My Family Gave My Fiancé to My Sister

Nine months ago, my younger sister Bianca and I were kidnapped at the Chicago docks. She saved me from an attacker. But when she woke in the hospital, she couldn't remember who she was. Instead, she believed my fiancé, Adrian De Luca, was the man she loved. My family begged me to play along until she recovered. “It's only an act,” Adrian promised. “Once she's better, everything goes back to normal.” Because Bianca had saved my life, I agreed. Then our engagement trip to Sicily became her recovery trip with Adrian. She moved into the lakefront safe house Adrian and I had chosen for our marriage. My fingerprint access was erased, our bedroom was redecorated for her, and my clothes disappeared from the closet. Everyone made the same promise: once Bianca’s memory returned, they would give back everything that belonged to me. Nine months later, she walked down the aisle at the Blackstone Hotel in the ivory wedding gown made for me. Adrian stood waiting at the altar, and the De Luca family crest bracelet he had given me was fastened around her wrist. My mother leaned close. “It’s only a wedding staged for her treatment. Don’t make a scene.” I looked at the bracelet. Someone had resized it to fit Bianca perfectly. That was when I understood. No one intended to give me my life back. I didn’t argue or cry. I opened the London partnership offer I had rejected nine times and accepted it. My flight left in four days. This time, they would learn how to live without me. Chapter 1 Champagne flutes chimed beneath the chandeliers as Chicago’s most dangerous families gathered at the Blackstone Hotel for the wedding of Adrian De Luca and Bianca Moretti. Bianca lifted the skirt of her ivory gown and came toward me with the glowing smile of the evening's rightful hostess. "Elena, you finally made it. Tell me the truth. Doesn't this dress look perfect on me?" Of course it did. The designer had measured my shoulders and spent three months dyeing silk to the exact shade of ivory I wanted. Someone had simply taken in the waist for Bianca before letting her wear it. She raised her hand so the black onyx at her wrist caught the light. "And look at this. Adrian said that if I fell in love with something, he'd make sure I got to keep it." The bracelet wasn't jewelry anyone could simply fall in love with. It carried the De Luca crest, and for five generations it had belonged to the woman who would stand beside the next head of the family. Three weeks earlier, Adrian had fastened it around my wrist himself. Now the bracelet fit my sister as if it had been made for her. My father, Vito Moretti, moved between us before I could answer. “There are reporters everywhere tonight,” he said under his breath. “Her doctor thinks completing the wedding ceremony inside her version of events might unlock the night of the kidnapping. Don’t start something here.” I hadn't even opened my mouth. My mother, Francesca, slipped an arm around Bianca. “Our princess looks stunning. Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get some wedding pictures before dinner.” My brother Matteo took an instant camera from a waiter and pushed it into my hands. "You're the only one who knows how to get a decent angle. Take a few, and don't make Bianca nervous." My parents, my brother, and my sister arranged themselves beneath the gold lights. The four of them left no room for a fifth person. I raised the camera as Adrian emerged from the crowd in a charcoal tuxedo, the silver tie pin I had given him last Christmas at his collar. The moment he saw me, he stopped. Bianca slipped her arm through his and pulled him beneath the gold lights. At my family’s urging, the two of them moved through pose after pose—hands linked, shoulders touching, her veil spread around his shoes—as if they were the only bride and groom in the room. I pressed the shutter. Square photographs slid out one after another. In every frame, Bianca and Adrian stood at the center while my parents and Matteo crowded around them, toasting as though this were a real wedding and I were only the hired photographer. The photographs would tell Chicago only one thing: the De Luca heir had married the younger Moretti daughter. When the master of ceremonies invited the newlyweds to open the dance floor, Adrian didn’t offer his hand right away. He looked over the crowd and found me. I ignored his stare. I didn’t cry or ask what the hell he thought he was doing; I simply handed the camera back to Matteo and walked away. I walked into the dining room, where one hundred and twenty place cards waited beside crystal and silver. I checked the head table first, then every table down to the one nearest the service doors. Not one card bore the name Elena Moretti. The maitre d' checked the seating list twice. