Five Years as a Stand-In Wife, Then He Chose my Sister

The house was unusually quiet when Damien, Bianca, Marcus, and Elliot returned late that night. Laughter echoed in the hallway as they fumbled with the lock, still basking in the glow of their late-night outing. They had gone out for drinks after dinner, enjoying themselves far more than they probably should have.

Damien stepped inside first, flicking the light switch.

Nothing.

The hallway remained bathed in shadows.

“What the hell?” Damien muttered, flicking the switch again. The lights finally blinked on—and the living room came into full view.

It was a mess. Pillows scattered on the floor. Dishes still on the table. A faint trail of mud leading from the door. The entire house looked like it hadn’t been touched all day.

“The fuck is this?” Damien growled, stepping inside. “Talia! What the hell is this?!”

No answer.

He made a move to rush toward the stairs, but Bianca stopped him, her hand on his arm. “Come on,” she said with a light laugh. “Don’t ruin the night. She’s probably just sulking again. Sleeping, maybe.”

“She always does this when she wants attention,” Marcus added, removing his shoes carelessly.

Elliot chuckled. “Yeah, man, just let her be. She’ll clean this up in the morning like she always does.”

Damien hesitated. “But this mess—”

Bianca tugged his arm gently. “Come to bed with me,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his ear. “Don’t let her ruin our night.” Then she laughed softly, adding, “She’s probably just pouting somewhere, pretending to be important. You know how dramatic she can be.”

Damien didn’t argue after that. With one last glance toward the stairs, he let himself be pulled into the room by Bianca.

Once inside, Bianca unzipped her dress slowly, letting it fall with theatrical grace. “You know,” she purred, sliding her arms around his neck, “this room used to be hers, didn’t it?” She smirked, tilting her head. “Poor thing. Must be hard to realize she’s been replaced even in bed.”

Moments later, laughter turned into moans.

And while the rest of the house remained dark and disordered, behind that closed door, Damien and Bianca indulged in their pleasure—completely forgetting about the woman who was once his wife, her presence erased with every kiss and whispered mockery.

The next morning, the sunlight pierced through the curtains.

Damien groaned, blinking into the brightness, then shot up. “Shit!” he muttered. “My meeting!”

Bianca stirred lazily beside him, still under the covers. “What meeting?”

“You didn’t wake me up!” he barked.

She yawned, stretching her arms. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

He flung the sheets off and began pulling on his pants. “Talia should’ve woken me up—where the hell is she?”

He stomped into the hallway. “Talia!” he yelled, but there was no reply.

His brow furrowed.

He checked her room.

Empty.

No sign of her.

That’s when Marcus and Elliot emerged from their rooms, still in their pajamas.

“What’s up?” Marcus asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Talia’s gone,” Damien said tightly. “She’s not in her room.”

“Maybe she went out early,” Bianca offered from behind him. “Come on, she’s probably just sulking. Again.”

They all went downstairs, expecting breakfast at least. But the kitchen was silent. The table was bare. The sink untouched. The fridge unopened. There was no breakfast.

Not even coffee.

“What the actual—” Damien slammed his hand against the table. “She didn’t even cook?!”

He pulled out his phone. Dialed her number.

No signal.

“Not reachable,” he hissed. “Where the fuck is she?”

Bianca twirled her hair and sighed. “She probably went out early to buy groceries or something.”

“No.” Damien’s voice was sharper now. “I know her. Talia never leaves this place messy. She always wakes me up before meetings. She never lets a day pass without making food. This isn’t like her—”

He paused. A sick feeling clawed at his chest.

His mind flashed to something—something small, insignificant at the time.

“Shit.” He froze. “Last night. The dinner…”

“What dinner?” Elliot asked.

“The dinner date—I told her we’d go out.”

“Oh,” Bianca said slowly, glancing away. “You mean you think… she was still waiting for you?”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Marcus scoffed. “She’s not that pathetic.”

“Yeah,” Elliot chuckled. “She must’ve known you were just saying that to calm her down. No one waits that long.”

But Damien wasn’t listening anymore. He was already grabbing his car keys and storming out the door.

He sped through traffic, heart pounding against his ribs. When he reached the restaurant, he rushed inside.

“Excuse me,” he said to the waitress behind the counter. “Last night, there was a woman here. Talia. Did she say anything? Did she wait… or do you know where she is?”

The woman blinked, then nodded. “Yes. I remember her because she waited for more than hours before leaving. She left this for someone named Damien. I think it’s you because you have the same description as she said.”

She handed him a white envelope. Damien opened it with shaking hands.

Inside was her wedding ring.

A folded copy of their marriage certificate—marked “Invalid.”

And a single sheet of paper. A death certificate.

For their unborn child. The world seemed to tilt.

He could hear nothing but the pounding in his ears. The way the paper trembled in his grip.

“Before she left,” the woman added quietly, “she told us… ‘Give this to him. And let him know he’ll never find me again.’”

Damien stood there, frozen.

The envelope in his hands felt heavier than any burden he had ever known.