Fifteen Years of Craving The Wrong Love

Lyssa POV

“I love you so much, Zeta. Not sister to brother kind of love, but wife to husband"

I say the words to myself in the empty room the way I’ve been doing for the past three days, practicing, rehearsing how I would confess my love to him when he finally returns home in a few minutes time.

Three years ago we got married, but our story started much, much earlier.

Fifteen years ago, when I was only ten, my real parents died in a car accident. I had nowhere to go. Then Mr. Francis and Mrs. Franca. Zeta’s parents. took me in. They were kind, rich, and generous. They gave me a bedroom in their huge house and sent me to the best schools. That is how I became part of their family. They adopted me, and suddenly I had a new grandfather, a new mother and father, and a new big brother. Zeta, who was fifteen at the time.

Zeta was always good to me. From the very first day he treated me like a real little sister. He protected me when children at school were mean. He helped me with homework until late at night. When kids whispered “she’s only adopted,” he put an arm around my shoulder and said loudly, “She’s my sister, and that’s all that matters.” He ruffled my hair, smiled, and made me feel safe.

I loved him for that. At first it was the grateful love of a scared little girl for her kind big brother. But as we grew up, something changed inside me.

Year after year, my feelings grew bigger and deeper. I started to notice how handsome he was, how gentle his voice sounded when he spoke to me, how my heart jumped in excitement every time he entered the room. I fell in love with him, the kind of love that makes you dream about holding hands, about kisses, about forever.

But I kept it a secret. How could I tell my adopted brother that I wanted to be his woman while I was still a teenager?

Then everything changed again.

Grandfather, the old man who became my grandfather too called us both into his study. His health was getting worse, and he wanted to see his grandson married before he died. He looked at me with soft eyes and said, “Lyssa, you have been my granddaughter for long enough. I love you like my own blood. You are smart, kind, and beautiful. You are perfect for Zeta.”

Then he looked at Zeta and said, “Marry her. She will make a good wife, and she will keep our family strong.”

Zeta did not say no. I did not say no either. because saying yes meant I could stay close to the man I already loved with all my heart.

So we got married. The wedding was big and beautiful. Everyone smiled and clapped.

For three years in the marriage, we lived as husband and wife. Zeta was always gentle and caring. In front of other people he held my hand. At home he asked if I ate enough, if I was warm enough, if I was happy. He never shouted, never forgot my favorite tea, never let me carry heavy bags. He was the perfect husband.

But deep inside I still carried my secret. I never told him the truth, that I did not marry him just to make Grandfather happy. I married him because I loved him more than anything in the world. Today, on my birthday, I decided the time for secrets was over. Today I would look into his eyes and say the words I practiced in the mirror. I’ll say it to him when he returns.

Zeta had texted me earlier this week, promising he’d be home today for my birthday celebration. The thought sends a flutter of excitement through my chest. Today, on my twenty-fifth birthday, I’ll finally confess everything I’ve held inside.

The thought of finally confessing my love to him makes me smile now, as I adjust the necklace he gave me on our first anniversary, a simple silver chain with a heart pendant.

Since this years of being his wife, he’s been an amazing husband, attentive in public, gentle in private, always making sure I have everything I need.

We’ve built a life together.

Today, I want to look into his eyes and tell him how much I appreciate him for loving me, for choosing to make this work despite the arrangement.

I glance at the clock. He’s due any minute. The house is decorated subtly, balloons in the living room, a cake from the bakery he likes waiting in the fridge. I imagine his face lighting up, pulling me into a hug, whispering “Happy birthday” before I spill my heart.

Shortly, the front door clicks open, and my pulse quickens. I hurry downstairs, but when I see him, my smile disappears.

His face is emotionless as he hands his briefcase to one of the servants by the door and walks straight to the dining table, setting down a thick file.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I have something to tell you,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt, looking exhausted.

No “happy birthday.” No gift. Just that cold expression, like a stranger has replaced the man I know all of a sudden.

I take a step closer.

He takes a few steps closer too and stands in front of me, his height towering as always. “I’ve had the divorce papers prepared. Here.” He picks up the file and hands it to me, his tone emotionless. “I’m sorry I’m telling you now.”

Divorce papers? The words hit like a slap.

“Are we getting divorced?” The words came out before I could stop them.

I stare at the file in my hands, the legal jargon blurring before my eyes.

“Isabella is back,” he says simply.

Isabella. The name pierces through me like a shard of glass.

From the beginning, I knew he loved her, his college girlfriend, the one who got away. She moved abroad for her studies five years ago, right around the time Grandfather started pressuring Zeta about settling down.

Grandfather wanted grandchildren, age was no longer on his side, his health was failing. That’s why he arranged this marriage, seeing me as a fit wife for Zeta, his adopted sister-turned-bride.

The sweet life I had imagined, growing old with Zeta, lazy Sundays in bed, watching our children play in the yard, shatters in front of me.

Immediately, I think back to our intimate moments, how he never made love to me without a condom, always insisting he wasn’t ready for kids. Now I know the reason. Perhaps he didn’t want kids with me. The thought twists like a knife into my heart.

He was waiting for her while being married to me…

He speaks again, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. “I know you never loved me,” he says. “You only agreed to the marriage because you didn’t want to hurt Grandfather.”

He’s wrong. So painfully wrong. I agreed to marry him because I loved him so much, loved him with every fiber of my being.

He was everything I wanted, the perfect elder brother who protected me growing up, the loving husband who held me through storms and never made me question this marriage. In his arms, I felt safe, cherished.

Now, he wants to divorce me. How could he not see it? How could three years of shared life mean so little?

My eyes threaten to get wet, tears prickling at the corners, but I hold them back, forcing my voice to stay normal. “Does Grandfather know about this?”

“No,” he replies. “And you should tell him yourself that you no longer want to be in the marriage.”

Of course he wants to push it to me. He doesn’t want Grandfather to be mad at him for this. He knows how much Grandfather loves me, treats me like his own flesh and blood. If I take the blame, Grandfather won’t get so mad at me; he’ll be disappointed, perhaps, but forgiving.

Zeta has always been the golden boy, the one who could do no wrong in Grandfather’s eyes. This way, he escapes the fallout.

I nod. “Okay.”

I wipe my tears. “I’m happy for you.” It’s a tear of joy. My lips curl into a painful smile.

He steps closer, his expression almost relieved. He plants a kiss on my forehead.

“Thank you.” He returns the smile. Then speaks again. “Once the divorce is done, you will finally get to meet a man you love and who loves you back okay? I’m still your brother no matter what and I always want the best for you, and whoever you choose as a husband, I’ll support you.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, my eyes get wet again as they spill down my cheeks nonstop.