Married To My Dead Husband Brother

The rain came down in sheets, cold and relentless, soaking through my black dress until the fabric clung to my skin like a second, heavier layer of grief. I stood apart from the others, half hidden by a crooked oak tree whose branches offered no real shelter. Mud sucked at my heels, threatening to pull me down into the earth right alongside Adrian.

They lowered the casket slowly, the ropes creaking under its weight. I watched every inch of it disappear into the ground, and all I could feel was… nothing. Not the sorrow I was supposed to feel. Not even proper relief. Just a hollow ache where my heart should have been beating.

On the other side of the grave, my mother in law, Margaret Blackwood, stood under a large black umbrella held by one of the guards. Her face was buried in a silk handkerchief, shoulders shaking with practiced sobs. Beside her, Sophia, Adrian’s younger sister clung to her arm, crying loud enough for the whole cemetery to hear. Their mascara ran in perfect black streaks down their powdered cheeks. A small cluster of guests shifted uncomfortably behind them: a few stern faced businessmen in tailored coats, distant relatives I barely recognized, and some of Adrian’s so called friends who looked more annoyed about the rain than the death.

No one looked at me. Not really.

I was the widow, but I might as well have been a ghost.

The priest’s voice droned on, words about eternal rest and God’s mercy that felt like mockery. Adrian Blackwood had shown mercy to no one, least of all me. I still carried the bruises from his last outburst three weeks ago, faded yellow green marks hidden beneath my long sleeves. He’d come home stinking of whiskey and cheap perfume, dragged me by my hair across the living room, and told me I was lucky he even bothered coming back to “his property.”

Now he was gone. Crashed his car into a guardrail doing ninety while blackout drunk. The police had called it an accident. I called it the first bit of justice the universe had ever thrown my way.

When the final shovel of dirt hit the casket with a dull thud, Margaret let out one last theatrical wail. Sophia glanced in my direction, her eyes narrowing through the rain. I looked away, staring at the fresh mound of earth instead. Goodbye, Adrian. I hope hell is everything you deserve.

The guests began to disperse quickly, eager to escape the downpour. No one offered me an umbrella. I didn’t expect one. I walked back to the waiting black SUV alone, water streaming down my face, mixing with the silent tears I hadn’t realized were falling. Not for him. For the girl I used to be before my parents signed my life away for ten million dollars and a seat at the Blackwood table.

The ride home was silent. Margaret and Sophia sat in the front row of seats, whispering between sniffles. I sat in the back, staring out the tinted window as the city blurred past. The Blackwood mansion loomed ahead soon enough cold stone and iron gates that had felt like a prison for the last two years.

Inside, the house smelled of lilies and polished wood. Servants moved like shadows, clearing away the funeral wreaths. Margaret didn’t even glance at me until we reached the formal sitting room. Then she stopped, turned, and pointed one manicured finger at the floor.

“Kneel.”

I obeyed without thinking. My knees hit the hard marble, sending a fresh wave of pain through my already exhausted body. The wet dress pooled around me, leaving a dark stain on the expensive rug. Sophia stood beside her mother, arms crossed, eyes red but sharp with something nastier than grief.

“You stupid, worthless girl,” Sophia hissed. She stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. The crack echoed through the room. My head snapped to the side, cheek burning. “You killed him. You know that, right? He was drinking because of you. Always fighting with you, always stressed because of your pathetic attitude. If you’d been a proper wife.....”

“I didn’t put the bottle in his hand,” I whispered, tasting blood where my lip had split against my teeth. “Or the wheel.”

Sophia’s hand flew again, but Margaret caught her wrist.

“Enough, Sophia. We have bigger problems.”

I kept my gaze on the floor, breathing slowly through the sting. This wasn’t new. The slaps, the blame, the cold dismissals. For two years I’d been the family punching bag, the purchased bride who couldn’t do anything right. Adrian’s drinking, his women, his rages....somehow always my fault.

Margaret sighed heavily and lowered herself onto the velvet couch, crossing her legs. She looked every bit the mafia queen she was, elegant, ruthless, diamonds glittering at her throat even on the day of her son’s funeral.

“Adrian is gone,” she said flatly, as if discussing the weather. “And with him, certain… alliances have become unstable. The family needs stability. We need connections. Your little display of grief or whatever this is won’t change that.”

I lifted my eyes slowly. “What do you want from me?”

Margaret’s smile was thin and sharp. “What we’ve always wanted. Your obedience. Your usefulness.”

Sophia paced behind the couch, still glaring daggers at me. “She should be thrown out on the street. Let her starve. It’s more than she deserves after what she did to my brother.”

“Quiet,” Margaret snapped. Then she turned back to me, studying my face like I was livestock at auction. “There’s a business partner. Mr. Reginald Voss. Sixty eight years old. Widower. Very influential in the ports. He’s been looking for a young wife to… warm his final years. In exchange, he’ll secure the new shipping contracts we need. Ten percent stake. Non negotiable.”

My stomach dropped. The room seemed to tilt.

“You’re going to sell me again?” The words came out hoarse. “Adrian’s barely in the ground.”

Margaret waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be dramatic, Eva. This is how things work. You were bought once. You’ll serve the family again. The wedding can be arranged within the month. Quiet, of course. Respectful mourning period and all that.”

I felt the walls closing in, the same suffocating pressure I’d lived with since the day my parents handed me over with smiles and bank transfers. Mr. Voss. I’d seen him once at a dinner party, old, leering, hands that lingered too long when he greeted the younger women. The thought of belonging to him made bile rise in my throat.

“Please,” I said, hating how weak I sounded. “I’ll do anything else. I can work. I can....”

“You’ll do as you’re told,” Margaret cut in coldly. “Or we’ll make sure you disappear the same way your usefulness will if you refuse. The choice is simple, girl. Marry Voss. Secure the contract. Or find out exactly how unforgiving this family can be to broken merchandise.”

Sophia smirked, clearly enjoying my humiliation. “Maybe Voss will beat some real obedience into you. God knows Adrian tried.”

I stayed on my knees, head bowed, rain still dripping from my hair onto the floor. The funeral dirt was probably still under my nails. My husband was dead, and already they were trading me like a used car with better mileage.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, hammering against the tall windows like it wanted to break in and wash this whole cursed house away. I closed my eyes, letting the numbness settle deeper.

One cage had closed. Another was already opening.

And I had no idea how to stop it.