Life has a way of shaping people into steel or shattering them into glass. For Abigail Lewis, it had been both. At twenty-four, she carried the world with quiet grace, her slender frame belying the weight she bore. Long brown hair, usually tied back in neat simplicity, framed her hazel eyes,eyes that rarely missed anything. People said she was analytical, the kind of woman who saw details others overlooked. Yet behind that sharp mind lay a softness: affection freely given, warmth like sunlight, and a willingness to submit wholly to the one she truly loved, provided he honored that trust with dignity. To those who knew her well, Abigail was not merely intelligent; she was resilient, steady, and capable of anchoring others in their storms.
But storms had followed her since childhood.
Her parents, James and Helena Gallagher, died in a car accident when she was only nine. That night, she had clutched her five-year-old sister Zoey's trembling hand, standing in the cold glare of hospital lights as the world they knew vanished. The Lewis family—William and Nora—old friends of the Gallaghers, stepped in. They gave the sisters not just a roof, but a home. They gave them love, structure, and even their family name. Abigail, the eldest, understood the gift with piercing clarity. She vowed to carry her weight, to make something of herself so their parents' loss was not in vain. Zoey, however, saw things differently.
From childhood, Zoey envied her sister. Abigail was praised for her grades, for her kindness, for the way she held little Grace, William and Nora's youngest daughter, when the girl fell ill. Abigail was seen as dependable, thoughtful, someone who naturally drew respect without ever demanding it. Zoey hated it. She hated the way adults' eyes softened at Abigail's diligence, how boys at school smiled at her gentle laugh, how even strangers trusted her instinctively. To Zoey, it was suffocating. She was not content to live in her sister's shadow. She wanted admiration, attention, indulgence—and if it didn't come freely, she would take it.
By sixteen, Zoey's rebellion was no longer subtle. She wore short skirts, lingered in bars, and learned to wield her beauty like a weapon. She craved what Abigail seemed to attract effortlessly. Where Abigail studied late nights to earn her engineering degree, Zoey stayed out until dawn, chasing thrills. Abigail excused it at first, telling herself grief carved different paths. She was too protective, too hopeful, to admit the truth: that Zoey's envy had hardened into something poisonous.
It was envy that festered into betrayal.
Abigail's love life had been her refuge, the one thing untouched by her sister's chaos. Liam had entered her world two years ago, tall, composed, with the kind of reliability that soothed her restless heart. He carried himself with honor, or so she believed. He was thoughtful, never dismissive of her opinions, never careless with her trust. With Liam, Abigail allowed herself to be vulnerable, to surrender the armor she wore for everyone else. She believed he loved her not for what she did, but for who she was.
"Abby," Liam would often whisper when walking her home after work, slipping his jacket over her shoulders. "You don't have to carry everything. Not with me."
She had smiled at that, leaning into him, whispering, "Then let me carry you, too. That's love, isn't it?"
For Abigail, love was sacrifice, honor, and dignity entwined. She submitted to him not as weakness but as trust. She believed in him completely.
And Zoey saw it. She saw her sister happy. She saw what Abigail had,a fiancé who looked at her with admiration, a future built on respect, and the envy twisted tighter. Zoey didn't just want what Abigail had. She wanted to destroy it.
The night of discovery was ordinary in every outward way. Abigail left her engineering office, her phone buzzing faintly with Liam's unanswered silence. She told herself he was busy, smiled softly at the thought of him working late, and walked through the city streets alive with neon light. She was going to visit Zoey at the bar, as she often did. It was her way of checking in, of reminding her sister that, despite the distance between them, family was family.
But when she stepped into the narrow alley behind the bar, what she saw hollowed her from within.
A sleek black sedan sat under the glow of a flickering streetlight. The trunk open. Her sister sprawled half inside it, her legs tangled with a man's body pressing against her in fevered rhythm. Abigail froze, the sound of Zoey's breathless moans striking her like daggers. Shame flushed her skin, confusion clawing at her chest, until she heard a name slip from Zoey's lips, ragged and pleading.
"Liam."
Her world cracked in half.
When Abigail finally stepped forward, when her voice cut the air like a whip,"Enough"—the night itself seemed to hold its breath. Liam's head jerked up, his eyes wide, guilt and fear warring in their depths. Zoey turned, lips curved into a brittle smirk.
"Abby," Zoey drawled, voice dripping with mockery. "You weren't supposed to"
"Stop." Abigail's words came sharp, her hazel eyes blazing with the weight of years. "Don't you dare explain. Don't you dare."
Liam scrambled, voice low and desperate. "Abigail, it's not what you think"
She laughed then, hollow and sharp, the sound foreign even to her own ears. "Not what I think? I saw you. I heard you. Do not insult me with lies." Her voice broke, anger and heartbreak woven together. "You chose her, Liam. My sister."
