Trapped in my Sister's Wedding Vows
She was never meant to be his bride.
Mireya Sutton has spent her entire life living in her sister's shadow. Mireya is kind, loyal, and always overlooked. A talented fashion designer, she's used to creating beauty with her own hands, but nothing could have prepared her for the chaos her sister leaves behind. When her sister vanishes on the morning of her wedding, leaving scandal and heartbreak in her wake, Mireya is forced to take her place.
Standing at the altar is Ronan Ashcroft: cold, furious, and convinced she orchestrated the betrayal. To him, she is nothing but a substitute bride, a constant reminder of the sister who disappeared without a trace.
But duty and family honor leave her no choice. Bound by vows she never wanted, Mireya must navigate a marriage filled with tension, suspicion, and a man who refuses to believe in her innocence.
As if that weren't enough, a love triangle emerges, someone from her past reappears, offering the comfort, care, and understanding that Ronan withholds. Torn between safety and desire, loyalty and passion, Mireya must confront her heart's deepest desires.
Secrets begin to surface: Why did her sister truly disappear? Who can she trust? And could the man she never expected to love actually be the one she's meant to marry?
Slowly, Ronan's walls begin to crack, revealing a man driven by love, obsession, and a dark past he refuses to share. But as the slow burn tension between them intensifies, the stakes rise higher than ever. Betrayal, jealousy, and forbidden attraction collide in a marriage where no one is safe, and no one is truly free.
Trapped in obligations, caught between two hearts, and determined to protect her dreams and independence, Mireya must fight to survive a love that could consume everything she holds dear.
đ Will she follow her heart... or honor her vows?
đ„ Love, betrayal, secrets, and obsession collide in this gripping slow burn romance.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 4
Mireya woke to silence.
For a second, she forgot where she was.
Then it hit her.
Ashcroft estate.
Marriage.
The photograph.
She sat up slowly. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating a room that was flawless-and unfamiliar.
Her husband's house.
The word still felt wrong.
A knock came at the door.
"Enter," she said.
A maid stepped inside. "Good morning, Mrs. Ashcroft. Mr. Ashcroft requests your presence in the dining hall."
Mrs. Ashcroft.
The title settled uneasily.
Ronan was already seated when she entered.
Dark suit. Black coffee. Tablet in hand.
Controlled.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"I didn't know there was a schedule."
"There is now."
She sat opposite him.
He placed the tablet down.
"Let's clarify our arrangement."
Her pulse slowed deliberately.
"This marriage exists for stability. Until your sister is found, we remain publicly united."
"And privately?" she asked.
"We coexist."
The word was precise. Final.
"You will not speak to the press. You will not contact anyone about the investigation. Your movements will be monitored."
"This is wrong."
"You benefited from her disappearance."
"I lost my sister."
"You gained my name."
The air shifted.
"I didn't ask for it," she said quietly.
"No," he agreed. "But you're wearing it."
Silence stretched.
"You will attend events beside me," he continued. "You will present unity. If you undermine that..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Later, Mireya stepped into the gardens.
She needed space.
The hedges were perfectly trimmed. The air too still. Even the beauty felt controlled.
"Mrs. Ashcroft?"
She turned.
A man approached, well dressed, composed.
"Adrian Cole," he said. "Ronan's legal advisor."
She remembered him from the wedding.
"I wanted to welcome you," Adrian added. "The Ashcroft world can be... difficult."
There was genuine warmth in his tone.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"You didn't deserve to be placed in this."
Before she could respond...
"I don't recall authorizing private conversations with my wife."
Ronan's voice cut through the air.
Adrian straightened immediately. "My apologies."
"You're dismissed."
Adrian left without argument.
Mireya faced Ronan. "You don't control who I speak to."
"I control access to this estate."
"I'm not property."
His eyes darkened.
"No," he said evenly. "You're responsibility."
The distinction didn't comfort her.
That afternoon, back in her room, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She hesitated... then answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a familiar voice.
"Mireya... is it true?"
Her breath caught.
"Lucas?"
Her first love. The one who saw her when no one else did.
"I heard about the wedding," he said quietly. "Tell me you're okay."
"I'm not."
"Then leave."
She closed her eyes. "It's not that simple."
"I'm coming back," he said. "You won't face this alone."
"Lucas, don't..."
The line disconnected.
Her heart pounded.
A slow clap echoed behind her.
She froze.
Ronan stood in the doorway.
"How nostalgic," he said calmly.
"You were listening?"
"I was confirming something."
