My Husband Faked His Death to Marry His Brother's Fiancée

Three months into our marriage, Julian Ashford died putting down the northern rebellion.

His body was lost in the river.

His twin brother, Julius, only carried his belongings home. He handed them to me along with Julian’s dying wish:

“Never remarry. Stay as my widow, and protect the Ashford family's legacy forever for me.”

A lifetime sentence.

He was asking me to chain myself to his tomb and serve the Ashfords until the day I died.

I refused to live a hollow life without him. I only wanted to die with Julian.

I starved myself, tried to throw myself into the frozen lake, and finally threw my body against his empty stone tomb.

Three times I tried to die with him, and three times they dragged me back from the brink.

On the day of his memorial, I crept down toward the crypt beneath the chapel.

Then I heard a hushed voice.

"My lord... Lady Eleanor has tried to end her life three times now." It was the butler. "You are still alive. If you keep pretending to be Julius, what if next time we can't save her in time? What if she actually dies?"

Then, a man sighed.

"She'll be fine. Eleanor is always strong," Julian said coldly.

"She’s a Blackwood. She was raised by soldiers, and she will survive this. Since the day I returned, Julian Ashford ceased to exist. Now, I am Julius. Never say otherwise again. Especially not around Eleanor."

My blood turned to ice.

I kicked the door wide open.

"Too late," I snarled, stepping into the dim candlelight. "I already heard you."

Julian froze.

There was shock in his eyes.

But there was not a single trace of shame.

The butler turned pale as a corpse, muttered a frantic excuse, and practically bolted past me into the corridor.

Days of starvation and sleepless agony made my head spin. I genuinely thought I had lost my mind.

"Julian?" My voice cracked. "It's really you? You’re alive?"

Before I could stop myself, tears blurred my sight.

I lunged forward, grabbing the lapels of his coat, slamming my fists against his chest.

"Are you even human?!" I screamed, my voice tearing in my throat. "You watched me tear myself apart!"

"You watched me try to kill myself three times! You tried to force me into a sick joint marriage with your brother, and you just stood there watching? Why? Why would you do this to me?!"

"Enough!"

Julian seized my wrists. With a sharp shove, he pushed me back.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling with deep annoyance. "Yes, I survived."

"Julius was thrown off the riverbank by the rebels while saving my life. I owe him everything, Eleanor! I have to take care of Juliette for him."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a soft, patronizing hum.

"Juliette is delicate. She has a weak heart. If she finds out Julius died in that frozen mud, the grief will literally kill her." He reached out, casually smoothing a loose strand of hair from my cheek.

"But you’re different. You’re the daughter of the Duke of Blackwood. You’ve always been tough. I knew you could take it."

A sick, hollow chill spread through my chest.

I stared at his face. The aristocratic nose, the high cheekbones, the eyes I had loved so blindly.

He looked like my husband, yet he felt like an utter stranger.

A sharp, humorless laugh tore from my lips.

"So," I whispered, trembling. "How exactly do you plan to 'take care' of Juliette?"

Julian’s face softened. A look of relief flashed across his features, as if he had been waiting for permission to say it out loud.

"I'm going to give Juliette a child," he said smoothly.

My breath caught in my throat.

"I cannot offer a dual-house marriage anymore," he continued, completely serious.

"Juliette was betrothed to Julius first. To protect her fragile honor, she must be my only public wife. I promised her my devotion under Julius’s name."

"If I openly take you as a co-wife, it will break her heart."

He reached out, trying to pull me into his arms.

"So, for now, you will stay as my secret mistress."

He stroked my shoulder, talking to me like a child throwing a tantrum over toys.

"Eleanor, a marriage title is just a piece of paper for high society to gawk at. You've never cared about petty formalities."

"As long as you know in your heart that I love you, that should be enough. You’ll live quietly in the west wing. Take the contraceptive draughts so there are no complications."

"You and Juliette will get along, I'm sure of it. Once she bears an heir, you can help nurse the child. Juliette is sweet. When she sees how obedient you are, she might even let me make you my recognized companion."

A companion.

His fabricated will was already an insult—demanding that a duke’s daughter stoop to sharing a man in a joint marriage.

Now, the reality was a thousand times worse.

My husband, in the name of 'repaying a debt,' was stripping me of my marriage, locking me in a side room as an unacknowledged whore, and acting as if he were doing me a favor!

I wiped the tears from my eyes.

I laughed right in his face. It was sickening.

"Julian, there are ten thousand ways to repay a debt," I said, my voice dropping to a deadly chill.

"You could give her gold. You could give her half the Ashford estates. If she wanted to remarry, I would have gladly sponsored her dowry myself as her sister-in-law! Backed by the Blackwood name, no gentleman in England would dare disrespect her!"

"And if she wanted to honor Julius's memory forever, we could have adopted an orphan to carry his name!"

I took a step toward him, staring directly into his shifting eyes.

"She could have lived in absolute luxury for the rest of her life. But out of all the honorable choices in the world, you chose the most disgusting one. You stole your dead brother’s name, just so you could crawl into his fiancée’s bed!"

"Tell me the truth, Julian. Is this really about gratitude? Or did you just want her all along?"

Crack!

The blow caught me across the cheek with brutal force.

My head snapped sideways.

The impact sent me stumbling into the cold stone altar behind me. A sharp, high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

For three seconds, the world went completely dead.

Julian stared at his own palm, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

A flicker of panic crossed his face.

"Eleanor, Juliette’s fiancé is dead!" he barked, his face twisting in ugly rage. "Your husband is standing right in front of you!"

"Why can't you show an ounce of compassion to a helpless girl? Why do you have to be so petty and bitter over every little thing?!"

He sneered. "You’ve turned into someone I don’t even recognize."

He spun on his heel and stormed out.

I stood there alone in the dark.

I raised a trembling hand and touched my burning cheek.

He said Juliette's fiancé was dead.

He forgot.

To the rest of the world—and in every way that truly mattered—the woman whose husband was dead was me.

Julian pitied the fragile little dove.

But who was going to pity me?

I slowly wiped the tears from my cheeks.

Something rotten had taken my husband's place.

And when something is rotten to the core, I don't weep over it.

I throw it out.

You won’t get your way, Julian.