Zoey's mask slipped, pride and jealousy flashing beneath her bravado. "Maybe if you weren't so perfect all the time, Abby, people wouldn't look elsewhere"
"Enough!" Abigail's shout cracked the night open.
For once, the dutiful, forgiving sister stood unmasked. Abigail was analytical, affectionate, and willing to give everything for love, but she was not a fool. Betrayal had sharpened her, burned away the illusions she had clung to. She looked at Zoey,the jealous, spoiled, narrow-minded girl who had ruined what she could not have, and at Liam, the man who had cloaked betrayal in false honor.
Her voice dropped, trembling but resolute. "You both have taken something I can never get back. My trust. My love. My family. After tonight, nothing will ever be the same."
And with those words, Abigail turned away. Each step she took was both a wound and a victory. Her tears had dried by the time she reached the Lewis home, but the storm within her was far from over. For Abigail, life had always been about endurance. But that night, as she sat alone on a park bench, whispering to the darkness, she realized endurance was no longer enough.
"I'll endure," she said, her voice breaking. Then quieter, fiercer: "No. I'll change."
The echo of Abigail's footsteps still lingered in her ears long after she had walked away from the alley. Each step had been heavy, weighted with betrayal, with the sting of Liam's eyes wide in panic and Zoey's lips curled into that cruel half-smile. The night air clung to her skin, cold and thick, but it was nothing compared to the frost lodged in her chest. She had always thought strength meant carrying everything in silence,family burdens, heartbreak, endless responsibilities. But what she had witnessed had cracked that belief open. Silence would not save her this time.
Inside her, two voices warred. One begged her to run home, crawl into bed, bury herself in the comfort of pretending nothing had happened. The other screamed for justice, for fury, for her to go back and tear them both apart with words that would cut deeper than knives. For the first time, Abigail did not know which voice she would follow.
She sank onto the park bench, the city lights trembling on the pond before her. She wanted to cry, but the tears had dried up into something heavier, a stone pressing against her ribs. "Why?" she whispered to the night. "Why them? Why her?"
But the night had no answers.
Abigail didn't plan to return. Yet by morning, when the bruised sky gave way to pale sunlight, she found herself walking back toward the bar. Not for forgiveness, not even for closure—just to face the truth without shadows hiding it.
Inside, the smell of alcohol and smoke lingered. Zoey sat at a table, hair tousled, makeup smeared from the night before. She looked up, startled, then narrowed her eyes.
"Well, well," Zoey muttered, leaning back with feigned nonchalance. "If it isn't perfect Abigail. Here to judge me again?"
Abigail's hazel eyes locked on her sister. For once, she didn't falter. "I'm not here to judge, Zoey. I'm here because I need to hear it from you. Was it worth it? Sleeping with him? Ruining me?"
Zoey's lips twitched into a bitter smirk, but her voice cracked under the weight of Abigail's gaze. "You think you're so much better than me. Everyone does. William and Nora. Even Grace looks at you like you're some angel. You've always had it all, Abby, grades, respect, Liam. I just wanted something for myself."
Abigail's hands trembled, but her voice was steady. "You didn't want something for yourself. You wanted to take what was mine. You wanted to see me fall."
The words hit Zoey harder than she expected. For a moment, her mask slipped, revealing the insecure girl beneath, the one who had always lived in her sister's shadow, desperate for scraps of attention. But pride snapped it back into place.
"Maybe Liam didn't love you as much as you thought," Zoey sneered. "Maybe he wanted me all along."
Abigail's breath caught, her chest burning, but she did not cry. She leaned forward, her voice low and sharp. "Then take him, Zoey. Take all of him. Because if he can betray me that easily, he was never mine to begin with. And one day, you'll see what it means to love a man who cheats not because of me, but because it's who he is."
Zoey flinched. For the first time, her smirk faltered.
Chapter Three: Liam's Plea
Two days later, Liam showed up at Abigail's apartment. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt wrinkled, his composure gone. When she opened the door, he fell to his knees on the threshold.
"Abigail, please," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Let me explain."
Her heart clenched. This was the man she had once trusted with every secret, the one who had held her hand when she thought she couldn't breathe. Now, he looked broken, but she knew it was not because of love, it was because he had been caught.
"There is nothing you can say," she replied, her voice soft but unyielding.
Liam's eyes shone with desperation. "It was a mistake, Abby. I was drunk. I didn't mean for it to happen. You're the one I love. You always have been."
Her hazel eyes hardened. "You don't destroy the person you love to satisfy a weakness. You don't crawl into bed with her sister and call it a mistake."
He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. The rejection hit him like a physical blow. "Please, Abby, don't throw us away. Don't throw me away."
She shook her head slowly. "You did that yourself."
