My Fiancée Married My Brother

A month after I got out of prison, my fiancée married my adoptive brother.

On the wedding day, the whole family lingered uneasily outside the reception hall. Even as the ceremony started, they didn't budge. It wasn't out of loyalty to me; they were just scared I might crash the wedding and make a scene.

My mom paced nervously. "The butler said he left the house half an hour ago..."

My dad barked orders at the security team. "Keep your eyes peeled! If he dares to show up today, break his legs on the spot!"

My sister's gaze was icy. "I've got it all figured out. If he dares to crash, I know exactly how to send him back to jail for a few more years!"

But the ceremony wrapped up, and I never appeared.

Raya texted me. "Stop being dramatic. Knox and I are just pretending to be married to help with his depression. Once he's better, we can have our wedding—no big deal."

She said this with not a shred of guilt or regret.

What none of them knew was that causing trouble was the last thing on my mind. Right then, I was in a confidential meeting.

In a week, I'd be erasing my identity and heading out on a research mission to Antarctica.

A journey from which I'd never return.

Sitting quietly in a cozy Alpine café, my hands warmed by a cup of strong coffee, I reflected on how quickly they assumed I'd disrupt the wedding. The Alps were miles away from their Victorian-style ceremonies, and the Thanksgiving gatherings we once shared felt like memories from another life. I was miles away from their world, getting ready to leave everything behind and embrace the stark beauty of Antarctica.