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Moretti. I can have another chair brought in." I looked toward the head table. My family sat on Bianca's left, and Adrian sat on her right. A white iris arrangement filled the place where I should have been. None of them noticed me standing at the door. "Don't bother." If there was no place for me, I wouldn't beg for a chair. If no one had the nerve to admit I was engaged, I no longer wanted the engagement. I left the hotel and stepped into the sharp spring wind off the lake. In the back of my town car, I opened the employment offer I had postponed nine times. [Vesper Risk Advisory is pleased to offer you a partnership in our London office, leading Cross-Border Risk. This position will remain open until Friday.] I tapped Accept. The confirmation arrived less than a minute later, along with a business-class ticket to London four days from now. Four days gave me enough time to hand over my work and move out of the safe house. It also gave me enough time to cut every one of them out of the rest of my life. Chapter 2 I sent my resignation to Moretti Shipping's head of human resources before my car cleared the hotel drive. She called almost immediately. "You're resigning as chief risk officer? Do your father and Matteo know?" "They'll know tomorrow." "Elena, the port accounts, alliance contracts, and security insurance all sit with you. There's no way you can hand over six years of work in four days." "I've kept current backups since the day I took the job. You'll have the index, access list, and contingency files before midnight." She went quiet. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Are you sure about this?" "I've never been more sure." After I ended the call, the family group chat lit up fast enough to blur the screen. It had once been called The Moretti Family. Nine months ago, Bianca renamed it Help Our Princess Remember. [Mom: Why did you leave without dinner?] [Matteo: Bianca keeps asking for you. Tonight mattered to her. Did you really have to throw a fit now?] [Dad: Family business stays in the family. Don't embarrass us in front of outsiders.] The last message came from Adrian. [Tonight was only a ceremony to keep Bianca calm. Just go along with me this once. When this is over, I’ll give you the real wedding you deserve—twice as big.] I stared at his message for a few seconds and left the group. The lakefront safe house still had a backup mechanical key because I had insisted no secure home should rely entirely on electronics. It was the only reason I could get through my own front door. Dark green wallpaper had once covered the foyer. Now the walls were pale gold. The framed port maps I had restored were gone, replaced by photographs of Bianca at childhood ballet competitions. My vinyl collection had vanished from the living room. Scented candles crowded the cabinet beside my turntable, all of them the powdery floral kind that made my head ache. In the glass conservatory, the rosemary and silver eucalyptus I had planted were gone. White hydrangeas filled every bed. My life had been erased without a fight, one tasteful change at a time. Upstairs, I pulled a suitcase from the closet. Two suits, a cashmere coat, and several pairs of work shoes were all that remained on my side. Months earlier, my mother had put the rest in storage because seeing another woman's clothes in the house might confuse Bianca. The bottom drawer of my nightstand held a cedar box filled with Adrian's letters. He had written the first on my twenty-second birthday. [When I take over the De Luca family, the first thing I'll do is walk you through every door in this city with your hand in mine.] The latest letter was dated two months ago. [Wait a little longer. Once she's stable, I'll return everything they've taken from you. Even me.] I closed the lid and set the box in the brass wastebasket beside the fireplace. A promise stopped being precious the moment the person who made it chose not to keep it. My suitcase wasn’t full when headlights swept across the windows. My father and Matteo stepped out of the first SUV, my mother behind them. Adrian came through the door last, one arm around Bianca’s waist as she stumbled in on silver heels, drunk enough to miss the threshold. Adrian released her as soon as he saw me and offered an explanation I hadn’t asked for. “She had too much champagne. I couldn’t leave her at the hotel.” Bianca lifted her head, her eyes glassy and annoyed. “Hey. I’m your wife. Why do you care what she thinks?” Adrian’s mouth tightened. He didn’t correct her; with everyone terrified of upsetting her, silence was easier. Bianca gave a smug little huff and pointed at me. “Elena, you’ve been crashing at our place for months. Adrian and I are married now, and this arrangement is getting weird. It’s time you found somewhere else to stay.” I almost laughed. Adrian and I had bought this house three years earlier. I had chosen everything, from the reinforced windows to the exact angle of