At home, Abigail stood in front of the mirror. For years, she had seen herself as the caretaker—the one who endured, who forgave, who stayed steady no matter how much the world cut into her. But as she looked at her reflection now, she saw something different. Her eyes weren't just tired; they were sharpened. Her lips weren't soft with endless patience; they were pressed thin with resolve.
Grace knocked on her door, poking her head in with a small smile. "Abby, want to come sit with me? We can read."
Abigail turned, her heart softening. She crossed the room and hugged Grace, inhaling the faint smell of soap and safety. For her little sister, for William and Nora, she would not crumble. She would not let Zoey's jealousy or Liam's betrayal define her.
Her whisper was steady this time. "I'll endure. But more than that… I'll rise."
The night pressed heavy against the Gallagher house. Silence seemed to cling to the walls, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. Abigail found Zoey in the back room, hunched over the edge of the couch, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers though she hadn't taken a drag. Shadows carved deep lines in Zoey's face, her eyes sharp with the kind of hunger that wasn't for smoke, but for something more dangerous.
"Zoey," Abigail's voice was low but steady. "We need to talk."
Zoey laughed dryly, without humor, flicking ash onto the carpet. "Oh, we need to talk? Funny. All you ever do is talk. Pretend you've got it all figured out—our lives, our past, my future. But you don't know a damn thing, Abigail."
Abigail took a step closer. "I know enough to see you're slipping further away. And I'm not going to just watch while you drown."
Zoey's head snapped up, eyes glinting with fury. "Drown? You think you're some lifeguard sent to save me? No. You've always been the golden one—perfect grades, perfect smiles, William and Nora's favorite little daughter." Her voice cracked into a sneer. "While I was just the extra. The spare Gallagher they had to take in because it would've been cruel to split us."
The words cut like glass, but Abigail didn't flinch. She'd expected this storm. "That's not true, Zoey. They love you—"
"Don't you dare feed me that lie!" Zoey spat, rising to her feet. "Love? You can't even see it. You've always been their choice. I'm the mistake they tolerated. You shine, Abigail, and I'm just your shadow. You love being the savior, don't you? The one who keeps it all together, the good sister. But me? I'm the crack in the glass. The embarrassment. The one who drags your perfect world into the mud."
Abigail's fists tightened at her sides, but her voice came out steady, cold. "No, Zoey. You drag yourself into the mud. Every time someone tries to pull you up, you spit in their face and cry that you're unloved. You want to be the victim because it's easier than fighting."
Zoey staggered back as if slapped. Her breath hitched, then twisted into a snarl. "You don't understand what it's like—being invisible, being compared to you at every turn. Do you know how it feels when every smile from them is just pity? When every compliment is measured against you?"
Abigail's eyes burned, but her words came sharp. "And do you know how it feels to carry both our weights? To stay strong because I had to? You were five, Zoey, when Mom and Dad died. I had to be nine going on thirty. I had to hold it all together while you broke apart. Don't you dare act like I asked for this role. I didn't want to be perfect, I wanted our parents back. But I didn't get that choice. None of us did."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Zoey's lips trembled, but pride kept her from breaking. She shook her head violently, tears welling. "You think you're better than me. You've always thought that. But deep down, you need me broken. Because without me, you don't get to play the hero."
Abigail's voice cracked for the first time. "No, Zoey. I need you alive. That's all I've ever wanted. Not perfect, not obedient—just alive. But you keep choosing to destroy yourself. And if you don't stop…" Her chest heaved. "…then one day, I won't be able to save you. And that will kill me."
Zoey's cigarette burned down to nothing between her fingers. For a moment, her mask slipped, and Abigail saw the little sister she remembered—frightened, lost, aching for love. But then the walls slammed back up. Zoey crushed the butt into the carpet and hissed, "Maybe that's what I want. Maybe watching me burn is the only way you'll finally break."
The words hung heavy, poisonous.
Abigail didn't move. She couldn't. She only whispered, "If that's really what you want, Zoey, then you've already lost."
Zoey didn't answer. She just grabbed her coat from the chair, movements sharp, frantic. Her hands shook as she pulled it over her shoulders. Abigail watched silently, her own chest rising and falling too fast.
"Where are you going?" Abigail asked, voice heavy, almost broken.
Zoey's lips curled in a cold smile, her eyes glittering with a reckless fire. "Out. Away from this saintly prison. Don't wait up, Abigail, you won't like the version of me that comes back."
She yanked the door open, the night wind rushing in like a scream. For a split second, Abigail thought she saw something else in her sister's face, loneliness, desperation—but then it was gone. Zoey slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.
The silence afterward was unbearable.
Abigail's knees gave out, and she slid down against the wall, clutching her chest. Her breath came ragged, shallow. She had stood firm, unflinching, through Zoey's venom, but now, alone, she cracked. Tears streamed down her cheeks as sobs tore through her.
