Married To My Sister's fiance

Ava's Pov 

"Miss Ava Sterling," the pastor said, turning toward me. "Do you take Ethan Van Horn as your lawfully wedded husband?"

The question hangs in the air like a weight pressing against my chest.

For a moment I cannot breathe. 

I can't imagine in my life that a day will come when I would be getting married to my sister's fiancee, what a big betrayal from me.

Hundreds of eyes are watching me. I can feel them even though I refuse to look at the crowd. Powerful families,Influential business partners,Socialites who thrive on whispers and scandals.

Every single one of them is waiting for my answer.

My fingers tighten slightly around the bouquet in my hands. The white roses tremble, betraying the calm expression I am desperately trying to maintain.

This wedding should never have happened.

Yet here I am.

Standing at the altar inside one of the most beautiful cathedrals in Manhattan, dressed in a gown that probably cost more than my first car, about to marry the most powerful man in the room.

Ethan Van Horn.

The man who was supposed to marry my sister.

The silence stretches painfully.

The pastor clears his throat gently, clearly expecting an answer.

But my mind is somewhere else entirely.

It drifts back to that night.

Soft music filling the ballroom. Glasses of champagne being passed around. Laughter and bright lights reflecting from crystal chandeliers.

Cynthia's birthday party had been the kind of extravagant celebration only New York's wealthiest families could host. The room had been overflowing with elegance and expensive perfume.

I had never been comfortable in places like that.

Clara, however, belonged there.

My older sister moved through those crowds like she owned them. Confident. Beautiful. Admired by everyone.

Especially Ethan.

Even before their engagement was announced, people whispered about them like they were some kind of power couple destined to rule the city.

I remember watching them together that night. Ethan standing beside her in his perfectly tailored suit, tall and composed, his presence commanding attention without effort.

He had looked exactly like the kind of man who never made mistakes.

My stomach twists painfully.

And yet somehow, that same man is now standing beside me at the altar.

I finally force myself to glance at him.

Ethan has not moved.

He stands straight, his shoulders broad and rigid beneath the dark suit that fits him perfectly. His expression is calm, almost cold, as if this entire ceremony is nothing more than another business meeting.

But his eyes are what make my heart tighten.

Dark,Unreadable,and focused entirely on me.

There is no warmth in that gaze.

Only restrained frustration.

The kind a man might feel when he has been forced into something he never wanted.

I looked away quickly.

The truth burns painfully in my chest.

He believes I ruined everything.

And maybe he is right.

The memory of that night flashes through my mind again.

I remember too much champagne, laughter that felt lighter than usual, strange warmth that spread through my body as the music slowed and the crowd around us thinned.

What I remember most clearly is Ethan's voice.

Low. Calm. Closer than it should have been.

And then darkness.

Fragments of blurred moments that refuse to arrange themselves into a complete memory.

When I woke up the next morning, everything had already changed.

My heart begins beating faster.

Weeks later, the doctor had looked at me with a gentle smile and said the words that destroyed the quiet life I once had.

You are pregnant.

The sound of movement from the front row pulls me back to the present.

Without meaning to, my eyes drift toward the guests.

Clara is sitting directly beside our parents.

Her posture is flawless as always. Her dark hair falls elegantly over her shoulders and her expression remains perfectly composed.

Anyone watching her might think she was attending an ordinary wedding.

But I know my sister too well.

There is something in her eyes that makes my stomach twist again.

Not sadness,nor regret.

Something colder.

Almost like quiet satisfaction.

I quickly look away.

The pastor shifts slightly, his voice patient but firm.

"Miss Sterling?"

The reminder pulls me back to the moment I cannot escape.

The entire cathedral is silent.

Even the distant sound of traffic outside seems to have disappeared.

I swallow slowly.

My gaze drops to the polished floor for a brief second before I force myself to lift my head again.

When my eyes meet Ethan's, the air between us feels suddenly heavier.

Up close, he looks even more intimidating.

Tall enough that I have to tilt my head slightly just to meet his gaze.

His jaw is tight, the muscle there flexing slightly as if he is holding something back.

Anger, resentment.or maybe something worse.

I wonder what he is thinking right now.

Does he remember that night any better than I do?

Does he hate me for it?

A strange thought slips into my mind before I can stop it.

What if he regrets touching me at all?

My chest tightens painfully.

But none of that matters anymore.

The truth is already growing quietly inside me.

And this wedding is the price we must pay to keep the world from knowing.

I inhaled slowly.

"I do."

The words leave my mouth softly, but in the silent cathedral they sound louder than I expect.

A quiet wave of whispers spreads through the guests.

The pastor smiles with obvious relief before turning toward Ethan, he asked him the same question he replied nonchalantly.

"Mr. Van Horn, you may kiss your bride."

The words send a ripple of tension through my entire body.

My heart begins beating so fast I can feel it in my throat.

Ethan turns toward me slowly.

For a moment he simply looks at me.

His gaze moves across my face as if he is studying someone he does not recognize anymore.

Then his hand reaches for my waist.

The contact is sudden.

Firm.

His fingers close around the fabric of my dress, pulling me slightly closer to him.

The warmth of his hand burns through the thin material.

A sharp memory flashes through my mind.

Those same hands on my skin.

The thought sends a wave of heat rushing through my body.

Ethan leans down slightly.

Up close, I can see the faint tension in his eyes.

The restraint in the way he holds himself.

As if touching me is something he would rather avoid.

Our lips met.

The kiss was brief, and controlled.

Nothing like the reckless memory that keeps trying to surface in my mind.

But even in that short moment, something strange passes between us.

A spark,then he pulls away immediately.

The distance between us returns.

The guests erupt into applause.

Cameras flash.

Someone nearby begins cheering.

But the celebration feels distant, almost unreal.

Because Ethan leans slightly closer to me again.

His voice is low enough that only I can hear it.

"You should be happy," he murmurs.

There is no warmth in his tone.

Only disdain.

"This is what you wanted."

A chill runs through my spine.

Because deep down I know something he does not.

I never wanted any of thi

s.

And somehow, I have the terrifying feeling that this marriage is only the beginning of something far more complicated than either of us is ready for.