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 8
The weekend arrived wrapped in pale sunlight and fragile hope.
Mireya stared at her reflection in the Ashcroft dressing suite, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her cream blouse. Her fingers trembled as she fastened the bracelet Arabella had given her years ago during a rare moment of sisterly warmth.
"You'll need something elegant if you ever decide to step out of your sketchbooks," Arabella had teased back then.
Today, elegance wasn't enough. She needed answers.
The Sutton Estate
The Sutton mansion loomed as imposing as ever, its towering gates, manicured gardens, and marble statues exuding prestige over comfort.
Her father sat in his private lounge, reading financial reports, while Mrs. Sutton reviewed charity invitations. The air smelled faintly of expensive tea and indifference.
"Mireya," her father greeted mildly, lowering his glasses.
"Unexpected."
"I needed to speak with both of you," she said carefully.
Mrs. Sutton sighed. "If this is about your sister's scandal again..."
"She was kidnapped," Mireya interrupted.
Silence fell like a hammer. Her father lowered his documents slowly. Mrs. Sutton's eyes widened.
"What nonsense are you talking about?" her mother demanded.
"It's not nonsense," Mireya said firmly. "Ronan's investigation confirmed it. Arabella never ran. She never abandoned her responsibilities. She was taken."
Her father's face darkened gradually.
"By who?" he demanded.
"A corporate shadow organization called Veltrane Consortium," Mireya replied.
The name unsettled him visibly.
Mrs. Sutton's teacup clinked faintly against its saucer.
"You've heard of them," Mireya pressed.
Her father stood, pacing toward the windows. "They dismantle corporations through blackmail and leverage. Rarely move without powerful clients backing them."
"So someone hired them," she said.
"Yes."
Mrs. Sutton's composure cracked slightly. "Why Arabella?"
"She was valuable," Mireya said softly. "To the Sutton name. To the Ashcroft alliance. And... to me."
Her mother's eyes flickered.
"And what do they want?" her father asked.
"We don't know," Mireya admitted. "Ronan believes Veltrane was hired. I wanted to know if you have enemies powerful enough to do this."
Her parents exchanged a quick glance.
"You do," she whispered.
"It's complicated," her father said stiffly.
"She's your daughter," Mireya snapped. "She could be terrified, locked somewhere, waiting for us. If you know anything..."
"We once rejected a merger proposal," he admitted suddenly.
"From who?" she asked.
"Montclair Strategic Group," he said reluctantly. "They had quiet ties to Veltrane years ago. The deal collapsed after Arabella publicly insulted their heir at a gala."
Mireya's stomach tightened. "That sounds like Arabella."
Mrs. Sutton covered her mouth, eyes filling for the first time. "Your sister... she was reckless. But she never deserved this."
Her chest tightened painfully. Guilt, performance, maternal fear, she didn't know which.
"What are you going to do?" she asked her father.
"We cannot publicly engage Veltrane," he said. "That would escalate the situation. Ashcroft has far greater covert reach."
"So you're leaving this to Ronan?"
"It is logical."
Mireya nodded slowly. "I'm working with him," she said quietly.
Her father studied her. "You are stepping into a dangerous war, Mireya."
"I stepped into it the moment I married him," she replied.
Arabella: Unknown Location
Darkness swallowed the room except for a narrow overhead light. Arabella Sutton sat tied to a velvet-backed chair, her designer gown wrinkled, one sleeve torn slightly at the shoulder.
Footsteps echoed across the polished floor.
She lifted her chin stubbornly as a woman entered. Tall. Elegant. Severe. Silver-blonde hair in precise waves, expression radiating calculated superiority.
"Still refusing to cooperate?" the woman asked smoothly.
Arabella glared. "Still kidnapping brides to fix corporate failures?"
The woman smiled faintly. "You have spirit. It's why you're valuable."
"Who hired you?" Arabella demanded.
"Veltrane does not disclose clients. You are leverage, not the target."
Arabella's stomach dropped.
"Then who is?"
"Your replacement," the woman said.
Arabella froze.
"Mireya Sutton has integrated into Ashcroft influence faster than projected. That alters negotiations."
Arabella's nails dug into her palms. "You won't touch her," she whispered fiercely.
"That depends entirely on Ronan Ashcroft's compliance," the woman said
That evening, Mireya stood in the Ashcroft ballroom dressing suite while stylists finalized her look for her first infiltration event : A Veltrane linked charity masquerade gala.
Her pulse hammered beneath her ribs as Ronan adjusted his cufflinks across the room, watching her through the mirror.
"You understand your objective?" he asked calmly.
"Social intelligence gathering. Identify Veltrane representatives or Montclair affiliates."
"And?"
"Do not confront. Do not reveal knowledge. Report everything to you."
He nodded. "You will remain within my visual range at all times."
"That sounds less like strategy and more like surveillance."
"It is both," he said bluntly. He stepped closer, adjusting the diamond clasp at her neckline. His fingers brushed her skin briefly, sending an unexpected ripple through her chest.
"These people weaponize charm," he murmured. "If anyone makes you uncomfortable, leave immediately."
"You sound worried," she said quietly.
"I sound prepared."
The Masquerade Gala
Crystal chandeliers glittered above the grand ballroom as masked elites drifted across marble floors. Laughter and classical music masked dangerous negotiations behind silk curtains.
Mireya stayed close to Ronan as they entered, her silver mask hiding her expression but not her alertness.
Whispers followed them instantly. Ashcroft presence commanded attention.
"You're already attracting interest," Ronan murmured.
"I always do," she whispered back nervously.
Minutes later, a sharply dressed man approached, bowing politely.
"Mr. Ashcroft, Mrs. Ashcroft. A pleasure."
Ronan's jaw tightened slightly.
"Andy Montclair," he said coldly.
Mireya felt tension snap instantly between them. Montclair smiled charmingly, eyes lingering on her longer than necessary.
"We were just discussing the Sutton situation," he said casually.
"Tragic circumstances," she said carefully.
"Yes. Families tend to fracture under pressure."
Ronan stepped subtly closer, unmistakably territorial. "Enjoy your evening, Montclair," he said flatly. Montclair inclined his head and walked away.
"You didn't mention he'd be here," Mireya whispered.
"I suspected," Ronan replied.
"And he definitely knows more," she said.
"Yes. Which means we are closer to Veltrane than we realized," he said quietly.
Veltrane Hierarchy
Across the balcony, two figures observed quietly. The silver-haired woman from Arabella's captivity stood beside an older man with a black signet ring engraved with an unfamiliar crest.
"Mrs. Ashcroft is more perceptive than anticipated," she said.
"And emotionally driven. That makes her exploitable," the man replied.
"Should we accelerate containment?" she asked.
"Not yet," he said calmly.
"Why?"
"Because Ronan Ashcroft will destroy entire empires to protect her," he said, smiling faintly. "And I want to see how far he will go."
Back inside, Mireya felt a chill run down her spine, the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
Her gaze lifted to the balcony. The shadows were empty.
Beside her, Ronan's hand closed around hers, firm, grounding, possessive.
"Stay close," he murmured.
Mireya nodded, heart pounding. Somewhere, her sister was fighting to survive. Tonight, Mireya had unknowingly stepped onto the same battlefield.
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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."