Married My Sister's Fiance

Chapter2

Elena jumped to her feet, her heart leaping into her throat. But it was just Jen, Lucia's roommate, stumbling in with the unsteady gait of someone who'd spent the evening at a bar. She was barely twenty-three, with bright pink streaks in her hair and smudged eyeliner.

"Oh." Jen blinked at Elena, then at the destroyed apartment. "s**t. You weren't supposed to see this yet."

"What happened here?" Elena demanded, her voice sharper than she intended. "Where's Lucia?"

Jen's face crumpled. Even through her drunk haze, genuine fear flickered in her eyes. "She's gone. She left three days ago with Marco."

"Marco?" Elena didn't even know who that was. Another boyfriend Lucia hadn't mentioned.

"Her boyfriend. The guy she's been seeing for like two months." Jen collapsed onto the ruined couch, seemingly unbothered by the sliced cushions. "Look, I told her this was a bad idea. I told her not to borrow money from those people, but she wouldn't listen."

"What people? Who did this?"

"I don't know their names. Just that they were looking for Lucia." Jen's words slurred together. "They came here three days ago. Big guys, scary as hell. They were asking where she was, saying she owed them money. A lot of money."

Elena's hands clenched into fists. "And you didn't think to call the police?"

"Lucia made me promise not to! She said it would make things worse." Jen looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. "She said she had a plan. That arranged marriage thing with the billionaire—she was supposed to marry him, get the money, pay off the debt, then divorce after a year. Easy solution, right? Except..."

"Except what?"

"Except she freaked out. Three days ago, after those guys came looking for her, she just... panicked. She packed a bag, called Marco, and they left. I think they went to Europe? She kept talking about how Marco's cousin has a place in Barcelona." Jen laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. "She just left. Left all of this behind."

Left me behind, Elena thought bitterly. Left me to clean up another one of her messes.

"The wedding is in three days," Elena said, more to herself than to Jen. "What happens when the groom realizes the bride isn't coming?"

Jen shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. But those loan shark guys? They're gonna come back. And if they can't find Lucia..." She trailed off, but her eyes flicked to the papers in Elena's hands. The ones with Elena's address.

Cold dread settled in Elena's stomach. She looked down at the contract again, at the $200,000 payment clause, at Damien Cross's cold gray eyes staring up at her from the photo.

"I need to go," Elena said abruptly.

She gathered all the documents—the loans, the letters, the marriage contract—and shoved them into her bag. Jen called after her, but Elena was already out the door, taking the stairs down faster than she'd come up.

The drive back to her apartment passed in a blur. Her mind kept circling back to that number: $200,000. And the threat in the letter: Your sister lives at 412 Maple Street, Apt 3B.

When she pulled up to her building, every shadow looked suspicious. Every parked car could contain someone watching her. Elena practically ran to her door, key already in hand.

The door was ajar.

She'd locked it. She always locked it.

Elena's heart thundered in her ears as she pushed the door open slowly, half-expecting to find her apartment ransacked like Lucia's. But everything was exactly as she'd left it—her coffee mug still in the sink, her work clothes draped over the chair, her laptop closed on the small dining table.

Everything except the man sitting calmly on her couch.

He was older than she expected, probably in his fifties, with silver threading through his dark hair. He wore an expensive suit that looked out of place in her shabby apartment, and his posture was relaxed, as if he'd been invited. As if he belonged there.

"Miss Rivera," he said pleasantly, standing as she entered. "I apologize for the intrusion. The lock on your door is quite simple—I really should recommend you upgrade."

Elena's hand tightened around her keys, the metal biting into her palm. "Get out of my apartment."

"In a moment." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "My name is Gabriel Santos. I believe you've found my paperwork."

The loan shark. The man Lucia owed $200,000.

Elena's mouth went dry. "I don't have your money."

"I'm aware." Santos tilted his head, studying her like she was a particularly interesting specimen. "Your sister has made that abundantly clear by fleeing the country. Which leaves us in a rather unfortunate situation, doesn't it?"

"Lucia's debts aren't my responsibility."

"Legally? No." He took a step closer, and Elena forced herself not to back away. "But morally? Family is family, Miss Rivera. And when family disappears, the debt transfers to the next of kin. That's how these things work."

"That's not how anything works," Elena said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'm calling the police."

