Marry A Comatose Man I' d Never Met

I stared at my father, cutting through the tense living room silence. "I want to marry Blake Harrison."

Just hours before, I' d woken to a terrifying truth: My life wasn't my own. I was the villainous side character, destined to be sacrificed to showcase Chloe Davis, the protagonist.

The world' s script had a tragic ending for me: My brother, Mark, would disown me. My childhood crush, David, would forge a psychiatric evaluation. And my fiancé, Ethan, would use it to have me committed to a mental institution. I' d be the first casualty in their twisted love game for Chloe.

I became Chloe's plaything. She "accidentally" locked me in a freezer, causing near-fatal hypothermia. Then she framed me for a "cut," leading to my forced skin graft. She poisoned me with mangoes, knowing my severe allergy, almost killing me, only for them to demand I apologize to her. They publicly humiliated me with my private photos and then killed my beloved cat, Snowball, cooking him into a soup she made me drink.

I didn't understand how their devotion to Chloe made them so cruel. How could the men who once protected me become my tormentors, twisting every truth to fit Chloe's narrative?

I refused to accept that fate. I would escape, reveal the truth, and rewrite my ending. My chosen path? Marriage to a comatose man I' d never met.

I stared at my father, my voice steady, cutting through the tense silence of the living room.

"I want to marry Blake Harrison."

My father' s teacup clattered against its saucer.

"Blake Harrison? The heir to the Harrison family?"

He looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

"Sarah, you can' t be serious. He was in a car accident years ago. He' s been in a coma ever since. The rumors say he' s not just a vegetable, he' s... infertile. Marrying him means a lifetime of loneliness. You' d be a widow before you were ever truly a wife."

My mother grabbed my hand, her face etched with worry. "Honey, we know you' re upset with Ethan, but this is too drastic. What about David? He' s always been so good to you."

David. The name was acid on my tongue.

I pulled my hand away gently. "I want him. Dad, Mom, please. Just arrange it for me."

I didn' t care if Blake Harrison was a living dead man. I just wanted to survive.

Just hours before, I had awakened to a terrifying truth. My life wasn't my own. It was a story, and I was not the main character.

The protagonist was Chloe Davis, the daughter of our family' s housekeeper. She was the one blessed by fate, the girl every man was destined to fall for.

And I, Sarah Miller, was just the villainous side character, the foil meant to be sacrificed to showcase her charm.

My brother, Mark, who had sworn to protect me forever, became obsessed with her, his eyes turning cold whenever I was in the same room as Chloe.

My childhood crush, David, the boy I' d shared all my secrets with, now saw me as a nuisance. The love letters I found in his desk, the ones I thought were for me, were all addressed to Chloe.

And Ethan, my fiancé, the man who once looked at me as if I were the only person in the world, now only had eyes for her.

The world' s script had a tragic ending for me. Mark would disown me and kick me out of the family home for Chloe. David would forge a psychiatric evaluation, claiming I was unstable. And Ethan, my loving fiancé, would use that evaluation to have me committed to a mental institution.

There, I would be forgotten, the first casualty in their twisted game of love for Chloe. Those three men, the closest men in my life, would then turn on each other, tearing each other apart for the right to possess her.

I refused to accept that fate. I had to get out.

"I don't love Ethan anymore," I had told my parents when they pushed for the wedding. That was the only way to break the engagement, to derail the first step of my prescribed downfall.

Then they suggested David. I refused him, too.

When my mother jokingly mentioned my adopted brother, Mark, a wave of nausea hit me.

That's when Blake Harrison' s name came to my lips. He was the only powerful man I could think of who wasn't on Chloe' s list of conquests. The cold, ruthless tycoon who became a tragic figure after his accident. Marrying a comatose man was my only escape route.

My parents, seeing my unyielding determination, reluctantly agreed. They flew to San Francisco to negotiate this absurd marriage with the Harrison family, who were likely desperate to find anyone willing to care for their comatose heir.

I was in my room, packing the few things I wanted to keep, when I heard her voice.

