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HANNAH'S POV: 

BEGINNINGS:

"What's going on?" I asked quietly, pulling off my headphones as I walked into the living room.

My parents and my younger sister, Janet, were seated on the white couches. Janet had this pleading look on her face as she stared at them. The second I stepped in, all three of them turned to look at me. My heart started pounding.

My mother glanced at Janet, then back at me. Her expression was cold. "We're withdrawing you from school. Go freshen up. You're getting married to Elijah Martinez tonight."

I frowned and confused. The words didn't make sense. "What? What are you talking about?"

I looked back and forth between Janet, who had a strange, unreadable expression, and my parents.

My father's jaw clenched. "Do you think this is a joke, Hannah? Our company is days away from bankruptcy. The Martinez family agreed to help us, but only on one condition. One of our daughters has to marry their son."

The room felt like it was spinning. "I... I don't understand. Why me? Why now?"

"Because Janet is too young," my mother said simply, as if that explained everything. "She's only eighteen. She's still a child with her whole life ahead of her. But you..." She paused, looking me up and down with barely concealed disappointment. "You're older. More mature. And frankly, you don't have much going for you anyway."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I actually took a step back.

"But I don't want to marry him either! I don't even know him," I tried to explain, my voice rising with panic.

"Don't be selfish!" my father snapped, slamming his hand on the armrest. "Your sister has a future. Dreams. This is your chance to finally do something useful for this family instead of just taking up space."

His words shattered something inside me. "I always do everything for this family! I cook, I clean, I help with everything you ask, and you treat me like I'm nothing!"

Janet shifted uncomfortably on the couch, but her eyes held something. Something cold. "Hannah, please don't make this harder than it has to be. We're all making sacrifices here."

"What sacrifices are you making, Janet?" I turned to her, desperate for some solidarity, some understanding. "You get to stay here, finish school, live your life. I'm the one being sold off like property!"

"Enough!" my mother hissed, standing up. "This discussion is over. You will do this, Hannah. For once in your life, you will be useful to this family."

Before I could respond, my father's phone rang. He answered it, his face going from tense to completely pale in seconds.

"What happened?" my mother asked, her voice rising with alarm.

He stood up shakily, loosening his tie with trembling fingers. "The investors... they pulled out. All of them. Without the Martinez deal, we're finished."

And just like that, he collapsed.

The screams came from everywhere. Janet dropped to her knees beside him, wailing dramatically. My mother panicked and yelled for someone to call the doctor. I just stood there, frozen, watching my entire world spin out of control.

Time moved strangely after that. Minutes felt like hours. The doctor came, checked my father's vitals, and administered medication. A heart attack, he said. Stress-induced. He needed rest and absolutely no more stress.

I was still standing in the same spot, tears streaming down my face, when two of our security guards suddenly grabbed me by the arms.

"Wait, what are you doing?" I tried to pull away, but their grips were iron-tight.

They dragged me toward the stairs. I kicked, screamed, fought with everything I had, but they didn't even slow down.

"This is what's best," my mother's voice floated up from below, cold and detached. "You'll be saving your family, Hannah. Isn't that what you've always wanted? To finally matter?"

They threw me into my room and I heard the lock click from the outside. I pounded on the door until my fists hurt, screaming until my voice went hoarse.

Through the wood, I could hear Janet's voice, calm and measured. "This is what she needs to do, Mom. For all of us."

"I know, sweetheart," my mother responded, her tone almost affectionate. The type of warmth she never used with me. "You're such a good girl for understanding."

I slid down the door, wrapping my arms around myself, and cried until there were no tears left.

*

*

*

By the time the door opened again, the sun had started to set, painting my room in shades of orange and red. Two maids walked in without a word. Not even a greeting. Not a trace of sympathy in their eyes.

They yanked my clothes off like I was a doll, something without feelings or dignity. I was too exhausted to fight. They dressed me in a pale ivory dress that felt more like a burial shroud than a wedding gown. They applied makeup to my face with rough, uncaring hands. 

