My Best Brother's Girlfriend Is My Wife

In my previous life, Sofia and Lewis were inseparable, their love story abruptly halted by the iron grip of her parents. Our paths intersected through the choreographed dance of arranged marriage. After just two brief meetings, Sofia acquiesced to my proposal.

Yet, her consent came with a caveat. "You're a good man, but there's one thing," she said bluntly. "You must give me a dowry of forty thousand dollars."

A surge of hope and anticipation filled me as I envisioned a future with Sofia. I genuinely liked her and wanted to build a life together.

Sofia had been tightly controlled by her parents from childhood, with no freedom to speak of. To liberate her, even in a small way, seemed like a noble gesture. With a heart full of optimism, I drained my savings, each withdrawn bill a silent pledge to our future.

Little did I know, those funds were a lifeline for Lewis – a desperate gamble on his survival. Our marriage became a stage for a carefully crafted deception. Sofia's frequent absences were explained away as visits to an ailing friend, a narrative she wove with practiced ease.

Driven by naive compassion, I became a culinary servant, my kitchen transforming into a sanctuary of care. Each meal was prepared with meticulous attention, a silent prayer for her friend's recovery.

At first, Sofia's reactions were a blend of surprise and gratitude. But over time, her gratitude shifted into expectation. Her requests became more demanding, turning simple meal preparations into elaborate performances.

Eventually, her absences grew more frequent, extending into full nights away. Anxiety gnawed at my heart as the hours stretched into days. The ticking clock became a relentless tormentor, each passing minute a pang of fear.

Desperate to know her whereabouts, I called and texted, but Sofia never replied. Then came the night when fate revealed the harsh truth with cruel irony.

Unable to bear the pain of a stomach ulcer any longer, I went to the hospital alone. The sterile, white corridors of the hospital contrasted sharply with the warmth and comfort of my home. As I navigated the labyrinthine halls, I stumbled upon Sofia in a ward.

There she was, alongside Lewis, an island of intimacy in a sea of sterile white. Sofia was feeding him, her smile bright and radiant. Her laughter, a melody I had never heard before, was a dagger to my heart.

The woman who had shared my bed and bore my name was radiating a joy that was worlds a part from our lifeless marriage. It was then that I truly saw her smile for the first time.

I understood now that her so-called "friend" was Lewis, her first love. I stood at the door, my presence unnoticed until Lewis caught sight of me.

Sofia turned her head and met my gaze. Panic and discomfort flashed across her face. "Rowan, why are you here?"

She didn't ask if I was feeling unwell but instead quickly became angry, accusing me of following her.