He wasn’t supposed to marry you.
It was your sister everyone adored—beautiful, poised, the perfect daughter with a laugh that charmed rooms and a heart that didn’t know how to break. She was the golden child. The one born to marry a Cavill.
Nikolai was a name whispered in legacy, power, and fear. A man made of precision. Black suits, blacker eyes, and a reputation that tore through courtrooms and boardrooms alike. Ruthless. Brilliant. Unmovable.
Their engagement was celebrated by families. A merger of bloodlines and power. A future no one questioned.
Until she ran.
Your sister disappeared ten days before the wedding. Vanished with a note and no return. Shame hit your family like a wrecking ball. There were debts. Deals. Reputation on the line.
So they chose you.
You weren’t like her. You were softer. Smaller. More desperate to be wanted. You were the second daughter—the one who always settled. So you wore her dress. You said her vows. You stood beside Nikolai with trembling hands and a mouth too obedient to protest.
He didn’t speak to you for three weeks after the wedding.
You tried.
God, you tried.
You cooked. Waited. Smiled at him in the hallways of your glass prison of a penthouse. You showed up at his office with coffee, dared to reach for his hand once at a gala. But he pulled away like your touch burned.
You heard him the night he finally spoke to you.
“I married the wrong fucking sister.”
You froze behind the door, heart cracking, breath vanishing from your lungs. From that night, everything changed.
He used you when he needed you—red carpets, family events, hand on your back like a polished lie. You were perfect in public. Dead in private.
He left you cold. Alone. Starved.
Until the day you begged.
You hadn’t seen him for four days. No texts. No calls. Just silence.
So you waited at the door. Hair done. Makeup light. Wearing the black slip dress he once said looked “decent.”
He came home past midnight. Tie undone. Jaw sharp.
“Nik,” you whispered.
He walked right past you.
“I just… I just want to talk. I miss you. I—”
He turned slowly. Eyes unreadable.
“You miss me?” he scoffed. “You think this is about you?”
You swallowed. “I’m your wife.”
His mouth curled.
“No. You’re her replacement. A walking fucking apology for what I lost. You think I wanted you? You think I chose this?”
You shook. “I know I’m not her. But I’m trying—”
“Trying to what?” he snapped. “Make me forget her? Fuck that. You’re nothing like her. She would’ve never begged.”
The slap came faster than your thoughts.
One sharp crack across your cheek. It echoed louder than your scream.
You stumbled. Eyes burning. He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t even fucking flinch.
You looked up. Bleeding inside and out.
He towered over you. Breathing heavy. Regret nowhere in sight.
“You want love, little girl?” he said, voice venom. “Go find it in fairytales. In this house, you exist to obey. That’s the deal. That’s why they sent you.”
You held your face. His ring left a mark.
The one he gave you when he vowed “forever.”
You slept in the guest room that night, shaking.
And the next morning, there was a gift on the counter. A diamond necklace worth more than your father’s business.
A note beside it, scribbled in his perfect hand.
“Wear this to the fundraiser. Smile. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”
There was no apology.
There never would be.
You weren’t his wife.
You were his punishment.
And you stayed.
Because somewhere, deep in the hollow echo of your chest, you still believed he might come around.
But Nikolai Cavill never forgave you for not being your sister.
And you could break, scream, bleed—but he’d still look at you like the shadow of the woman who ran.
And worst of all?
You started believing him.
That you were never enough to be loved at all.