When they finally let me look in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself. My eyes were red and swollen. My face was painted to hide the evidence of my tears, but it couldn't hide the emptiness in my eyes.

I kept hoping this was a nightmare. That I'd wake up and everything would be normal again. Or at least, as normal as my life ever was.

They shoved me into a car. Janet's new car, the one my parents had bought her for her birthday last month. She stood by the driveway in her comfortable clothes, perfectly fine, waving at me with a small, satisfied smile. Like she was seeing me off on a vacation.

The drive to the courthouse was silent except for the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. I kept thinking this had to be some kind of mistake. That someone would stop this. That my parents would come to their senses.

But no one came.

When we arrived, Elijah Martinez was already there, standing by the registrar. He looked like he'd come straight from work. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie was loose, and there was a glass of scotch in his hand. He looked distracted. Tired. Completely uninterested in what was about to happen.

He glanced at me for barely a second before looking away. He didn't even really see me.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered to the registrar, his voice low and bored. The smell of alcohol rolled off him in waves.

The registrar looked uncomfortable but proceeded anyway. I signed the papers through a blur of tears. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold the pen.

I was married. Just like that. And no one who loved me was there to support me.

Not that anyone loved me.

When we got to the Martinez estate that night, he was stumbling slightly, throwing off his jacket as he walked into the massive bedroom. He'd barely said two words to me the entire drive. When I glanced back outside, my family's driver and Janet's car were already gone.

They'd left me here. Actually left me.

The bedroom was enormous, decorated in dark, expensive furniture that felt cold and unwelcoming. Elijah locked the door behind us with a heavy click that made my heart race.

I stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do or say. My hands were trembling.

He turned to look at me, his eyes unfocused and glassy. For a moment, he just stared, as if trying to remember who I was or why I was there.

Then he moved toward me, and I instinctively took a step back.

"Don't," he said quietly, reaching for me. His hands were large and surprisingly gentle as they found mine. "It's okay. You're nervous. I understand."

For just a moment, a tiny, fragile moment, something like hope flickered in my chest. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he was kind underneath the alcohol and the indifference. Maybe this marriage, as forced as it was, could become something real. Maybe someone could finally see me, choose me, want me.

Maybe I could finally matter to someone.

He pulled me closer, and I let him. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine a future where this man could love me. Where I wasn't just a burden or a tool.

His lips found mine, and I tried to respond, tried to feel something other than fear and sadness.

But then he pulled back slightly, his breath hot against my ear, and whispered, "Janet."

The name hit me like ice water.

My eyes flew open. "What?"

But he wasn't listening. His eyes were closed, lost in his own world, his own fantasy. "I knew you'd come around, Janet. I knew you wanted this too."

Everything inside me froze. No. No, this couldn't be happening.

"I'm not..." I started to say, but he was already kissing me again, murmuring her name like a prayer.

I tried to push him away, tried to make him understand, but he was so much stronger than me, and the alcohol had made him determined. Insistent.

"Stop," I whispered, but the word came out weak, broken. "Please, I'm not Janet. I'm Hannah. I'm..."

He wasn't listening. He'd never been listening.

As he led me to the bed, still whispering her name, still believing I was my sister, I felt something inside me crack and then shatter completely.

I realized with horrible, crushing clarity that my parents hadn't just arranged this marriage randomly. They'd known. They'd known he wanted Janet. They'd known, and they'd sent me anyway because I was disposable. Because I was the one they could sacrifice.

And Janet had let them. She'd stood there, played the victim, and let them throw me to the wolves.

That night, as he took everything from me while whispering another woman's name, while believing he was with the girl he actually wanted, I felt whatever small hope I'd been clinging to die inside me.

It was never me. I was never the one anyone picked. I'd spent my whole life trying to be enough, trying to be seen, trying to matter.

But I was losing my virginity to a man who didn't even know who I was. A man who wished I was someone else. My own sister.

I stared at the ceiling in the darkness, tears sliding silently down my temples, and realized I had never felt more alone in my entire life.