MY BROTHER'S WIFE

SOPHIA'S POV The wedding dress felt heavier than I had imagined, its layers of satin and lace pressing against my skin with every slow step I took down the aisle until it became impossible to tell whether the weight came from the fabric itself or from the reality that settled deeper inside my heart with each passing second, because only yesterday I had still been Sophia Travis, the forgotten daughter who had spent years convincing herself that happiness was a luxury she would never be allowed to touch and today I was walking toward a man I barely knew, surrounded by smiling faces that celebrated what they believed was the beginning of a beautiful future while I struggled to silence the fear that whispered I was simply stepping into another life that had been chosen for me, just as every important decision before this one had been. The grand ballroom was breathtaking, decorated with thousands of white roses and shimmering crystal chandeliers whose warm light reflected across polished marble floors until everything around me looked as though it belonged inside a dream, yet despite the beauty surrounding us, I couldn't bring myself to admire any of it because my thoughts refused to leave the question that had haunted me from the moment my adoptive parents informed me that I would be getting married. Was this truly the beginning of a new life... or simply another chapter of a life that had never belonged to me? The guests smiled, cameras flashed from every direction, and quiet murmurs of admiration followed me as I walked past row after row of elegantly dressed family friends and business associates, but none of them noticed the way my fingers trembled around the bouquet I held so tightly that I feared I might crush the delicate flowers before I even reached the altar. Unable to bear the weight of my own thoughts any longer, I slowly lifted my head, and the moment my eyes found the altar, they immediately settled on the man waiting there for me, standing with a quiet composure that somehow made the chaos inside me feel even louder. Ethan Maxwell, the man I will be promising before God to accept as my husband despite knowing almost nothing about him. The man whose life had become forever intertwined with mine because of a decision neither of us had truly made for ourselves, stood there watching me with an expression I couldn't quite understand, one that held neither impatience nor triumph, but something far gentler, as though he could see every ounce of fear I had tried so desperately to hide behind my carefully rehearsed smile and was silently hoping that, somehow, I would find the strength to keep walking toward him. He looked impossibly calm standing beneath the arch of white roses, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that somehow managed to make him appear both sophisticated and approachable at the same time, yet what caught my attention wasn't his appearance or the gentle smile resting on his lips. It was the way he looked at me. There was no arrogance in his eyes. Not a trace. No satisfaction at having fulfilled his family's wishes. If anything, he looked... worried. Worried for me. As though he could see beyond the expensive dress, the carefully styled hair, and the flawless makeup to the frightened woman silently begging herself not to fall apart before reaching him. For reasons I couldn't understand, my steps gradually became slower with every heartbeat, not because I was tempted to turn around and run away, because if that had truly been what I wanted, I would have found the courage to do it long before this day ever arrived, long before the wedding guests had taken their seats, and certainly before I had walked halfway down the aisle toward the man waiting for me. No, what made it suddenly so difficult to keep moving was something far more unfamiliar, something I had never experienced before, because for the first time since this marriage had been arranged, someone was looking at me as though my feelings mattered, as though I wasn't simply another piece in an agreement between two powerful families, but a frightened young woman whose silent fears deserved to be acknowledged, and that single look in Ethan's eyes unsettled me more than the wedding itself ever could, making me wonder how someone who barely knew me could show me more understanding in a matter of seconds than the people who had raised me had managed to show throughout my entire life. When I finally reached the altar, Ethan offered me a smile so gentle that it almost didn't belong in a room filled with business partners, contracts, and expectations disguised as wedding blessings, and without drawing anyone else's attention, he leaned ever so slightly toward me before whispering quietly enough that only I could hear him. "You don't have to be afraid," he whispered so quietly that the words were almost swallowed by the soft music and murmured conversations surrounding us, yet somehow they reached me more clearly than every blessing, and every congratulation that had echoed before the ceremony, because despite how simple those five words were, they struck a part of me I had buried so deeply beneath years of disappointment and quiet suffering that I had almost forgotten it existed, awakening a feeling I didn't know how to name as I found myself wondering how a man who had barely known me for more than a few meetings could see the fear I had spent an entire lifetime trying so desperately to hide from everyone else. I wanted to ask him how he could possibly know I was afraid when we had only met a handful of times before today, but the ceremony had already begun, and the officiant's voice filled the room as everyone rose to witness the union between two families whose names carried enough influence to make headlines across the country. They spoke of love, commitment, loyalty, and lifelong devotion, words so beautiful that I almost laughed at how distant they felt from the marriage standing before them, because everyone in that room believed they were witnessing two people beginning a life together when, in truth, they were witnessing