I Married My Runaway Sister’s Fiancé

I married into a wealthy family in place of my runaway sister, but my husband, Damian, refuses to touch me.

He refuses to dance with me in public, rejects my kiss, and even has my luggage dumped in the hotel lobby. Believing he despises me, I pull off my wedding ring and prepare to leave.

But the moment my blood touches the blue diamond, I hear his thoughts: “Leave. I want her too much. If she comes any closer, I really will hurt her.”

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After my older sister Celia ran away from her wedding, I married Damian in her place.

On the thirtieth day of our marriage, I overheard Damian ordering someone to find her.

“Have you found Celia?”

His voice was calm behind the study door.

His assistant answered, “Not yet.”

“Keep looking.” Damian paused. “Don't let Ivy find out.”

My hand froze on the doorknob.

In the month we'd been married, Damian had never kissed me, held my hand, or even eaten at the same table with me. Celia had abandoned him the night before their wedding, yet he was still searching for her.

And Celia was my own sister.

After she ran away, Mom cried and begged me to put on the wedding dress Celia had left behind. Dad said the Reed family couldn't afford to lose both the Blake marriage and the last shred of its dignity. No one asked if I wanted to do it. They only told me to marry him.

I thought that if I did everything a wife should, Damian would eventually accept me. But every time he saw me, he immediately looked away.

The door suddenly opened.

His assistant's expression changed the moment he saw me. Damian stood behind him and saw me too.

I waited for an explanation.

Damian only said, “Be in the ballroom at six. We need to rehearse the dance.”

Then he walked past me without even brushing my clothes.

The Blake family was hosting a charity ball in three days. Every guest would be watching Damian and me perform the opening dance. Yet I, Mrs. Blake, didn't even know what my husband's hand felt like.

Because I was only the substitute they had shoved into Celia's wedding dress after she ran away.

At six that evening, I entered the ballroom.

Every crystal light was on. The dance instructor, hotel manager, and staff waited beside the dance floor. Damian stood in the center in a black tuxedo without looking at me.

Lina encouraged me in a low voice. “Go take Damian's hand. You're his wife.”

I swallowed my hurt, walked up to him, and held out my hand.

“Let's begin.”

Damian looked down at my hand.

After several seconds, he actually started to reach for me.

My heart sped up. I thought he was finally willing to touch me.

But just before our hands met, Damian jerked his back and stepped away.

Then he turned to the dance instructor beside him.

“You do it.”

The ballroom went silent.

The instructor looked at me awkwardly. Damian had already taken the instructor's hand and led the way onto the dance floor.

The music began. He could place a hand on the instructor's waist. He could take the instructor's hand and spin without the slightest hesitation.

So Damian didn't hate touching people.

He only refused to touch me.

My hand was still suspended in the air. Everyone in the ballroom had seen him reject me. Some quickly lowered their eyes. Others pretended to organize documents. One person failed to hold back a laugh.

Lina started toward them in fury, but I caught her arm.

“Don't.” My throat tightened. “This is humiliating enough already.”

I dug my nails into my palm until they left red crescents and forced myself to stand straight. Damian had already abandoned me in front of everyone. I couldn't run away crying too.

On the dance floor, Damian suddenly missed a step.

He looked back at me, and his right hand slowly curled into a fist at his side.

His brow tightened and his breathing grew noticeably heavier. But the next second, he looked away and put more distance between us.

I was tired of guessing.

For a month, I'd told myself Damian only needed time. That he wasn't used to our rushed marriage. That maybe he simply disliked physical closeness with anyone.

Now I'd watched him take the dance instructor's hand without hesitation.

There were no excuses left.

After rehearsal, I followed Damian straight into his study and shut the door.

“You're still looking for Celia.” I stared at him. “You won't touch me because you can't forget her. Is that it?”

Damian held a glass of whiskey but said nothing.

His silence was answer enough.

I walked up to him and rose on my toes until my lips were inches from his.

“Kiss me.”

Damian's breathing turned ragged. The veins stood out on the hand gripping his glass.

“If you reject me again, I'll leave after the ball in three days.”

I wasn't asking for this kiss to save our marriage.

I needed to see for myself whether Damian couldn't touch me—or simply didn't want to.

I looked into his eyes and added, one word at a time,

“This time, I'll never come back.”