I Married My Fiancee's Half-Sister

In the final moments before I lost consciousness, I heard Sherina’s voice blaring from the restaurant’s broadcast system.

“I told you to keep an eye on Preston! What do you mean you ‘don’t know where he went’?”

“Useless fools! Get out of my way—I’ll find him myself!”

Half an hour later, after searching through hundreds of rooms, she finally found me.

The moment she opened the storage cabinet and saw my body—frozen purple and barely breathing—someone burst in, breathless with excitement.

“President Andrews! We found Mr. Welch! He rear-ended an Audi at an intersectio...”

Before the sentence was finished, Sherina had already turned and bolted out the door—without even a backward glance.

—

At the hospital.

When I opened my eyes, Sherina was standing beside my bed, adjusting the IV drip.

The moment she noticed I was awake, a flicker of uncertainty flashed in her eyes.

“Do you feel short of breath?” she asked gently. “The doctors said you just had a rib removed—some side effects are normal.”

My gaze stayed blank.

“...Why did I have a rib removed?”

After a pause, she cautiously explained, “Kervin injured his nose in the car crash... He kept crying, saying he was disfigured. So I... I used your rib to reconstruct his nasal bridge.”

I closed my eyes, exhaled deeply, and spoke slowly and clearly. “Sherina, let’s break up. From this moment on, I never want to see you again.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples with a look of forced patience. “Preston, you’re already thirty. Can you stop throwing these childish tantrums?”

Then, as if offering a peace treaty, she added, “Didn’t you always nag me about going on a honeymoon? Fine—I promise, once work settles down, I’ll make time for it.”

"Satisfied?”

Just then, her phone buzzed with a new voice message.

Kervin’s rich, honeyed voice rang out.

“Sherina~ My passport finally came through. Are you really taking me to Barcelona? I heard that’s where you and Preston’s parents first met and fell in love...”

Without hesitation, she replied, “Of course. Pack your things—we’re leaving tonight.”

While hurrying toward the exit, she announced flatly, “Preston, I have an urgent business trip. The wedding in seven days will have to be postponed. We’ll set a new date when I return.”

No argument. No apology. No explanation.

As her figure vanished from the room, I slowly unclenched my fist—my palm bloodied from my own fingernails.

Late that night, at the international airport.

Standing in the waiting area, I received a text from Sherina.

[It’s gotten chilly these past couple of days, so I ordered a new scarf for you. Minette will drop it off at your place tomorrow.]

I remembered Kervin’s designer overcoat he bragged about earlier, it was missing a scarf.

Without replying, I turned off my phone.

At that moment, I felt a soft pair of arms wrapped around me from behind.

“Preston,” a familiar voice whispered, “I’m back.”

I turned around to speak—only to see Sherina and Kervin not far away, fingers tightly interlocked, heading into the VIP lounge.

I turned my gaze back and gently kissed my fiancée on the forehead.

Then we walked out of the airport hand in hand.

'Goodbye, Sherina. I wish you safe travels and true love fulfilled. And as for me—cheers to my new marriage, to a life of joy and growing old together.'

—

Barcelona. Presidential Suite.

“Sherina, are you still feeling dizzy? Should we go to the hospital?” Kervin asked softly, his concern genuine.

Sherina squeezed his hand and smiled tenderly. “I’m fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately. Don’t worry—wherever you want to go these next few days, I’ll be right there with you.”

Kervin beamed with delight and cooed, “Then let me sing you a lullaby. Help you fall asleep nice and fast, my dear Sherina...”