the dining table. Bianca had lived here for nine months, yet she already spoke as if I were a guest she could evict. Any trace of amusement left my face. My mother rushed to smooth over the insult. "She isn't asking you to leave. There's a guest room on the lower level. You can stay there and help if Bianca has trouble during the night." "Her medication is due every six hours," Matteo added. "You're good with schedules. We'd all feel better if you handled it." My father spoke as though the matter were settled. "Once her memory returns, you can move back into the main bedroom." They looked at me as if offering me a basement room and the privilege of medicating the woman living my life counted as generosity. Adrian's jaw tightened. "That's enough. Elena isn't her nurse." I nodded. “You’re right. I’m not her nurse, so there’s no need to make this complicated. I’ll leave now.” Adrian crossed the room and reached for my suitcase handle. Before he could close his hand around it, Bianca stumbled behind him and sent the crystal decanter crashing off the side table. My mother cried out. In an instant, everyone rushed to steady my sister and check whether she had cut herself on the glass. Adrian looked back at me. Apology clouded his eyes, followed by the plea I had learned to read without words: please wait a little longer. I let him believe I would. While they fussed over Bianca’s scraped palm and blamed the champagne, I rolled my suitcase through the front door. I didn’t look back. Chapter 3 I checked into a business hotel downtown under the first available corporate rate. It wasn't beautiful, but the lock recognized my key, the closet was empty, and no one expected me to sleep in the basement. By two in the morning, I had finished the handover index. I placed my company laptop, port credentials, and encrypted family phone in a document bag, then booked an appointment with my attorney for the next morning. My cell stayed quiet for less than ten minutes before Adrian called. "Where are you?" His voice was low and rough. "I went upstairs and realized you'd actually left." "I'm at a hotel." "Send me the address. I'll come get you." "No." Silence stretched between us. "I didn't approve tonight's seating plan. Your mother brought out the bracelet at the last minute. I was going to stop the whole thing, but-" Bianca's voice drifted through the phone. "Adrian, my head hurts." His answer came at once, gentle and attentive. "Your medication is beside the bed. I'm coming." When he returned to our call, he sounded like the man I had spent nine months listening to: exhausted, controlled, and certain that I would be the reasonable one. "Will you come back for lunch tomorrow? Bianca wants a small celebration at home. She thinks that if you acknowledge last night's ceremony, she might remember something from before the kidnapping." "What exactly do you need me to do?" "You know everyone's preferences better than anyone. She made a shopping list. I'll send it over." The list filled my screen before I could answer. My father wanted a particular small-batch bourbon. My mother required gluten-free pastries. Matteo wanted smoked brisket from a place on the South Side, and Bianca had chosen white truffle risotto. Beside Adrian's name was the lemon-rosemary chicken I had taught the chef to make for him. There wasn't one item on the list for me. I laughed, and the sound surprised both of us. "Elena?" "I'm not coming back." "It's one lunch." I stayed silent. I simply had less than three days before my flight and no desire to waste another minute arguing. Adrian exhaled, mistaking my silence for agreement. “I knew you’d understand. Once Bianca’s treatment is over, we’ll announce our engagement properly.I’ll give you the wedding you wanted—bigger than this one—and put everything back the way it was.” “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he added, warm and certain, as if tomorrow still belonged to him. The next morning, I carried my resignation into Moretti Shipping's glass headquarters. Reporters packed the lobby. Their cameras turned toward me before the revolving door completed a single rotation. Bianca stood between our parents with my cedar box clutched to her chest. Matteo positioned himself in front of her as if I might lunge across the marble and hurt her. "Elena's here," someone shouted. Every lens swung my way. Bianca opened the box and held up one of Adrian's letters. Her mouth trembled with practiced pain. "I found out last night that my sister has kept love letters to Adrian for years. She knows we're together, but she still moved into our house and tried to come between us. I only want her to stop." Questions came from every direction. “Miss Moretti, have you been pursuing your sister’s husband?” "Did you use your executive position to control assets tied to the De Luca alliance?" "Is it true you rejected nine outside offers because you