He Called Me His Bro—I Became Another’s Bride

What one cannot obtain in youth often becomes a lifelong obsession.

Even after seven years, Ryan had never forgotten his unattainable crush, Emily.

The moment she returned, he rushed to cast me aside.

He even emphasized again that I was merely his brother.

“Heh…”

The tears I had been holding back finally streamed down my face. Hastily pulling on my clothes, I turned and slapped Ryan hard!

“Ryan, my seven years of devotion were wasted on a dog. From now on, chase your goddess all you want—don’t ever bother me again!”

“Sophia, are you crazy? You—”

His angry voice chased after me, but I refused to look back, slamming the door behind me.

Back home, I wept until the sun was high in the sky. Only then did I calm down.

Without hesitation, I called my mother.

“Mom, I agree to the marriage alliance with the Lawson family. Set the wedding date as soon as possible. I’ve already bought a ticket to leave in seven days.”

But the next second, my door burst open.

Ryan’s darkened face appeared.

“Sophia, what marriage alliance?”

I hung up the call and made up an excuse, hoping to brush him off. Fortunately, he didn’t think much of it, pretending not to care.

Expressionless, I asked,

“What do you want in my house?”

Ryan lounged on the sofa, crossing his legs.

“Well, I want to throw a welcome party for Emily. She loves the ocean, and this beachfront mansion of yours is perfect. Let me borrow it for a day, yeah?”

He said it with such entitlement, even nudging my elbow.

“We’re buddies, right? You wouldn’t refuse to help me pursue my goddess, would you?”

Buddy. Always that word.

Ryan never missed a chance to remind me, warning me not to have feelings I shouldn’t.

But he was overthinking.

I was leaving soon anyway.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.”

Too tired to argue, I turned and went upstairs.

Behind me, I caught the flicker of surprise in Ryan’s eyes.

The next morning, I awoke to find the house overflowing with flowers, as though I’d stepped into a fantasy world.

Ryan said he was planning to confess to Emily that day, so he had decorated carefully.

But I couldn’t help recalling a saying:

Love begins with a single bouquet of flowers.

I once hinted to Ryan that I wanted that kind of gesture—flowers.

But he scoffed,

“Sophia, how old are you? We’ve slept together countless times. What do you need flowers for? Isn’t that childish?”

Now, with the overwhelming fragrance filling my nose, I finally understood.

It wasn’t that he lacked a sense of romance.

It was simply the difference between love—and the absence of it.

Two hours later, the welcome party began.

Ryan’s and my mutual friends, along with Emily, all arrived.

After seven years, she was still as graceful and charming as ever.

Ryan’s gaze was glued to her, endlessly seeking conversation.

At last, someone couldn’t help but ask,

“Ryan, haven’t you been with Sophia all this time?”

His face darkened, and he barked,

“What nonsense! Sophia and I are just friends—best bros! Don’t spread rumors!”

“Besides, I like girls like Emily—soft, delicate, sweet. Sophia has this long, ugly scar on her right side, looks like a centipede. Disgusting! How could I ever like her?”

My breath caught, my nails digging painfully into my palms.