I Was the Don’s Stand-In Bride

“Sofia Santoro,” my brother said into the line, his voice edged with suspicion and concern, “did someone cross you?”

He paused, as if weighing every breath I took. Even with miles between us, he could hear it—the tension I tried so hard to bury beneath indifference.

I let out a soft laugh, light on the surface, though bitterness coiled tight around my throat. “No. Nothing like that. I’ve just… made up my mind. If I’m being married off either way, does it truly matter who ends up beside me?”

“You’re serious?” His tone dropped, gentler now but still probing. “Sofia, if there’s trouble, you don’t have to carry it alone. This rush—this sudden willingness—what changed? You never wanted this life.”

Because I never did. My loyalty, my heart—it had all been handed to Rocco long before duty ever entered the conversation. But loyalty meant nothing when you were only ever a substitute. After years of secrecy, waiting in shadows, loving a man who kept one foot elsewhere, I finally saw the truth. I was never the choice. Just the placeholder.

“I told you already,” I said, forcing another small laugh, sharper this time. “I’ve thought it through. I’m not getting any younger. In our world, waiting too long makes you… irrelevant.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he snapped, slipping back into the voice of a boss, not just a brother. “I’ll arrange an introduction with the man we selected. At least see who you’ll be tied to.”

“There’s no need,” I replied calmly, even as something inside me cracked. “I trust our parents’ judgment. They wouldn’t align me with anyone careless. Arranged or not, I’m sure the decision was calculated.”

Silence filled the line. Then came his sigh—heavy, conflicted. Years ago, my refusal to fall in line had rattled the family, especially him. Hearing me finally yield seemed to lift a weight off his shoulders.

“I’m relieved you’ve accepted it,” he said quietly. “When are you coming back? Are you sure you don’t want to meet him before we seal anything?”

“No,” I answered without hesitation, practicality hardening my voice. “The faster it’s done, the faster the family can move forward. Set the date. One month from now.”

“Alright,” he agreed, though doubt lingered beneath the words. “One more thing… are you still in contact with Rocco? I heard Antonella’s back in the city. Maybe you should invite him. Might bring some luck to the union.”

The words hit like ice down my spine. So he knew. Of course he did. In this world, nothing stayed hidden forever. No wonder Rocco had insisted our affair remain buried for years.

I lowered my eyes, swallowing the sharp sting blooming in my chest. “Don’t involve him,” I muttered. “We’re… not close anymore.”

Just then, the faint click of a lock turning echoed through the room. I ended the call quickly, my pulse spiking as I straightened.

When I looked up, Rocco stood in the doorway.

His smile was effortless, devastating. His eyes shone with a warmth that tightened my chest—but I knew better now. That look wasn’t meant for me. It never truly had been.

“Not close to who?” he asked lightly, curiosity threading his tone.

“To you,” I replied, blunt despite the tremor in my voice.

His brow arched. Before I could step away, he crossed the space between us and pulled me into his arms. Amusement curved his lips as he leaned in, his breath brushing my ear.

“Is that so?” he murmured, teasing and low. “Then explain something to me, sweetheart. How exactly are we not close? After everything we’ve shared?”

Once, that closeness had made my heart soar. Now it sent unease racing through my veins. I shifted in his grip—and then I saw it. A faint smear of lipstick staining his collar.

The burns around my wrist pulsed painfully, each throb echoing the betrayal I hadn’t escaped. Tears rose before I could stop them, hot and traitorous.

“Sofia… what’s wrong?” His voice changed instantly, confidence giving way to alarm. He rolled up my sleeve, revealing the angry marks beneath.

His face darkened. “When did this happen? Who did this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The concern in his eyes looked real. And somehow, that hurt more than indifference ever could. Had he truly erased the banquet from his memory so easily?

I said nothing.

I stood there, torn between ripping away the illusion he clung to—or letting him continue believing everything between us was still untouched, still normal, still his to keep.