Trapped in my Sister's Wedding Vows

Sleep never came.

Mireya sat curled near the wide bedroom window as city lights shimmered below Ashcroft Tower. Dawn bled into the skyline, painting the glass towers in muted gold, but the beauty barely registered.

Arabella was alive.

The thought repeated like a fragile prayer she was terrified to believe. Not a runaway bride. Not a selfish sister abandoning her obligations. Not someone who had betrayed Ronan or disgraced the Sutton name.

She had been taken. Kidnapped.

The truth should have brought relief. Instead, it sharpened her fear. If someone had abducted Arabella, it meant intention. Strategy. Planning. And people like that rarely made mistakes.

A quiet knock sounded at her door. Before she could respond, it opened slightly. Mrs. Dalton, the Ashcroft housekeeper, stepped inside with gentle composure.

"Mr. Ashcroft requests your presence in his study, Mrs. Ashcroft," she said respectfully.

Mireya nodded, throat too tight for words.

Ronan's Study

The study smelled of aged oak and leather, heavy, masculine, and controlled. Floor to ceiling shelves lined the walls with legal documents, financial reports, and confidential archives. Morning sun filtered through partially drawn blinds, casting sharp lines across the polished desk.

Ronan stood behind it, reviewing a tablet. He didn't look up.

"Close the door," he said.

She obeyed, pulse tightening.

"Sit."

Mireya lowered herself into the chair across from him, hands folded tightly in her lap to hide trembling.

Ronan finally lifted his gaze. Steel. Unmistakable.

"Your sister is confirmed alive," he said.

The words struck her chest like a physical blow.

"You're certain?" she whispered.

"Yes."

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she forced them back. Crying wouldn't help Arabella.

"Who took her?"

"That," Ronan replied, "is what we are about to find out."

He turned the tablet toward her. Surveillance stills flashed across the screen: airport security, underground parking, traffic checkpoints.

"Your seamstress, Lila Moreno, has provided partial information," he continued. "She admitted she was paid to replicate your designs, including stitching patterns, and plant them inside Arabella's car."

Mireya's stomach dropped.

"They framed my brand," she said quietly.

"Yes."

"But why Arabella?" she asked. "She wasn't involved in my business. She barely cared about fashion."

Ronan leaned back, studying her.

"Kidnappings like this are never random. Arabella Sutton had three significant values."

He raised one finger.

"First, social influence. The Sutton name carries political and financial leverage."

A second finger.

"Second, her marriage to me. That alliance merges two powerful family networks."

Third finger lowered slowly.

"And third, leverage against you."

Mireya blinked. "Me?"

"You are closer to Arabella than anyone," Ronan said bluntly. "And your fashion label has grown rapidly in elite circles. Someone may benefit from destabilizing both the Sutton brand and the Ashcroft alliance simultaneously."

The realization made her skin prickle.

"So they used her disappearance to sabotage everything," she whispered.

"Yes."

Mireya's chest tightened painfully.

"All this time, everyone thought she abandoned you," she said softly. "They thought she ran from the wedding. That she humiliated you."

"That narrative was beneficial for someone," Ronan said.

"Not for her," Mireya replied quickly. "Arabella would never destroy herself. She cared too much about image, reputation even if she struggled with responsibility."

Ronan's gaze lingered.

"You're defending her," he observed.

"She's my sister," Mireya said firmly. "And now we know she didn't run. She didn't abandon you. She didn't abandon her obligations."

Silence stretched. Something unreadable flickered in Ronan's expression, almost thoughtful.

"You believe she deserves to be saved," he said quietly.

"I know she does."

He studied her as if weighing her conviction.

The First Lead

Ronan tapped the tablet, pulling up a financial chain.

"Lila transferred funds to an offshore account," he explained. "That account connects to a shell corporation."

"What corporation?" Mireya asked.

"Veltrane Consortium."

The name meant nothing to her, but his tone carried quiet menace.

"They specialize in hostile acquisitions, blackmail, and corporate destabilization. They operate legally... until they don't."

"You think they took Arabella?"

"I think they were hired," he said coldly.

"By who?"

"That remains unclear."

Mireya leaned forward. "Then we investigate them."

"You do not investigate anything," he corrected.

"She's my sister," she said sharply.

"And this is my war," he said, voice lowering dangerously.

The room fell into charged silence. Her pulse raced, but she refused to shrink under his authority.

"You married me to protect your reputation," she said quietly. "But Arabella was the original bride. If she's alive, she's still connected to this marriage... to you."

"You are my wife now," he said.

"I know," she replied quickly. "And I'm asking to help find her."

Ronan stepped around the desk, stopping directly in front of her chair.

"You don't understand the people we're dealing with," he said quietly.

"Then explain it to me," she whispered.

"These are people who dismantle families for profit," he said. "They eliminate witnesses. They erase evidence. If they discover your involvement, you become expendable."

Her breath caught.

"But if Arabella is leverage," Mireya said softly, "then they need her alive. That means she still has time."

Ronan stared at her long. "You are far more perceptive than your sister," he murmured.

"I'm more stubborn too," she replied. The corner of his mouth twitched faintly, not quite a smile, but close.

A Dangerous Agreement

Ronan turned away, staring at the waking city.

"You will not investigate Veltrane directly," he said.

Mireya's shoulders slumped.

"But," he continued, "you will assist my intelligence team."

Her head lifted.

"You mean that?"

"Yes. You have access to fashion and social circles my network cannot easily infiltrate. Veltrane often uses elite events for private negotiations."

Hope flickered.

"I can attend those events," she said quickly. "I know those environments."

"You will attend under Ashcroft protection," he said. "You will report every interaction directly to me. No independent decisions."

His tone commanded but beneath it, she heard concern.

A Sister's Promise

Mireya rose, determination replacing helpless dread. Arabella wasn't gone. She was waiting. And Mireya would find her, even if it meant stepping deeper into Ronan Ashcroft's dangerous world.

"Ronan," she said quietly before leaving.

He looked up.

"Thank you... for believing she's worth saving."

Something flickered behind his guarded expression.

"I don't do this because she's your sister," he said calmly.

Mireya frowned. "Then why?"

"Because someone tried to take what belongs to my household," he said.