two strangers trying their best not to disappoint the people who had made this decision long before either of them had been asked what they wanted. The vows came sooner than I expected, and when it was Ethan's turn to speak, his voice never wavered despite the hundreds of eyes watching him. He repeated every promise the officiant asked him to make, promising to stand beside me through joy and sorrow, through health and sickness, through every season life placed before us, and although they were the traditional vows spoken at countless weddings before ours, something about the sincerity in his voice made them feel less like rehearsed promises and more like a decision he had already made long before standing at the altar. When my turn finally came to repeat my vows, I spoke because I was expected to do so, allowing the words to leave my lips exactly as they had been written for countless brides before me, not because I fully believed them or understood the depth of the promises I was making at that very moment, but because everyone in that grand ballroom was waiting for me to say them, smiling warmly as though this was the happiest day of my life rather than one of the most uncertain. Perhaps under different circumstances those beautiful words would have brought tears of happiness to my eyes and filled my heart with excitement for the future waiting ahead of me, but standing there before so many people while wearing a smile I had spent hours practicing in front of a mirror, I could only wonder if they would one day become promises I would gladly keep or merely words spoken because I had been taught all my life that obedience was expected of me whenever a decision had already been made on my behalf. The ring on my finger felt strangely cold as Ethan gently slid it into place, his touch careful enough that our hands barely brushed against one another, and moments later the officiant pronounced us husband and wife while applause erupted throughout the ballroom, filling every corner of the room with congratulations and celebration that somehow sounded impossibly far away, as though I were hearing everything from underwater. Hours later, after the endless photographs, polite conversations, forced smiles, and congratulations from people whose names I would probably never remember, silence finally settled around us when the bedroom door closed behind us. Neither of us spoke immediately. The room suddenly felt much smaller than the ballroom we had just left. The room suddenly felt much smaller than the ballroom we had just left. I remained standing near the door, my fingers nervously twisting together as I searched for words that refused to come, while Ethan quietly removed his suit jacket before placing it over the back of a chair, careful not to make any sudden movement that might make me even more uncomfortable than I already was. "I'm sorry," I whispered at last, lowering my eyes to the floor because I couldn't bear to look at him. "I know this isn't the kind of wedding night you probably imagined." He frowned ever so slightly. "And what kind of wedding night do you think I imagined?" I forced myself to meet his eyes. "I... I don't think I can be your wife." The confession hung between us like a fragile thread ready to snap at any moment. "I don't know you well enough, Ethan," I continued quietly, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to remain composed. "I don't want to pretend that everything is normal just because we're married now. I can't force myself to feel something that hasn't had time to grow, and I don't want to lie to you or give you hope that I'll suddenly become the wife you deserve overnight. If it's possible... I'd rather we start as friends." For several long seconds, Ethan simply looked at me without saying anything, his expression remaining as gentle as it had been throughout the entire ceremony as though he was carefully considering every word I had spoken instead of immediately searching for a way to refuse my request, and for reasons I couldn't explain, his silence only made me more nervous because I had spent my entire life preparing myself for disappointment whenever I wanted something for myself. I had expected him to sigh in frustration and remind me that we were already married, or perhaps tell me that asking to remain friends after becoming husband and wife was both ridiculous and unfair to him. I expected him to become angry or disappointed because I knew I would have understood if he did. After all, this was our wedding night, and I had just confessed that I wasn't ready to become the wife he deserved despite standing before hundreds of people only hours earlier and promising to spend the rest of my life beside him. Yet he did none of those things. He didn't argue with me or accuse me of embarrassing him, nor did he remind me that a marriage certificate was already enough to bind our lives together whether I was ready or not. Instead, a small smile gradually appeared on his face, one so warm and understanding that it caught me completely off guard, making me wonder how someone I had only recently met could show me more patience and kindness than I believed I had ever deserved to receive. "Then friends it is," he said gently, as though my request hadn't disappointed him in the slightest, even though I knew it must have. "Sophia, I don't want your trust because a marriage certificate says it belongs to me, and I don't want your heart because our parents arranged this marriage. If those things ever become mine, I want them to be given freely, not out of obligation." I stared at him, unable to find a single word. "So," he continued with the same reassuring smile, "take all the time you need. One month, one year... however long it takes. I promise you this, Sophia." He paused, waiting until I looked at him again. "I'll wait." And somehow, without either of us realising it, the first promise that truly mattered in our marriage wasn't the one we had spoken before hundreds of guests beneath crystal chandeliers. It was the quiet promise made between two strangers after everyone else had gone home.