Marry For My Dead Sister

My name is Blair Scott. The beginning of my seven-year marriage was sealed when I was forced to marry my sister Nancy Scott's husband, Ben Luke.

Just seven days after Nancy's funeral, the Luke family's wedding car pulled up in front of the old Scott family home.

The roar of the engine shattered the morning stillness. There was no discussiononly a decree that brooked no objection.

Ben Luke stood at the far end of the red carpet. His impeccably tailored black suit lent his face a cold, sculpted hardness.

The hatred in his eyes was like an ice-sharp dagger, stabbing straight into my exposed skin.

He said, "Blair, Nancy was killed. What you owe her, you'll repay through this marriage, for the rest of your life."

I opened my mouth to explain, but he raised his hand to stop me; the chill of his fingertips nearly brushed my cheek before clenching into a fierce fist.

I know he firmly believes Nancy Scott's death has something to do with me on that day, we were arguing on the rooftop; when she slipped and fell, I was the only one present.

But I truly did not push her.

I merely said, You shouldn't use depression to pressure our parents into giving in, and she suddenly broke down, falling backward.

On our wedding night, he smashed a wine glass; the shards scattered across my ankle, drawing thin lines of blood.

"Don't dirty my bed," he said, pointing to the guest room at the end of the corridor, his tone thick with undisguised disdain.

"Go stay there. Without my permission, you're not allowed to set foot in the Master Bedroom."

Clutching my bleeding ankle, I shuffled step by step toward the guest room. The cold floor made me shivernot from pain, but from the chill deep within my heart.

For seven years, I have been like a transparent shadow, confined to this vast villa of nearly a thousand square meters, yet oppressively barren.

He never dined at the same table as me. The three meals I prepared with care were either discarded by the servants or left to grow cold and spoil on the dining table.

He refuses to touch anything I offer, even the fever medicine I gave him when I was sick; he carelessly throws it into the trash, saying, "What if you've poisoned it?"

He hardly ever calls my namemost of the time, he just says "Hey" or falls into long silences, as if I were merely a lifeless ornament.

I once tried to reveal the truth to himwhen he came home drunk in the dead of night, or on rare mornings when he didn't bring a female companion.

But he always brutally cuts me off, his eyes filled with derision: "Blair Scott, stop with your hypocritical nonsense. You're just jealous that Nancy married me, jealous of everything she has."

His humiliation was never concealed; it even bore the mark of deliberate flamboyance.

At the company annual party, he arrived with a companion dressed in a red gown.

In full view of everyone, he slipped his arm around her waist and smiled as he introduced, "This is my business partner, Ms. Linda."

When it was my turn, he gave me a casual glance, his tone dismissive, as if speaking of a piece of furniture: "As for her, she is just the housemaid."

Whispers erupted around methose probing, sympathetic, mocking looks pierced me like needles.

I clenched the hem of my skirt, my nails digging deep into my palm, the pain numbing me, yet I forced myself to hold back tears and maintain a composed smile.

I have loved Ben Luke since the first time I saw him at an art exhibition when I was fifteen.

He wore a white shirt then, standing before a painting of sunflowers, his profile as gentle as the afternoon sun; I could never have imagined that years later he would be so cruel to me.

That love, worn down to tatters by seven years of coldness and disdain, had long since become nothing but shattered fragments of obsession strewn across the floor.

He would bring different women home, utterly indifferent to my presence.

Sometimes they were coquettish actresses, other times sharp, career-driven women; they wore my bathrobe, used the skincare products I had bought, and even dared to cling to Ben Luke's arms right before my eyes.

Once, he even locked me outside the bedroom door.

The sounds from behind it were disgustingly clear as he deliberately raised his voice: "Blair Scott, listen closelythis is how a woman should be. You're just unbearable to look at."

That night, I sat on the cold floor of the entrance hall, my back against the door, listening to their laughter and gasps inside.

My heart sank deeper and deeper into the boundless darkness, until I no longer felt any pain.

The heating in the villa was strong, yet I felt a chill running through my body, as if I had fallen to the bottom of a frozen lake.

I thought such days would go on endlessly, until one day I stumbled upon Nancy Scott's diary.

That diary, bound in pink, was hidden at the very bottom of an old box in Nancy Scott's room, covered with a thin layer of dustobviously untouched for years.

I had intended only to sort through my sister's belongings and donate her books to charity, never imagining I would uncover a truth buried for seven long years.

