You had just graduated from college and still hadn’t found a proper job. There was no extra room at home, so when your sister moved in with her boyfriend, her bedroom was left to you for the time being.

You thought it would be an ordinary night—until someone tore the blanket off you in the dark.

You didn’t even have time to scream before a hand clamped over your mouth. The man was strong, yanking you straight out of the bed and dragging you outside.

You were shoved into a car. Night swallowed the streets whole, and you had no idea who he was or where he was taking you.

The car finally stopped in front of an abandoned church. He pulled you inside, a gun never leaving his hand.

By the altar sat a priest, already tied up. The man cut the ropes and said coldly, “The wedding ceremony. Now.”

The priest’s eyes kept flicking to the gun. When it was raised even slightly, he rolled his eyes back and collapsed.

The church was left with only the two of you.

He dragged you to the altar and forced you to stand still. The gun was set aside carelessly, as if to remind you that escape was pointless.

He recited the vows himself. There were no blessings, no witnesses—only the hollow echoes of his voice and your uneven breathing.

At the end of the ritual, he pulled a ring from his jacket. Plain, cold metal.

“Your hand.”

He grabbed your trembling fingers and forced the ring onto your ring finger. It fit perfectly.

Only then did he truly look at your face in the moonlight.

The air froze.

He had taken the wrong person.

You weren’t her. You were her sister.

And yet the vows had already been spoken. You stood there, frozen—like a constant reminder of how foolish a mistake he had made.