My Sister Runaway from her Wedding, so I became the Bride

“This should work,” the doctor said, holding out a cold, metallic device that gleamed under the harsh lights of the Montello estate’s private clinic. “It’s a probe for electroejaculation. It will stimulate him to produce sperm.”

My stomach churned as I stared at the device, its shape clinical and mechanical. I couldn’t even touch it.

The doctor’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Or,” she said, tilting her head slightly, “you could try the natural route. Darkon’s body is fully functional despite the coma. His reproductive system is… active. If you prefer.”

Heat burned across my face, but I couldn’t form words. Natural? She made it sound so simple, like I wasn’t being asked to cross every moral line imaginable.

The box containing the probe felt heavier in my hands than it should have as I made my way back to my room. Once inside, I set it down on the dresser and stared at it like it might attack me.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

My phone buzzed on the bed, breaking through the silence. I grabbed it, grateful for the distraction. “Dad?”

“Eloise.” His voice sounded strained, desperate. “It’s your mother. The surgery… it wasn’t successful.”

My chest tightened. “What do you mean? I thought they found a match for her heart transplant—”

“They did,” he interrupted, “But her body rejected it. The doctors say we need another donor. Another surgery. And we need money. More money.”

I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. “I… I’ll tell Livia,” I managed, even though I already knew what her response would be.

You know the terms, her cold voice would echo in my head. No heir, no money.

I hung up, the weight of my father’s despair pressing down on me. I didn’t have a choice anymore, did I? My mother’s life depended on me doing the unthinkable.

Later that night, I sat by Darkon’s bedside, my thoughts swirling. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his face, his perfect features still and peaceful. It was infuriating how someone so lifeless could hold so much power over my family’s survival.

“Darkon,” I said softly, “You’re supposed to be my husband, you know. But you’ve never even looked at me. Never spoken to me. And here I am, about to…”

I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

My hands fidgeted with the hem of my silk robe as I leaned closer to him. “I don’t even know how to kiss,” I admitted with a nervous laugh. “Rosie was the one who got all the attention growing up, not me. I was the invisible one. The… virgin one.”

The word felt awkward on my tongue, but it was the truth. I didn’t know how to do any of this. Yet here I was, about to attempt it. For my mother.

Taking a shaky breath, I stood and climbed onto the bed. My knees sank into the mattress as I straddled his still body, my robe pooling around my thighs. The warmth of his skin against mine sent a jolt through me, even though I knew he couldn’t feel it.

I placed my hands on his chest, steadying myself. “Okay,” I whispered, trying to psych myself up. “I can do this. It’s just… it’s just a body, right? You’re not even awake.”

My voice cracked as I leaned down, brushing my trembling lips against his jaw. I had no idea what I was doing, but I tried to remember the things I’d watched online earlier—the way women moved, the way they touched.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath.

I shifted slightly, adjusting my position on his stomach. The moment I did, I felt it—a hardness pressing against me, unmistakable and completely out of place. My breath caught in my throat, and I froze.

A strong hand gripped my waist.

I yelped, my body going rigid as panic surged through me. His fingers tightened, guiding me lower, and then a voice—a deep, raspy whisper—cut through the silence.

“This,” he murmured, his lips barely moving, “is where you need to sit if you want a son from me.”

My heart stopped. I stared at him, my mind racing. His eyes remained closed, his body otherwise still, but his grip on my waist was firm.

“Darkon?” I breathed, my voice trembling.

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk, and his hand slid down my waist.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He’s awake?