed my lower lip. I froze.
"I don't know what game you're playing, Isabelle. But if you think I'm blind, you're wrong."
And then, he kissed me.
Hard.
Possessive.
Wrong.
And yet...
I kissed him back.
Because for the first time in my life, I wasn't the overlooked sister. I was the woman he couldn't ignore.
The next morning, the lie had a ring on its finger and a man beside it in bed.
A man who didn't love me.
A man who might never forgive me.
But it was too late to run.
The world believed Isabelle Sinclair had married Adrian Black.
And I had to make sure they never found out otherwise.
Until...
Two weeks later.
She returned.
Wearing blood on her sleeve.
And holding a secret that would shatter everything.
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