Freya's POV
The accusation rang in my ears as Jasper carried Lila away, her blood-stained dress a stark reminder of how perfectly she could play the victim.
My hands shook as I watched them disappear through the office doors. Belinda hovered nearby, her face pale with concern.
"Miss Colby, should I call security?"
"No." My voice came out steady despite the chaos in my chest. "Just... give me a moment."
The phone rang before I could process what had just happened.
"Freya." My father's voice was ice-cold through the speaker. "What did you do to Lila?"
Of course he already knew. The Colby family network moved faster than wildfire.
"She fell—"
"She fell because you pushed her! A sick girl, Freya! How could you be so heartless?"
The familiar weight of his disappointment settled on my shoulders. Even now, even after everything, his words still had the power to cut.
"I didn't push her, Dad. She grabbed me and lost her balance."
"Don't lie to me. Jasper saw everything."
Jasper saw what he wanted to see. What Lila wanted him to see.
"She came here asking me to witness her wedding," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "To my ex-fiancé. How is that reasonable?"
"Because she's dying!" His voice rose. "And because you're family!"
Family. The word was a joke. Lila had never been treated like family when it mattered. But now, when she needed to play the victim, suddenly we were sisters.
"I won't do it."
"You will." His tone shifted, becoming calculating. "Because if you don't, you'll never see your mother's company shares again."
My breath caught. Mom's shares in Colby Enterprises. The ones that rightfully belonged to me. The ones he'd been holding hostage for years.
"You're blackmailing me."
"I'm giving you a choice. Be Lila's witness at the wedding, or forget about your inheritance forever."
The line went quiet except for my own thundering heartbeat.
Those shares weren't just money. They were my mother's legacy. Her way of ensuring I'd never be completely powerless against the family that had never wanted me.
"Fine," I whispered.
"Good. The wedding is Saturday at Grandview Hotel. Don't embarrass us."
The dial tone buzzed in my ear.
Belinda appeared with a cup of tea, her expression worried.
"Are you alright?"
I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or both.
"I'm going to a wedding," I said instead.
Saturday arrived gray and drizzling, as if the weather itself was protesting this farce.
I chose a simple black dress. Appropriate for a funeral, which is what this felt like.
The Grandview Hotel buzzed with activity. White flowers everywhere. Fairy lights strung across the ballroom. My ballroom. My flowers. My vision brought to life for someone else's wedding.
"You're late." Cecilia Felix materialized beside me, resplendent in purple silk. "Lila's been asking for you."
Her tone suggested this was somehow my fault.
"Where is she?"
"Bridal suite. And Freya?" Cecilia's eyes narrowed. "Try to look happy. This is your sister's special day."
The bridal suite door opened to reveal Lila in white silk and lace. My dress. The one I'd spent months designing and fitting. The one that hugged my curves perfectly and made me feel like a princess.
On Lila's smaller frame, it was loose in all the wrong places. The bodice gaped. The waist sat too low. She looked like a child playing dress-up in her mother's clothes.
"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Cecilia gushed, adjusting the ill-fitting bust line.
Beautiful wasn't the word I'd use.
"The dress is a bit large," I observed.
Cecilia's expression soured. "It's fine. Your sewing was always imprecise anyway."
My sewing. As if I were some amateur seamstress instead of a professional designer.
Lila turned to me, her eyes bright with tears and something else. Triumph.
"I'm so glad you came, Freya. It means everything to me."
She meant it. Every word. This moment - me watching her wear my dress, marry my man, live my dream - was everything she'd ever wanted.
"Lila, we need to go." A wedding coordinator appeared. "The ceremony starts in ten minutes."
"Wait." Lila's voice was weak, breathy. "I need Freya to help me. I'm feeling dizzy."
Of course she was.
"Freya can walk with you," Cecilia decided. "Support you down the aisle."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"I'm the witness, not the maid of honor."
"Lila needs help walking. Look at her."
Lila swayed dramatically, one hand pressed to her chest.
"Please, Freya. I don't think I can make it alone."
The coordinator looked between us, clearly uncomfortable with the family drama.
"We really need to move," she said.
I found myself taking Lila's arm, supporting her weight as we made our way toward the ballroom doors.
The wedding march began.
Guests turned to watch as we appeared at the entrance. I saw the confusion on their faces. The whispers. The questions.
Why was the ex-fiancée walking the bride down the aisle?
Lila leaned heavily on me, playing up her weakness for the crowd. Each step felt like walking through quicksand.
Halfway down the aisle, I caught sight of Jasper waiting at the altar. He wore the navy suit I'd designed for him. The one that brought out his eyes. The one meant for our wedding.
His expression was pure adoration as he watched Lila approach.
He'd never looked at me like that.
The realization cut deeper than I expected.
We reached the altar. Jasper stepped forward, tears already streaming down his face.
"Thank you," he whispered to me as I transferred Lila's arm to his.
Thank you. For giving up my life so he could play hero to my dying sister.
Lila turned to me one last time.
"I'm so happy," she breathed, just loud enough for the front row to hear.
Then she faced Jasper, transformed into the picture of bridal bliss.
I retreated to the front pew, hyperaware of every stare, every whisper, every judgment.
The ceremony began.
Jasper's voice cracked as he recited vows that should have been mine. Lila's responses were breathy, fragile, heartbreaking.
The perfect victim. The noble hero. The heartless sister who'd given them her blessing.
When the minister pronounced them husband and wife, Jasper kissed Lila with desperate tenderness. The crowd erupted in applause.
I sat perfectly still, my hands folded in my lap, watching my life being lived by someone else.
That's when the tears started.
Silent at first. Just moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes. But as Jasper carried Lila back down the aisle - she was too weak to walk alone - the dam broke.
Six years. Six years of my life, my love, my dreams. Gone.
I fumbled in my purse for tissues, trying to maintain some dignity.
"Here."
A deep voice beside me. A clean white handkerchief appeared in my peripheral vision.
I looked up through my tears at a man I'd never seen before. Tall, impeccably dressed, with kind eyes and an elegant bearing.
"Thank you," I whispered, accepting the handkerchief.
He settled back in his seat as I dabbed at my eyes.
"Not marrying you," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, "is his misfortune and short life."