"I wouldn't recommend that." Santos's pleasant tone didn't waver. "Your sister borrowed money for a business venture that failed. She then borrowed more money to gamble, hoping to win back what she'd lost. She didn't. These are her choices, her mistakes. The police would be... unsympathetic. Especially when they discover she signed multiple loan agreements knowing she couldn't pay them back. That's fraud, Miss Rivera."

Elena's hand trembled on her phone. "What do you want?"

"Two hundred thousand dollars by Friday." He said it like he was asking for coffee. "Two days from now. I'm a reasonable businessman, and I understand these situations can be complicated. But I need to collect my debt, and if Lucia won't pay..." He let the sentence hang in the air between them.

"I don't have that kind of money."

"Then I suggest you find it." Santos pulled a business card from his pocket and set it on her coffee table. "My number. Call me when you have the payment ready. And Miss Rivera?" He paused at the door, looking back at her. "Accidents happen to pretty young women who live alone. It would be such a shame if something unfortunate occurred. You seem like a smart girl—much smarter than your sister. I'm sure you'll make the right choice."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with terrible finality.

Elena stood frozen in her apartment, staring at the business card on her table. Her legs gave out and she sank to the floor, her back against the wall, trying to breathe through the panic crushing her chest.

$200,000. Two days.

It was impossible. Even if she emptied her savings account—all $3,000 of it—maxed out her credit cards, borrowed from everyone she knew, she'd never come close. And Santos knew that. The threat in his words had been clear: pay or face the consequences.

Her phone buzzed, making her jump. Unknown number.

Friday. 200K. Don't make me come back.

Elena's hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the phone. She looked around her apartment—her small, safe space that didn't feel safe anymore. Then her eyes landed on her bag, on the documents still visible through the open zipper.

The marriage contract.

Payment of $200,000 to the bride's family upon marriage.

Wedding in three days.

An insane idea began forming in her mind. So insane she almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone and texted Lucia's number: Where are you?

No response.

She texted again: I need your wedding dress size.

Still nothing. The message didn't even show as delivered. Lucia had probably thrown away her SIM card, gotten a new phone, disappeared completely.

Just like she always did when things got hard.

Elena set her phone down and opened her laptop with shaking hands. She typed "Damien Cross" into the search bar, and hundreds of results appeared immediately.

Self-made billionaire. CEO of Cross Technologies. Net worth in the billions. Aged out of foster care at eighteen and built his empire from nothing. No serious relationships. No scandals. Cold, calculating, and ruthless in business. Recently reunited with his grandfather, Margaret, after years of searching for his long-lost grandson.

Known as the "Ice King" of Silicon Valley.

Elena clicked through article after article, interview after interview, absorbing every detail. He rarely smiled in photos. His answers to personal questions were clipped, deflecting. He'd agreed to this arranged marriage to satisfy his dying grandfather's wish to see him settled. It was a business transaction for him—nothing more.

He'd met Lucia exactly twice. Both meetings were brief, with lawyers present to discuss contract terms.

He barely knew her sister. Might not even remember what Lucia looked like.

Elena caught her reflection in her laptop screen. She and Lucia had the same dark hair, the same dark eyes, the same slender build. People had commented on their resemblance their entire lives. With the right styling, the right clothes, the right attitude...

You're insane, a voice in her head whispered. This is fraud. Identity theft. You could go to prison.

But another voice—the one that had kept her alive through years of cleaning up Lucia's messes, of sacrificing her own dreams to bail out her sister—that voice whispered something different:

You don't have any other choice. It's this or wait for Santos to make good on his threat.

Her phone buzzed again. Another text from the unknown number: Tick tock.

Elena stared at the screen, at Damien Cross's cold gray eyes looking back at her from a Forbes article. At the marriage contract promising $200,000. At the calendar showing Friday was two days away.

She looked at herself in the mirror hung near her door. Imagined herself with Lucia's makeup, Lucia's clothes, Lucia's confident, flirtatious energy. Could she really pull this off? Could she walk down an aisle, stand before a priest, marry a complete stranger while pretending to be her sister?

For one year. Just one year. Then she'd have enough money to pay Santos, and she and Damien would divorce as planned. He'd get whatever business arrangement he needed with his grandfather, and she'd get her life back.

If she didn't get caught.

If he didn't see through the deception.

If Santos didn't kill her first for not paying by Friday.