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My Sister's Fiance

My Sister's Fiance

Romance
last updateПоследнее обновление : 2026-07-27
От :  Maya EastUpdated just now
Язык: English
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Синопсис

Contemporary

First-Person POV

Steamy

Badboy

Twins

Dominant

Second Chance

Runaway with a Baby

Forbidden Love

On the night of my sister’s engagement party, my life officially crashes. Again. All because of one name on the invitation. Zachary de Sanctis. My sister’s fiancé. Fiona. My ex, the guy I punched in the face five years ago. Heir to the richest old-money family in Europe. And one tiny detail only God and I know: he’s the father of my twins. For the past five years, I’ve been hiding out in a little town in Oregon, working as the CEO of a IT firm while chasing two four-year-olds who look more like their father than me. Isaac and Isabella: two mini De Sanctis clones with the last name Gómez, razor-sharp mouths, brains that run too fast, and a talent for causing trouble exactly when I need peace. My family knows I came home pregnant and alone. They just never asked who the father is, and I never offered an answer. As far as they’re concerned, I’m still Arabella Gómez, the wild one who lost her way. I thought going to Fiona’s engagement party would just mean a few hours of fake laughing, then a quiet drive back to my glass-walled house in Oregon and two sets of blue eyes calling me Mommy. Until Zach walks into my parents’ living room holding Fiona’s hand… and his gaze stays on my face a little too long. He can’t find out about Isaac and Isabella. Fiona can’t find out her perfect fiancé was mine first. And my family can’t know what really happened five years ago. Hiding a scandal between two rich dynasties is one thing. Hiding two chaotic twins who are basically their father’s face copy-pasted? That’s the real nightmare.