"Sarah! We' re back!"

Chloe' s voice was as sweet as honey, but to me, it was the sound of a death knell.

She breezed into my room, her face glowing. Behind her, like loyal puppies, were Ethan, David, and Mark.

"We went to Hawaii and brought you something!" Chloe beamed, holding out a brightly wrapped box.

My heart went cold. A business trip, Ethan had said. A project deadline, David had claimed. An academic conference, Mark had lied.

Their "busyness" was a group vacation to Hawaii. With Chloe.

Ethan had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. "The business in Hawaii wrapped up early. We decided to take Chloe to relax for a few days. You weren't feeling well, so we didn't want to bother you. We' ll take you next time."

'Not feeling well'. A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips.

I remembered what really happened. Chloe had "accidentally" locked both of us in a walk-in freezer at a ski resort. When the men found us, they had rushed to save her, bundling her in their coats and forgetting I was even there. Chloe, in the hospital, had to "remind" them about me. I had nearly frozen to death.

And now, they claimed I wasn't invited because I "wasn't feeling well"?

"I don't need a trip, and I don't need a gift," I said, my voice flat. I walked past them, heading downstairs.

Chloe' s face fell, her eyes immediately welling up with tears. It was a masterful performance she had perfected over the years.

"Sarah, I... I know you're still mad about the freezer. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen."

I didn't turn around. I kept walking.

She followed me, her voice trembling. "I told them not to go, that we should stay and take care of you, but they insisted."

Behind me, I heard Mark' s voice, sharp and cold. "Sarah, stop being so difficult. Chloe was just trying to be nice."

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to face them. All three of them were looking at me with disapproval, while Chloe hid behind Ethan, looking like a scared little rabbit.

"Nice?" I asked. "Is that what you call it?"

Chloe' s eyes widened. She took a step back, as if I had threatened her.

Then, she let out a small, sharp cry.

"Oh!"

She stumbled, her hand flying to her other arm. A thin line of red appeared on her sleeve.

"Sarah, what did you do?" Ethan shouted, rushing to Chloe' s side.

I stood frozen. I was ten feet away from her. I hadn't moved.

David knelt, examining her arm. "It's a cut! Did you have something sharp in your hand?"

My hands were empty. I stared at Chloe. She was looking at me, and for a split second, I saw a flash of triumph in her tear-filled eyes before she buried her face in Ethan's chest, sobbing.

"I don't know what happened," she cried. "Maybe I just bumped into something. It's not Sarah's fault. Please don't be mad at her."

Her words only made it worse.

"Not your fault?" Mark sneered, his face a mask of fury. "We all saw it. You were arguing with her, and suddenly she's bleeding. What else could it be?"

I looked at their faces. Ethan' s rage. David' s disappointment. Mark' s cold hatred.

In that moment, I saw my future laid out before me. It didn't matter what I said. It didn't matter what I did. In their world, Chloe was the victim, and I was the villain. The script was written.

And I was done playing my part.

The world went white with pain.

They didn't call a doctor for Chloe's "cut," which was barely a scratch. Instead, Ethan held me down while Mark went to see a doctor friend of his. He came back not with bandages, but with a horrifying proposition.

"Chloe is a pianist," Mark said, his voice devoid of any brotherly affection. "Even a small scar on her arm could ruin her career. The doctor said the best way to prevent scarring is a skin graft."

He looked at me, his eyes like chips of ice. "You did this. You will provide the skin."

I struggled against Ethan's grip. "I didn't do anything! She did it to herself!"

"Stop lying, Sarah," David said, his voice laced with disgust. "We all saw you. Just accept the consequences."

They dragged me to a private clinic. There was no anesthesia. Just the cold steel of a scalpel against my arm. I felt a piece of my own flesh being lifted, a searing, blinding pain that made me scream. They were taking a piece of me to fix a wound that wasn't even real.

Through the haze of agony, I saw Chloe watching from the doorway, a faint, satisfied smile on her lips.

The pain was too much. My world faded to black.

I was in a stark white room. The smell of antiseptic was heavy in the air.