"Lucas is from my past."
"And he seems very invested in your present."
"It's not what you think."
"It rarely is," he replied.
He stepped closer.
"If he interferes with this marriage... I will remove the interference."
The threat was quiet. Controlled.
More dangerous that way.
His phone rang.
He answered without looking away from her.
"Yes."
His expression shifted.
"Where was it found?"
Mireya's pulse spiked.
He ended the call slowly.
"What happened?" she whispered.
"They located a vehicle."
Her chest tightened.
"Whose?"
He held her gaze.
"Your sister's car."
The room tilted.
"And inside it..."
A beat of silence.
"...there was blood."
You may also like
7.1
For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancĂ©'s criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Galloâs unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: âMarried this morning. Sheâs safe now.â
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials âD.I.â didnât stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabellaâhis childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabellaâs fiancĂ©, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancĂ©e is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."
8.3
On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldnât miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another womanâhis ruthless business partnerâfrom a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: âSomething came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.â
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line Iâd marked.
He didnât know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.
8.8
My father bailed a violent ex-con out of prison just to force me into a marriage with him. I stood in a filthy Bronx hallway, my Vera Wang gown dragging through the grime, knowing this was the price for my motherâs life. If I didn't marry the man behind the steel door, the wire transfer for her hospital ventilator wouldn't go through the next morning.
The man, a scarred giant named Dock, treated me with cold contempt, telling me he didn't touch things he didn't wantâand he didn't want a "Jacobson." I thought I had hit rock bottom, tied to a criminal while my family lived in luxury. But the nightmare was just beginning.
When I tried to return my wedding dress to pay for rent, my sister Janie and stepmother found me. They laughed as security dragged me out of the boutique, calling me a "charity case." When I finally crawled back to our family manor to beg for the money my father had promised, Janie revealed the horrific truth. She had liquidated my motherâs medical trust to fund a waterfront real estate project.
"Get out and let your mother rot," she screamed, throwing a glass of ice water in my face before having guards dump me in the dirt. I knelt on the gravel, wet and bleeding, realizing my own flesh and blood had signed my mother's death warrant for a profit. I had nothing leftâno money, no home, and a husband who was supposed to be a monster.
I didn't understand why they hated me so much, or how I would survive the night. But then, a black car screeched to a halt in front of me. Dock pulled me inside, his eyes burning with a lethal coldness Iâd never seen in a common thug.
As he wiped the blood from my hands, he picked up a encrypted phone and gave a single command.
"Initiate Project Titan. I want the Jacobson Group insolvent by Friday."
I looked at the man I thought was a broke felon, realizing I hadn't just married a strangerâI had married the most dangerous man in the city, and he was about to burn my family's world to the ground.
8.1
She never imagined love would begin with a marriage she didn't want.
Forced into a union to save her family, Elena promised herself one thing, she would never love her husband.
But the man she hated was nothing like she expected...
And the heart she tried to protect slowly betrayed her.
8.2
The sensation of falling wasn't like flying; it was heavy, violent, and smelled of burning flesh. Above us, on the crumbling balcony of the Sears manor, Duke Cato Sears turned his back, shielding his cousin Bianca from the smoke as he walked away, leaving my sister Blossom and me to drop into the abyss.
As the darkness slammed shut like an iron door, I realized my entire life had been a cruel script written by the people I called family.
In my first life, I was the sacrificial lamb of the Dawson manor, sold to a man who eventually watched me die without blinking. My sister Blossom had pushed me into Cato's arms to avoid his rumors, only to laugh when the fire finally consumed us both. My father had measured my value like a piece of livestock, and my step-grandmother didn't even acknowledge my existence while I was being led to the slaughter.
I died in that fire, feeling the heat scorch my skin and the weight of a hatred so potent it tasted like bile. I spent twenty years being the weak, manipulated shadow of a girl, only to end up as nothing more than a phantom scorch mark on a "hero's" estate.
I couldn't understand why my own blood treated my life like a game they could discard. The injustice of it all burned hotter than the flames that took my last breath.
Then, I sat up, sucking in air that tasted of lavender and air conditioning, not smoke. I was back in my bedroom, three days before the engagement ball that ruined my life. Blossom stood at the door, her "sweet" mask slipping as she tried to manipulate me into the Duke's path again.
She thought she was the only one who had come back, but she didn't realize that this time, I was going to let her have exactly what she wanted: the Duke, the bankruptcy, and the living hell that awaited her in that house.
7.9
Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married."