Five Years as a Stand-In Wife, Then He Chose my Sister – For five years, I wore a ring without ever standing at the altar. My husband, Damien, always said a ceremony didn’t matter—that love was enough. I believed him… right up until our so-called anniversary. On my way home from the market, I passed City Hall—and my world stopped. There they were. Damien. And Bianca. My sister, who had vanished five years ago. “Are you sure we can get this certificate?” Bianca whispered. “What about my sister, Talia? You’re still legally tied to her.” Damien’s reply was cold, instant, and merciless. “I was never really married to her. That’s why I never took her to register it. This time, it’s real. Now that you’re back, I’ll take care of Talia soon.” Then more voices joined in—Marcus and Elliot. My own brothers. “What about the ceremony?” Van chuckled. “Just make sure Talia doesn’t find out. She’ll make a scene. Maybe we ship her off somewhere.” That was the moment I understood the truth.
I was never their family. I was never his wife. So I walked away. I packed my life into a suitcase, boarded a plane, and chose the man who had been waiting for me all along. And when I finally stood at the altar and said “I do,” they came running back. But by then, it was far too late. — For five years, I wore a ring that never led me down an aisle. There were no white dresses, no flower petals scattered across the floor, no friends and family gathered in tidy rows. No vows spoken under soft lighting. Just a thin band of metal and a piece of paperwork my husband, Damien, had arranged for us. Or so he said. We never once stood inside a marriage hall. He kept promising we’d “fix it later,” that he’d take care of the legal details once things settled down. But later never arrived. I remembered it clearly — just a week ago. I was folding the laundry in our room, carefully smoothing the wrinkles from his shirts, when I finally gathered the courage to ask. “Damien… do you think maybe this year, we could finally have the ceremony?” I said as lightly as I could, pretending my voice wasn’t shaking. “For our fifth anniversary maybe?
Just… do it properly?” He didn’t even lift his eyes from his laptop. “Why?” he replied flatly. “We’re already married. A ceremony is just for people who need attention.” “But you told me we would someday,” I murmured. “You said when everything stopped being so tight—” His fingers paused over the keyboard. “And now you’re acting like a kid,” he snapped without looking at me. “Drop it, Talia. We don’t have money to waste on that nonsense.” Like I always did, I swallowed it. I let the silence sit between us. I let my disappointment sink down deep where it wouldn’t bother him. But today—today was different. Today marked five years since the day I thought we became husband and wife. Damien told me he couldn’t celebrate. Said work had piled up and he couldn’t free up even an hour. Meetings, deadlines, pressure. I didn’t argue. I never do. I convinced myself it was fine. I told myself it wasn’t about attention or parties. I planned to make his favorite dishes instead. To light a candle or two. Maybe play soft music while I waited for him to come home. It wasn’t a grand celebration, but it was still something. My quiet way of honoring what I believed we had built — even without witnesses, even without vows.
So I went to the market early. I walked slowly through the stalls, choosing vegetables with care, checking the meat twice, holding each item as though it mattered. I even bought a bouquet of white lilies — the kind he once mentioned he liked back when he visited my old apartment for the first time. I held them close to my chest the entire walk home, feeling ridiculous for feeling excited when he’d so casually brushed me off. I was only a block away from our place when I passed the city hall. I wasn’t planning to look. I had no reason to stop. But something twisted in my chest — a strange tug, like a warning I didn’t understand. My steps slowed. My body turned before my mind caught up. And that was when I saw them. Damien. And Bianca. My sister, who had vanished five years ago without a trace. They walked out of the building side by side, her arm looped through his, laughing softly like it was the most natural thing in the world. I went completely still. The grocery bags slipped in my hands. The lilies almost fell. Bianca had a document in her hand. A marriage certificate. My stomach dropped.
Her voice floated toward me, soft and unsure. “Are you sure this is okay?” she asked him. “What about Talia? She’s still your wife, isn’t she?” Damien’s reply came fast. No pause. No guilt. “I don’t care about her,” he said. “That wasn’t a real marriage. That’s why I never brought her to register it properly. This one? This is real. And now that you’re back, I’ll deal with her soon.” My ears rang. Bianca’s voice trembled. “You mean it? You still… care about me? Even after I ran away from you? I thought you’d hate me. I was so scared back then.” He turned toward her, smiling softly — a smile I used to think was only meant for me. “It was always you,” he said. “You don’t have to feel guilty. I know why you left. You weren’t ready. That’s all. You are now.” He leaned in and kissed her. My breath caught painfully in my throat. She pulled back just enough to whisper, “And my sister? Did you ever have real feelings for her?” He let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Never,” he said. “She was just useful. She looked like you. That made things easy. She was warm at night. That’s all she was.” The air left my lungs. The ground felt like it tipped sideways. Five years ago, that wedding was supposed to belong to them. Bianca and Damien.
Everyone had flown in. The venue was dressed in white and gold. The dress was fitted. The guests were waiting. And then she vanished. No message. No warning. No explanation. Gone. Damien had been wrecked. I’d found him in a bar that same night, drunk and shaking, staring into a glass like the world had ended. I sat beside him. I listened. I stayed. When he cried, I didn’t move away. When he leaned closer, I didn’t push him back. And when his lips found mine, I didn’t stop him. A week later, he asked me to marry him. I said yes. I thought I was helping him survive heartbreak. I thought I was choosing love. I thought I had become important. But standing there, hidden behind a pillar outside city hall, I finally understood. Every touch. Every whisper in the dark. Every soft “I love you.” It had all been borrowed. Rehearsed. Fake. And then, as if it wasn’t enough— Two more voices cut through the air. Marcus. And Elliot. My older brothers. “You already got the certificate?” Marcus asked Damien, his voice bright with approval. “Didn’t waste any time, huh?” Elliot laughed. “What about the actual ceremony? We should just make sure Talia doesn’t hear anything yet. She’ll make a whole dramatic mess.
Maybe we can ship her off somewhere first.” My fingers curled around the wall beside me. The stone bit into my skin. Marcus added casually, “We should just handle her soon. She’s too unstable.” They laughed. All of them. The same brothers who had once cursed Bianca for leaving. The same ones who swore they’d always stand by me. Now they were laughing about how to erase me. A strange numbness washed through my body. I wasn’t just unwanted. I was ridiculous. A placeholder. A joke. I turned away. My feet moved without me thinking. I ran. Past the gates. Past the shops. Past the stinging sound inside my ears. My chest burned. My vision swam. The world narrowed into noise and blurred sidewalks. I couldn’t hear anything clearly. Except— A horn.
A scream of brakes. And then— Impact. The world folded in on itself. And everything went black. Chapter 2 Pain was the first thing that greeted me when my eyes finally opened. It spread slowly, crawling through my body like fire under the skin — a dull, throbbing ache in my arms, a sharp, biting agony in my leg. I tried to push myself upright out of pure instinct, but before I could, a nurse hurried to my side and gently pressed a hand against my shoulder. “Easy,” she said in a calm, steady voice. “You were in an accident. Your ankle is fractured, and you’ve got a few other minor injuries. You shouldn’t be moving yet.” An accident? The word echoed in my head.