Ethan stood over my bed, his face a cold mask. "She's just a crazy woman. Don't listen to a word she says." He was talking to a doctor I didn't recognize.

The scene shifted. I was on the street, rain pouring down, my clothes soaked. The front door of my home was shut. Mark stood on the other side of the glass, his face impassive. "You are no longer a Miller. Don't ever come back."

Another shift. I was in a small, cramped office. David sat across from me, a pen in his hand, a stack of papers on his desk. He didn't look at me as he spoke to someone on the phone. "Yes, the psychiatric evaluation is complete. Severe paranoia and violent tendencies. She's a danger to herself and others."

Then, the final scene. The mental institution. The white walls closing in. The blank faces of the other patients. The heavy, locked door. I was alone. Utterly and completely alone.

I woke up with a gasp, my arm throbbing. The room was dim.

"Sarah? You're awake."

I turned my head. It was Mark. He was sitting by my bed, a bowl of soup in his hands. Ethan and David were there too, their faces showing a flicker of something I hadn't seen in a long time: concern.

"You passed out from the pain," Ethan said, his voice softer than I'd heard it in months. "The doctor said you need to rest."

David pushed a stray piece of hair from my forehead. "We were worried. You were so pale."

For a fragile moment, it felt like old times. Like the world had reset. My brother, my fiancé, my best friend. They were here. They cared. Hope, stupid and treacherous, flickered in my chest.

Then, a soft moan came from the other side of the room.

"Ethan...?"

It was Chloe. She was lying in the other hospital bed, her arm bandaged.

In an instant, the three of them moved. It was like a switch had been flipped. They were at her bedside, their voices a low murmur of comfort and concern.

"We're here, Chloe. How are you feeling?"

"Does it hurt? Should I call the nurse?"

"Don't worry, we won't leave you."

I was forgotten again. The brief warmth vanished, leaving behind a chilling emptiness.

Chloe looked over at me, her eyes full of fake sympathy. "Oh, Sarah, you're awake. I'm so sorry this happened. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have gotten so close to you."

Mark turned to me, his face hard again. "Chloe is the victim here, Sarah. You should be apologizing to her. Because of you, she might never be able to play the piano again."

"And look what you did to yourself," Ethan added, gesturing to my bandaged arm. "This is what your jealousy gets you. Maybe this will teach you a lesson."

I tried to sit up, a sharp pain shooting through my arm. The movement pulled at my IV line, and I felt a warm trickle of blood run down my skin.

"I'm bleeding," I whispered.

But they didn't hear me. They were all focused on Chloe, who had started to cry again. They were cooing at her, promising her the world, assuring her that everything would be okay.

They walked out of the room, clustered around Chloe, leaving me alone in the sterile silence, watching a small pool of my own blood form on the white sheets.

It wasn't their fault. I knew that now. They were puppets, and Chloe held the strings. The world' s script demanded their devotion to her, and their cruelty to me.

I lay there for a week. They never came back. My parents sent a nurse, but they didn't visit. They were too busy, the nurse said, taking care of "poor Miss Davis."

The world outside my hospital window continued to revolve around Chloe. I saw news alerts on my phone. 'CEO Ethan White Buys Out Music Hall for Private Concert for Pianist Chloe Davis.' 'Famed Academic David Green Dedicates New Research Paper to His Muse, Chloe Davis.' 'Mark Miller of Miller Corp Pledges Million-Dollar Donation to Arts Foundation in Chloe Davis's Name.'

Chloe, for her part, made sure I knew it too. She sent me pictures. Pictures of her on a yacht with Ethan. Pictures of her at a fancy restaurant with David. Pictures of her in a new convertible with Mark.

Each picture came with a message.

'Thinking of you! Wish you were here to see how happy they make me!'

'Ethan said he' s never felt this way about anyone before. Isn't that sweet?'

'Mark told me I' m the sister he always wished he had.'

The pain in my arm became a dull, constant ache. The pain in my heart followed suit, numbing itself into a cold, hard knot of resignation.