She Marries The Wrong Brother

She knew something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes.

It was not panic at first. Panic came later. What came first was the silence. The heavy, deliberate kind that did not belong to her room, or to the house she had been raised in, or to the life she had agreed to step into.

The ceiling above her was unfamiliar. Too high. Too clean. There was no crack near the corner, no faint water stain she had once memorised while lying awake at night. The curtains were thick, dark, drawn with intention rather than carelessness.

Her body stiffened under the sheets.

She did not move immediately. She listened instead. To the quiet hum of the air, to the distant sound of the city beyond the walls, to the steady rhythm of breathing that was not hers.

Slowly, carefully, she turned her head.

The man beside her was awake.

He was lying on his back, one arm resting casually over the covers, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as though he had been waiting for this exact moment. There was no confusion on his face. No surprise. No guilt.

Her breath caught.

This was not the man she had married.

Her pulse spiked, sharp and sudden, but she forced herself not to react. Not yet. She studied him instead, the way prey studies a threat before deciding whether to run or freeze.

He was taller than his brother. Broader. His presence filled the space without effort, as though the room had been designed around him. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, but his eyes betrayed something else. Awareness. Control. Calculation.

He turned his head toward her slowly, deliberately.

“You’re awake,” he said.

His voice was low, steady, unhurried. Not the voice of a man who had made a mistake.

Her throat tightened. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, his gaze moving from her face to the faint tremor in her hands, to the way her body had gone rigid beneath the sheets.

“I am exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he replied.

The words settled heavily between them.

She sat up abruptly, the sheets pooling around her waist. “Where is he?”

He did not answer immediately. Instead, he shifted onto his side, propping his head against his hand, studying her with a focus that made her skin prickle.

“That’s your first question,” he said. “Interesting.”

Her voice sharpened. “Answer me.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not kind. Not mocking. Something colder.

“You’re married,” he said.

Her breath hitched. “Not to you.”

Silence stretched. He did not argue. He did not correct her. He simply watched as the realisation crept across her face, slow and horrifying.

She looked down at herself then. At the unfamiliar silk of the nightdress. At the ring on her finger.

Her stomach dropped.

“This isn’t possible,” she whispered.

“It is,” he said calmly. “And it already happened.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing too quickly, dizziness rushing through her. “This was a mistake. Whatever game you think you’re playing, it ends now.”

She turned toward the door.

His voice stopped her.

“If you walk out of that room,” he said evenly, “you will do so as my wife.”

Her hand froze on the handle.

She turned back slowly, fury and fear tangling in her chest. “You think you can just say that and make it true?”

“I don’t need to say it,” he replied. “The documents are signed. The witnesses are recorded. The name on the certificate is mine.”

Her laugh was short, disbelieving. “You switched places.”

“Yes.”

“You committed fraud.”

“No,” he said. “I executed a plan.”

Her nails dug into her palm. “Why?”

That was the first time his expression changed.

Something dark passed through his eyes, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“Because,” he said quietly, “my brother wanted something he didn’t understand.”

Her chest tightened. “And you think you do?”

“I think,” he replied, rising from the bed with deliberate ease, “that you were never meant for him.”

He stopped a step away from her. Too close. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him, steady and unyielding.

“You don’t own me,” she said, her voice trembling despite her effort.

He leaned in slightly, not touching her, not yet.

“No,” he agreed. “But you belong here now.”

Her heart slammed violently against her ribs. Outside the room, the world continued as if nothing had shifted. Inside, everything had already changed.