refused to leave Adrian?" The letters weren't signed. If Adrian stayed silent, they could belong to any woman foolish enough to love a man who would never claim her. My mother stepped in front of Bianca with tears in her eyes. "Please don't blame her. Elena has been under tremendous stress, and she may have convinced herself that a relationship existed when it didn't. We'll make sure she gets help." My father's voice carried over the crowd. "The Moretti family has never announced an engagement between Elena and Mr. De Luca." Matteo leaned close enough that only I could hear him. "Don't upset Bianca again. Apologize to the press, and the family can still bury this." No one gave me a chance to answer. “Imagine going after your own sister’s husband, then calling them liars when you get caught,” a woman near the front sneered. A man behind her laughed. “Some people will do anything for attention. Have a little dignity.” The words hit like needles, but the shouting and camera flashes swallowed every reply. In the crush of bodies, someone shoved me from behind. My heel slid on the marble. I went down hard, pain shooting through my wrist as the lobby tilted around me. The elevator doors opened. Adrian stepped out, saw me on the floor, and went white. He started toward me without hesitation. Bianca caught his sleeve before he reached me and pressed a hand to her temple. “Adrian, my head. It suddenly hurts so badly.” He stopped. For one second, his gaze moved between us. Then, once again, he chose her. Adrian wrapped an arm around Bianca and looked at his security chief. “Clear the lobby. Get Elena to the hospital and make sure she’s examined.” His men pushed the reporters back and helped me up. Adrian stayed where he was, holding my sister. By the time he reached the hospital, a doctor had wrapped my sprained wrist and cleared me to leave. Adrian shut the door behind him, his face tight with guilt. “If Bianca hears the truth all at once, the shock could set her recovery back,” he said. “I should’ve stopped the crowd before it turned ugly. I’m sorry you got hurt.” He took a breath and tried again. “Give me a little more time. Once she’s stable, I’ll correct the story, and we can finally get our life back.” “There won’t be an ‘after this’ for us, Adrian.” He flinched, but he still heard anger where I meant goodbye. A call from his security team pulled him into the hall before he could answer. The door had barely closed when my phone buzzed. Bianca’s name lit the screen. [Bianca: Since we’re finally being honest, my memory came back six months ago.] [I’d already fallen for Adrian, so I kept quiet and let everyone go on believing the lie.] [What happened in the lobby was deliberate. I wanted you to see who he chooses when it counts.] [Even the kidnapping was staged. In this family of five, you were always the extra.] A screen recording followed. The group chat was called The Real Family. Its members were my parents, Matteo, and Bianca. Everyone except me. I scrolled through message after message. [Mom: The wedding photos are beautiful. You and Adrian looked perfect together.] [Matteo: He’ll stop fighting it eventually. Elena always gets over things.] [Dad: Brunch at the house tomorrow. Keep this inside the family.] In three hours, the four of them had traded hundreds of messages. Not one asked whether I was hurt or where I had gone. Whatever remained of my hope went cold. I slid my resignation from Moretti Shipping into an envelope with a copy of my one-way itinerary and handed it to Dr. Russo. “Adrian will come back. Would you give this to him?” If a family of five needed someone to be expendable, I was done volunteering. They would have no place in the rest of my life. Across town, my parents and Matteo crowded around Adrian in the Blackstone’s private dining room, arguing over the newlyweds’ future as though the ceremony had been real. My mother smiled. “Once you and Bianca have children, this whole mess will feel worth it.” “Stop,” Adrian snapped. “I’m only playing along because her doctor warned us not to shock her. Elena is the woman I love.” The words should have settled him. Instead, unease tightened in his chest. He left before dinner and drove straight to the hospital. He called me from the car. The call went directly to voicemail. His text didn’t deliver either. I had blocked him everywhere. By the time he reached my room, the bed was empty and the sheets had already been stripped. Dr. Russo hurried toward him, his expression grim. “Mr. De Luca, we reviewed Bianca Moretti’s neurological records. Her amnesia resolved six months ago.” Adrian stared at him. “That’s impossible.” The doctor’s gaze sharpened. “There’s more. Elena asked me to give you this.” Adrian tore open the envelope. My resignation lay on top. Beneath it was a one-way ticket to London. The woman he had spent nine months asking to wait was done waiting. Elena was leaving.