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.
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Chapter 7
Sleep never came.
Mireya sat curled near the wide bedroom window as city lights shimmered below Ashcroft Tower. Dawn bled into the skyline, painting the glass towers in muted gold, but the beauty barely registered.
Arabella was alive.
The thought repeated like a fragile prayer she was terrified to believe. Not a runaway bride. Not a selfish sister abandoning her obligations. Not someone who had betrayed Ronan or disgraced the Sutton name.
She had been taken. Kidnapped.
The truth should have brought relief. Instead, it sharpened her fear. If someone had abducted Arabella, it meant intention. Strategy. Planning. And people like that rarely made mistakes.
A quiet knock sounded at her door. Before she could respond, it opened slightly. Mrs. Dalton, the Ashcroft housekeeper, stepped inside with gentle composure.
"Mr. Ashcroft requests your presence in his study, Mrs. Ashcroft," she said respectfully.
Mireya nodded, throat too tight for words.
Ronan's Study
The study smelled of aged oak and leather, heavy, masculine, and controlled. Floor to ceiling shelves lined the walls with legal documents, financial reports, and confidential archives. Morning sun filtered through partially drawn blinds, casting sharp lines across the polished desk.
Ronan stood behind it, reviewing a tablet. He didn't look up.
"Close the door," he said.
She obeyed, pulse tightening.
"Sit."
Mireya lowered herself into the chair across from him, hands folded tightly in her lap to hide trembling.
Ronan finally lifted his gaze. Steel. Unmistakable.
"Your sister is confirmed alive," he said.
The words struck her chest like a physical blow.
"You're certain?" she whispered.
"Yes."
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she forced them back. Crying wouldn't help Arabella.
"Who took her?"
"That," Ronan replied, "is what we are about to find out."
He turned the tablet toward her. Surveillance stills flashed across the screen: airport security, underground parking, traffic checkpoints.
"Your seamstress, Lila Moreno, has provided partial information," he continued. "She admitted she was paid to replicate your designs, including stitching patterns, and plant them inside Arabella's car."
Mireya's stomach dropped.
"They framed my brand," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"But why Arabella?" she asked. "She wasn't involved in my business. She barely cared about fashion."
Ronan leaned back, studying her.
"Kidnappings like this are never random. Arabella Sutton had three significant values."
He raised one finger.
"First, social influence. The Sutton name carries political and financial leverage."
A second finger.
"Second, her marriage to me. That alliance merges two powerful family networks."
Third finger lowered slowly.
"And third, leverage against you."
Mireya blinked. "Me?"
"You are closer to Arabella than anyone," Ronan said bluntly. "And your fashion label has grown rapidly in elite circles. Someone may benefit from destabilizing both the Sutton brand and the Ashcroft alliance simultaneously."
The realization made her skin prickle.
"So they used her disappearance to sabotage everything," she whispered.
"Yes."
Mireya's chest tightened painfully.
"All this time, everyone thought she abandoned you," she said softly. "They thought she ran from the wedding. That she humiliated you."
"That narrative was beneficial for someone," Ronan said.
"Not for her," Mireya replied quickly. "Arabella would never destroy herself. She cared too much about image, reputation even if she struggled with responsibility."
Ronan's gaze lingered.
"You're defending her," he observed.
"She's my sister," Mireya said firmly. "And now we know she didn't run. She didn't abandon you. She didn't abandon her obligations."
Silence stretched. Something unreadable flickered in Ronan's expression, almost thoughtful.
"You believe she deserves to be saved," he said quietly.
"I know she does."
He studied her as if weighing her conviction.
The First Lead
Ronan tapped the tablet, pulling up a financial chain.
"Lila transferred funds to an offshore account," he explained. "That account connects to a shell corporation."
"What corporation?" Mireya asked.
"Veltrane Consortium."
The name meant nothing to her, but his tone carried quiet menace.
"They specialize in hostile acquisitions, blackmail, and corporate destabilization. They operate legally... until they don't."
"You think they took Arabella?"
"I think they were hired," he said coldly.
"By who?"
"That remains unclear."
Mireya leaned forward. "Then we investigate them."
"You do not investigate anything," he corrected.
"She's my sister," she said sharply.
"And this is my war," he said, voice lowering dangerously.
The room fell into charged silence. Her pulse raced, but she refused to shrink under his authority.
"You married me to protect your reputation," she said quietly. "But Arabella was the original bride. If she's alive, she's still connected to this marriage... to you."
"You are my wife now," he said.
"I know," she replied quickly. "And I'm asking to help find her."
Ronan stepped around the desk, stopping directly in front of her chair.
"You don't understand the people we're dealing with," he said quietly.
"Then explain it to me," she whispered.
"These are people who dismantle families for profit," he said. "They eliminate witnesses. They erase evidence. If they discover your involvement, you become expendable."
Her breath caught.
"But if Arabella is leverage," Mireya said softly, "then they need her alive. That means she still has time."
Ronan stared at her long. "You are far more perceptive than your sister," he murmured.
"I'm more stubborn too," she replied. The corner of his mouth twitched faintly, not quite a smile, but close.
A Dangerous Agreement
Ronan turned away, staring at the waking city.
"You will not investigate Veltrane directly," he said.
Mireya's shoulders slumped.
"But," he continued, "you will assist my intelligence team."
Her head lifted.
"You mean that?"
"Yes. You have access to fashion and social circles my network cannot easily infiltrate. Veltrane often uses elite events for private negotiations."
Hope flickered.
"I can attend those events," she said quickly. "I know those environments."
"You will attend under Ashcroft protection," he said. "You will report every interaction directly to me. No independent decisions."
His tone commanded but beneath it, she heard concern.
A Sister's Promise
Mireya rose, determination replacing helpless dread. Arabella wasn't gone. She was waiting. And Mireya would find her, even if it meant stepping deeper into Ronan Ashcroft's dangerous world.
"Ronan," she said quietly before leaving.
He looked up.
"Thank you... for believing she's worth saving."
Something flickered behind his guarded expression.
"I don't do this because she's your sister," he said calmly.
Mireya frowned. "Then why?"
"Because someone tried to take what belongs to my household," he said.
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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."