The first page of the diary bore Nancy Scott's delicate handwriting, marked by youthful innocence: "My sister has always been so kind, always yielding to me, yet I envied herenvied her brilliance, envied our parents' trust in her, even envied that she met Ben Luke before I did."

A sharp sting gripped my nose, and tears instantly clouded my vision.

It turns out that my sister's cold distance over those years was not due to dislike, but stemmed from buried feelings of insecurity and jealousy.

As I turned the pages, the handwriting grew increasingly illegible, the ink bleeding into blots that concealed an unspeakable despair.

"I was diagnosed with depression; the doctor said it's severe. Every day, I live in darknessI can't sleep, can't eat, and feel utterly worthless, like a burden."

"Ben Luke forced me to marry him. He doesn't love me at all. He only wants the Scott family's project support. I didn't want to marry, but I had no choice."

"I had another fight with my sister today. I shouldn't have lost my temper with her. I'm just so scaredscared I won't be able to hold on. She's the only person in this world who truly cares about me."

"I can't hold on any longer, sister. I'm sorry for making you bear all this for me. I hope you can find happiness in the future, stop grieving for me, and no longer love Ben Lukehe is not worthy."

The date of the final diary entry was exactly the day Nancy Scott passed away. The handwriting was blurred by tears, some words already indistinct.

It turns out she took her own life; it wasn't an accident, and it had nothing to do with me.

As for Ben Luke, not only did he know about his sister's depression long ago, but he also coldly forced her into marriage by exploiting the Scott family's interests, indifferent to her suffering.

I clutched the diary, my fingers trembling violently, the edges of the pages creased from my tight grip, tears falling like beads from a broken string, splashing onto the pink cover and smearing a small patch of water stains.

Seven years of silent endurance, seven years of explanations, seven years of profound loveall at this moment turned into bone-deep disgust and hatred.

Ben Luke, the man I had loved for over ten years, was in truth the indirect cause of my sister's death.

His torment of me was nothing more than a means to conceal his own sins, to unleash his guilt and rage upon an innocent person.

From that day on, I changed.

I no longer took the initiative to cook for him, no longer tidied his room, no longer watched his expressions cautiously, no longer tossed and turned over his late returns.

When he came home, I no longer greeted him as before; I simply sat calmly on the sofa, holding a Divorce Agreement I had long since prepared.

"Ben Luke, let's get a divorce." My voice was soft but bore an unprecedented resolve, like a blade cutting through a rope.

He had just taken off his coat; upon hearing those words, he froze briefly, then sneered scornfully, his tone thick with contempt: "Blair Scott, what tricks are you playing now? Don't think this will make me treat you any better."

"I'm not throwing a tantrum," I said as I pushed the Divorce Agreement across to him. The paper slid softly over the polished coffee table, making a faint sound.

"I'm serious. I don't want any of the assetsneither the house, the car, nor the savings. I won't take a single penny. Just let's get divorced as soon as possible."

He picked up the agreement, glanced at it carelessly, and without reading the terms, threw it on the floor.

His gaze darkened with menace: "Divorce? Not a chance! You still owe Nancy, and until you pay her back, you don't even think about getting rid of me in this lifetime."

The agreement lay at my feet. I bent down silently, picked it up carefully, folded it neatly, and placed it in my bag.

I no longer argued with him; it was pointless. I had made up my mindthis marriage had to end.

In the days that followed, I began packing my things.

I opened the walk-in closet beside the Master Bedroom; inside hung mostly luxury dresses that Ben Luke had bought for Nancy Scott, filling the entire wardrobe.

My belongings were fewa handful of faded old clothes and some professional books, shoved into the farthest corner.

I folded each item carefully and packed them into my suitcase. Staring at the empty corner, I suddenly felt it all quite absurd.

In this seven-year marriage, I have been like a fleeting passerby, never truly belonging here, nor ever genuinely accepted.

I retrieved the wedding photos taken so many years ago; in them, I wore a pristine white gown, my smile strained and humble, while Ben Luke's face remained expressionless, his eyes utterly void of warmth.

I carried the photos out onto the lawn in the courtyard and lit a lighter.

The blue flame licked the edges of the photos, slowly devouring our hollow marriage and my fractured love.

Watching the ashes scatter on the evening breeze, drifting away into the distance, a deep calm settled over me, as though a weight of a thousand poundsthe massive stone pressing on my heart for seven yearshad finally shattered.

I called my parents overseas, my fingers lingering hesitantly over the dial button, uncertain whether I should reveal the truth.

