My Sister-in-law Wants My Husband

On our wedding night, my husband Grayson's sister-in-law, Scarlette, stumbled drunkenly into our bridal suite and threw her arms around him, refusing to let go.

"Kayla, my husband died young, and I really just want a child. Please, lend him to me for one night," she cried through her tears, shoving a toy into my hand. "I promise I'll return him tomorrow. And if you get lonely… you can use this to comfort yourself."

I stood there, dumbfounded, my gaze shifting in confusion to Grayson, who was already helping Scarlette steady herself. "You're really going to sleep with her?"

He avoided my eyes, his tone strangely urgent. "Don't overthink it. She's drunk and talking nonsense. I'll take her back to her room to rest."

As he started to leave with her, I stepped in front of them, blocking their way. "Grayson, it's our wedding night tonight. Are you seriously going to walk out with her?"

His expression darkened as he pushed me aside. "You're my wife now—try to be more sensible. Don't get jealous over something so trivial." Then, carefully, he guided her out of the room.

I wanted to run after him and stop them, but when I saw the deep concern in his eyes as he looked at her, the truth finally hit me. The love this man had for me was no longer mine alone.

And if that was the case, why should I cling to a marriage that had already soured? I might as well walk away with my head held high.

The Wedding Night

With a look of utter disgust, I tossed the toy straight into the trash, seething with anger. "Grayson and I are husband and wife. Are you trying to curse our sex life by giving me this ridiculous thing?"

Scarlette quickly shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she stammered innocently, "No, Kayla, that's not what I meant. I was just trying to be kind."

I snorted dismissively. "Kind? Please. Anyone watching would think I'm so starved for love that I need a toy like this to satisfy myself. Let's be real—you're the one feeling lonely and desperate, so you're looking for a man to fill that void."

My words made Grayson's expression grim. "Kayla, enough! Don't talk nonsense!" he snapped, his voice sharp with anger. Then, in a tone that brooked no argument, he ordered, "Apologize to Scarlette."

I stared at him, incredulous. "And why exactly should I?"

His face darkened further, his tone turning icy. "Scarlette was drunk and said things she didn't mean. Why do you have to make a big deal out of everything? If you don't like what she gave you, you could've just returned it. Throwing it away is disrespectful. You're being petty, Kayla."

I almost laughed from sheer disbelief. I was his wife, yet every word out of his mouth was in defense of Scarlette. Whenever I tried to warn him to keep some distance, he would brush me off and call me jealous.

Once, a friend even pulled me aside, saying people were starting to talk about how close they seemed. So I told them—right to their faces—to stop being so affectionate in public, or people would think something improper was going on between them.

Scarlette had only cried pitifully, acting wronged, and Grayson had immediately turned on me. He accused me of spreading rumors and ruining her reputation.

He always took her side, scolding me for being narrow-minded and dirty-minded. "My brother asked me to take care of Scarlette before he passed away," he said coldly. "I gave him my word, so of course I'll be good to her. You, on the other hand, really need to clean up your thoughts."

Every time, his words hit me hard. I'd tell myself maybe I was overthinking it. So over the years, the person who spent the most time by his side wasn't me—it was her.

Scarlette always looked so lonely, so pitiful. But I knew better. Behind that fragile facade, she was vicious. She had secretly sabotaged me time and time again—cutting up my evening gown before an important event so I'd embarrass myself in front of everyone, drugging me with sleeping pills so I'd miss the design competition, even pretending to trip so she could make it look like I had pushed her.

And every time, before I could even speak up, Grayson would rush to her defense. "Don't overthink it. Scarlette didn't do it on purpose." And his gaze on me would always be filled with irritation and disappointment, as if I were the one in the wrong.

Out of respect for the seven years we'd been together, I'd always chosen to back down. But now, on our wedding night, he was actually considering spending it with her. It wasn't just her invitation—it was an insult to me. I refused to take it anymore.

He didn't even bother to hide his impatience as he said, "Enough, just go to bed. I'll come back in the morning."

I stared at him, disbelief clouding my face as he steadied Scarlette by the arm. "You're really going to sleep with her?"

He avoided my eyes, his tone urgent. "Don't overthink it. She's drunk and talking nonsense. I'm just taking her back to her room."

When they started toward the door, I blocked their way again. "Grayson, it's our wedding night. Are you seriously going to walk out with her?"

His expression twisted in irritation as he shoved me aside. "You're my wife now—act like it. Don't get jealous over something so trivial." Then, carefully, he helped her out of the room.

I wanted to run after them, to demand an explanation, but when I saw the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her, everything suddenly became clear—the love he had for me was no longer mine alone.

And if that was the case, what was the point of holding onto a marriage that was already rotten from the inside? I might as well let go—and walk away with what little dignity I had left.