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145
The End of Us, The Start of Me
I sat on a slick wooden bench on a Boston sidewalk, my watch telling me it was well past midnight, and the only things keeping me company were a streetlamp and the constant buzz of phone notifications going off like a curse.My boyfriend was being kissed by an influencer on a five-inch screen.I stared at the photo for the … God, I’d lost count.Zachary de Sanctis. His mouth on a blonde whose bra probably cost more than half of an average MIT student’s tuition. The background: a victory party. Italian flags. Balloons. An F1 team logo I thought only existed on TV.The caption burning in the corner:“Victory party after big bro’s win. Your boy knows how to celebrate.”Sent by: Maya.My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles went white. The Boston night wind whipped my hair and cut straight through my sweater, but the heat behind my eyes hurt more.Shit.Next photo. Swipe.Zach on a leather couch, champagne bottle in hand, the blonde perched on his lap, her dress riding way
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Five Years After the Fire
Five years later.Oregon rain tapped softly against the kitchen’s glass wall. Steady, cold, and mildly annoying.The pan on the stove hissed quietly, the smell of almost-done corn arepas mixing with black coffee and the chorizo I was frying in the skillet next to it. A slow Latin playlist floated from the speakers, the same old songs Mamá used to play in Bogotá every Sunday morning.The difference was, the view outside wasn’t a city full of honking cars and people yelling in Spanish, but foggy pine trees and expensive houses pretending they weren’t snobbish.This house sat on a hill in a private neighborhood near Lake Oswego, about thirty minutes from Portland. Papa called it “a quiet place for your stubborn brain, hija.”I called it “I got exiled to the woods with very good Wi-Fi.”“MAX, GIVE ME BACK MY CROWN!”So much for the calm, competent-young-mother-making-breakfast aesthetic. The scream split the air, high-pitched, dramatic, with a tiny accent that mixed English and a hint of
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It’s Just an Engagement Party (What Could Possibly Go Wrong?)
The second-floor workspace looks like a bored Pinterest board: neat white desk, bookshelves, two monitors. I’m in a fitted black blazer on top… alpaca-print pajama pants on the bottom.Out in the hallway, just beyond the half-closed door, the sound of running shakes the corridor.“SUPER MAX WILL SAVE THE WORLD!”“NO! SUPER BELLA SAVES THE WORLD! MAX IS THE VILLAIN!”I rub my temples. “Max, Issa, if you crash into a wall and give yourselves a concussion. I have a meeting, por favor.”My laptop chimes softly in front of me, a new email notification. Tania’s icon pops up in the corner of our internal chat.TANIA:Boss, we’ve got something big.New potential client from Washington.Name: Northlake Horizons Realty.My eyebrows lift. I scroll through the email she forwarded. Formal logo, tidy signature, DC address. The body: a request for consulting on migrating their entire IT system from on-prem to the cloud, plus a full security overhaul.The fee they’re offering for the “initial engagem
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Confetti, Cousins, and the Man I Punched
Five days in the Gómez house felt like being tossed into an industrial washing machine: spinning, loud, warm, and there was always someone shoving food at you even after you’d just said you were full.On day one, Mamá had already rearranged my entire schedule like I was back in eleventh grade and needed supervision so I wouldn’t run off and get married in secret. On day two, I gave up and let myself be dragged from hug to hug, from one “Arabellita, you’re too thin” to another “Arabellita, you work too much,” with a few seconds in between to breathe.Meanwhile, the twins lived like royalty.They came down the grand staircase in pajamas that had somehow transformed into “criminally cute” outfits, complete with shiny little shoes, and the entire Gómez family behaved like two four-year-olds had just stopped by from Hollywood to pick up empanadas.Fiona was the worst.My sister stood in the kitchen in a pretty apron, and every five minutes she found a new excuse to feed Issa a piece of fr
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Hot People Ruin Everything
And then... the blue eyes I’d once punched found mine across the crowd.Oh, good.Just fantastic.If the universe had a sense of humor, it was definitely drunk.I didn’t know who moved first. Maybe not him. Maybe not me. Maybe the room just suddenly felt too tight, too bright, too full of people who would stare if one glass dropped or one name was said in the wrong tone.Zach was standing beside Fiona, one hand still at my sister’s waist, his black suit neat as expensive sin. His dark hair was shorter than the last time I’d seen him. His jaw was sharper. His shoulders broader. And his face still had that same infuriating habit: looking like a cologne ad that should’ve been banned for women’s safety.Fiona turned to him, smiled, then followed his line of sight.To me.No.No, thank you.NOPE.My brain, which could usually calm investors, a dev team, and two tiny kids who thought the refrigerator was a place of worship, had exactly one brilliant idea right now:Run.“Maxime!” My voice c
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Five Meters or Less
Fiona started making her way down from the center of the room. Zach moved with her, calm, unhurried. Which was worse. I preferred reckless men. They were easier to predict.This one wasn’t.“Bella!” Fiona’s voice carried over to us, warm, happy, completely unaware she’d just lit a bomb in a room full of family.I lifted a hand without fully turning around. “Bathroom emergency!” I called back.Even from across the room, I could see Fiona laugh, her head tipping back a little, her shoulders lifting. “Oh my God, again?”“The kids or me. Pick whichever version sounds funnier,” I called.“I really don’t have to pee!” Max protested at his normal volume, which still meant too loud.“Great. Then you can accompany your sister.”“I don’t have to either!” Issa shrieked, offended. “And if I go into a bathroom right now, my dress could be traumatized.”“Your dress will be fine.”“Not everyone is as strong as you, Mommy.”Theo turned toward the pillar, laughing silently. Traitor.I didn’t give Fion
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Gifted and Loud
The morning after the party, the Gómez mansion woke up the way it always did: too much light, too much noise, and too many people who believed butter was a love language.I was only halfway down the stairs when the first explosion came from the dining room.“THAT’S MINE!”“NO, IT’S NOT! Tía Abuelita Lucia gave it to me!”I closed my eyes for a second.It was barely past eight in the morning. Incredible.The second I walked into the dining room, I spotted the source of the national crisis.Max was standing on his chair, his hair still wrecked from sleep, blue pajamas with tiny rockets all over them wrinkled at the knees, one hand clutching a croissant that was already starting to look a little tragic. Across from him stood Issa in pale pink satin pajamas and a furry headband that God knew who had given her. If I found out, I was going to stare at that person until they felt guilty. Her hand was clamped around her plate. Her hazel eyes were blazing.At the long table, the adults were be
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Overstimulated
By midday, the mansion had gotten even louder, because the Gómez extended family operated on one strange principle: if there’s a cute child in the house, invite more people.The cousins came. The aunts came. Even one of Mamá’s old neighbors stopped by with cake and immediately fell in love with Issa just because my daughter told her, “I like your earrings, but they need discipline.”The woman laughed so hard she nearly choked.Meanwhile, Max had found a new way to make everyone adore him: he sat on the living room rug with two younger cousins, stacking wooden blocks into something resembling a tower, then said in the tone of a man running a board meeting, “If you touch this before I say so, you’re fired.”“What does fired mean?” one of the little cousins asked.“Go away,” Max said calmly. “With shame.”Papá, passing by, burst out laughing. Mamá stroked Max’s hair. Aunt Carmen said the boy “had character.”I sat on the sofa with my laptop on my knees, replying to Tania’s email about No
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My Son, the Bomb Technician
The next night, the Gómez house smelled like garlic, rosemary, and bad decisions.From the dining room, I could already hear plates being set down, glasses being moved, Mamá correcting the centerpiece like the arrangement of hydrangeas might determine the quality of her daughter’s marriage, and Papá apparently arguing with someone about wine pairings as if the family’s survival depended on it.I stood in the hallway, phone in one hand, slim laptop tucked against my chest, then looked once toward the noise.No.If I sat down five minutes too early, someone would definitely start. Ara, sit here. Ara, try this. Ara, why are you so thin. Ara, after dinner we’re taking more pictures.No, thank you.I turned toward the back door.The Medellín night hit my skin right away—warm, a little damp, smelling of freshly watered grass and jasmine from the pots by the terrace. The garden lights glowed low along the stepping stones. At the far end, the little pool reflected the house lights like jewelr
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Don't Look
I didn’t really breathe again until everyone finally started sitting down.The Gómez dining room that night looked like an ad for a rich family that was chaotic but still photogenic. Little candles in the center of the table. White porcelain plates. Crystal glasses. Flowers arranged a little too perfectly. The smell of rosemary, roasted meat, garlic, and butter drifted up from the kitchen like a subtle threat to anyone who’d shown up with dramatic intentions.Max looked over at Delano, who was already seated, and pointed. “I want to sit there.”Theo, standing behind me, let out a quiet scoff. “Wow. So I’m not interesting enough anymore?”Max turned to him without an ounce of guilt. “Tío Delano is cooler.”Theo put a hand to his chest. “My heart is in so much pain.”“I want to sit there too. Tío Delano doesn’t smell like coffee and opinions.” Issa, naturally, refused to be outdone.Delano laughed so hard Papá looked up from the end of the table.Theo looked at me. “Your children are cr
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