Unexpectedly, as soon as the call connected, my mother spoke first, her voice betraying a profound tenderness: "Blair, we're sorry for all the hardships you've borne these past years. We've long known that Nancy's death was never your fault; it is we who have failed you."

Father answered the phone, his voice thick with guilt: "Back then, for the sake of the Scott family, we had to keep the company your grandfather left behind, we had no choice but to have you marry in place of Nancy. Ben Luke's threats left us powerless to resist."

"Now that you want a divorce, we all support you. Come back anytime; we will always be by your side."

After hanging up, I couldn't help but drop to my knees and crynot out of sadness, but out of relief, as if the long-held grievance had finally found an outlet.

So it was that my parents had always known the truth, yet fearing it would weigh heavily on me and that I would endure even greater suffering within the Luke family, they chose to keep silent.

With their support, I grew even more determined to divorce, free from any lingering doubts.

Because of the thirty-day Cooling-Off Period for divorce, I am currently unable to completely leave this villa.

I submitted my resignation to Ben Luke's company. For seven years, I worked there as an administrative officer.

Though fully capable of a higher position, I was kept at the bottom, entrusted only with trivial and pointless tasks at his command.

Now, I no longer want any ties with him; even the slightest professional contact disgusts me.

I rented a small apartment in the old district not far from the city center.

It isn't large, only a little over sixty square meters, but it is flooded with sunlight and warmly decoratedexactly the style I like.

I started moving my belongings into the apartment little by little.

Every time I returned to the villa, it was only for a short while; I would finish packing and leave immediately, doing my best to avoid running into Ben Luke.

Ben Luke seemed to sense something. Lately, he's been coming home more often, no longer staying out all night like before.

Yet he remained cold toward mesilent at meals, sitting on the sofa with his head down, absorbed in his phone, as if I didn't exist.

Once, after I had packed the last box of books and was about to leave, he suddenly called out to me in a low voice, tinged with a barely perceptible hoarseness: "Are you really going to move away?"

"Yes," I said without turning back, my hand gripping the doorknob, the coldness sinking into my fingertips.

"Once the Divorce Cooling-Off Period ends, we will go through the divorce procedures."

He did not say another word, but I could feel his gaze resting on my back, heavy with a complex mix of emotionssurprise, confusion, and a struggle I could not fathom.

Still, I paid it no mind, nor did I want to.

Gently closing the villa's main door behind me, I took a deep breath; at last, the air was free of his cold, sharp cologne, replaced only by the breath of freedom.

It wasn't long before Ben Luke realized I had truly cleared out all my belongings; there was no trace of me left in the villanot even the cups I'd used or the books I'd readall vanished without a trace.

He began frantically searching for me, calling and texting relentlessly; the messages bombarded me like a barrage, and I blocked them all.

He went to my company. The receptionist told him I had already resigned.

He stormed into my former office, and upon seeing the empty desk, his face darkened ominously, as though it could drip water.

His assistant Mike trailed behind, trying to reason with him: "Mr. Luke, Ms. Scott is being serious this time. You should calm down and carefully consider what you truly want."

But Ben Luke seemed deaf to it.

With a voice laced with hysterical madness, he shoved Mike aside: "Find her for me. Even if it means turning the entire city upside down, I want her found!"

Mike sighed helplessly, forced to mobilize all his contacts to locate me as instructed.

As for me, after completing the resignation procedures, I traveled abroad with my close friend Cindy Lincoln.

Cindy Lincoln has been my closest friend for over a decade, from high school until now. All these years, she has deeply sympathized with my plight, urging me countless times to divorce and not to waste myself in a marriage devoid of hope.

"Blair, let the past be past," Cindy said on the plane, holding my hand with a smile as bright as the sunlight streaming through the window.

"This time, let's forget all the unhappy memories, and start anew."

We went to the seaside, walking on the soft white sand, breathing in the salty sea breeze, and listening to the waves crashing against the rocks.

I slipped off my shoes and ran barefoot along the beach, laughing aloud as though to release seven years' worth of pent-up sorrow and pain.

Cindy Lincoln trailed behind me, also laughing, holding up her phone to capture me running; in the photo, my hair whipped by the wind, my smile radiant and bright.

We watched the sunrise by the sea, seeing the golden light slowly dye the ocean red, banishing the darkness.

In that moment, I felt as if all the shadows had been swept away.

We also visited an ancient town, strolling along the cobblestone streets, embracing the unhurried rhythm of life.

Sitting in the teahouse by the river, ordering a pot of tea, chatting quietly, watching the small boats glide slowly across the water, the boatmen's songs drifting far and long.