"I can't… I can't keep holding us together," she whispered to the empty house. "I'm so tired."
Her hands trembled as she covered her face. Every word Zoey had thrown at her replayed in her mind, and though she knew the accusations were poisoned lies, part of her believed them. Maybe she had needed Zoey broken to justify her own strength. Maybe she was addicted to being the hero.
The guilt gnawed at her. The fear consumed her. And in that raw collapse, Abigail admitted the truth she'd never spoken: she wasn't sure she could save her sister anymore.
Hours later, Abigail wiped her swollen eyes and forced herself to bed, unaware that the night outside was twisting fate against her in crueler ways than she imagined.
Zoey didn't go far. The city's shadows swallowed her, neon lights painting her skin. She found herself in a haze of bars, music, and dangerous smiles. Alcohol burned away the last of her restraint. Pills slid into her palm from hands she barely knew. Strangers' voices told her what she wanted to hear, that she was different, that she was beautiful, that she didn't have to live in Abigail's shadow.
And then, there was Liam.
Abigail's Liam. The man who had once promised Zoey's sister forever. He was there, drunk, angry after another fight with Abigail about Zoey. His tie hung loose, his eyes glassy, his words bitter.
"You don't get it, Zoey," he muttered into his glass. "She never stops. Abigail… she's always so strong, so perfect, so untouchable. She doesn't even let me in anymore."
Zoey's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. She leaned closer, her voice like poison and honey all at once. "Then why not let someone else in? Someone who knows what it's like to live under her shadow… and wants to tear it down?"
Liam hesitated, but his anger and his weakness did the rest. That night, in the filth of their shared self-destruction, the line was crossed.
Days later, Abigail found out.
She hadn't been looking. The truth slammed into her like an ambush. A text she wasn't meant to see. A photo too intimate to explain away. Her hands froze as she scrolled, her vision blurring, her breath sharp and painful.
Her mind refused to accept it at first. No. Not Liam. Not Zoey. Not together.
But the evidence was undeniable.
Her stomach churned, bile rising. She staggered into the bathroom and vomited, gripping the sink until her knuckles went white. Then, staring into the mirror, she saw herself—not the strong, unbreakable sister, not the composed fiancée, but a woman gutted, betrayed from both sides.
Her sister.Her lover.The two people she had fought hardest to hold onto… had chosen each other over her.
Abigail's sobs turned raw, primal. She sank to the floor, whispering broken fragments to herself. "Why? Why wasn't I enough? Why…?"
For the first time in years, she felt utterly powerless. And in the silence of that collapse, a single thought formed, dangerous and cold:
If the people closest to me would betray me this deeply, then maybe everything I've fought to protect has already rotted from within.
The days after the revelation blurred together.
Abigail moved like a ghost through the Hargrave estate. Each room she entered pressed against her, the walls leaning in with whispers of betrayal. The once-cozy warmth now felt suffocating. The soft carpets tangled her steps, the patterned wallpaper mocked her with its order, its neatness, as if the house itself dared her to admit she had lost control.
She couldn't eat. She couldn't sleep. She would lie in her bed staring at the ceiling, hearing Zoey's laughter echoing in memory, layered with Liam's voice whispering promises he'd once made only to her. Together, those echoes became knives.
Everywhere she turned, she was reminded. The dining room, where Liam had kissed her hand the night they announced their engagement. The back porch, where Zoey had once sat curled up, swearing she'd try harder. All of it rotted now, twisted into lies.
Abigail tried to keep herself busy, scrubbing floors that weren't dirty, folding clothes that were already neat, but her hands would shake, her chest tightening until she'd collapse against the wall, breath ragged, whispering, "Why? Why wasn't I enough?"
Some days, she numbed herself completely, drifting in silence like she wasn't even inside her own skin. Other days, the rage simmered. It crept into her veins, hotter, heavier, until she slammed dishes into the sink hard enough to shatter them, until her fists ached from pounding against her pillow.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear the house down with her bare hands.
But instead, she bottled it. She told no one. Not Mei Lin, not Mr. Hargrave. She wore the same mask she'd always worn, composed, capable. Yet inside, something was breaking loose, something raw and volcanic.
Until the night she saw them.
She had gone out, needing air, wandering streets she normally avoided. And there, under the dim glow of a streetlamp, she saw Zoey's unmistakable figure. Next to her, Liam. His arm brushing against hers, his head tilted close, their laughter low, secret.
The sight hit Abigail like a hammer to the chest. For a moment, she couldn't move. Her body locked between collapse and explosion.
Then the fury ripped free.
She strode forward, her voice cutting through the night like glass.
"Enjoying yourselves?"
Both of them froze. Liam's face drained of color. Zoey smirked, but Abigail saw the flicker of panic in her eyes.