Eden's Pov
"What?" Eliza half-yells, the sound strangled. She's still trying to mask her shock, but it's written all over her face, plain as day.
"Eden, you can't do that..." my mother jumps in, her voice taking on that wheedling, persuasive tone she uses for business deals. "Lorenzo is a very good man. Top of his league, young and wealthy. He's everything you would want." She says it like she's reading from a spec sheet.
"His league?" I raise a brow, playing dumb. I want to hear her spell it out.
"Yes," Mother adds, sitting up straighter, getting into sales mode. "He plays professional hockey and owns Skyhigh Athlete Management. It's three full ranks above our own agency." She says it with a kind of reverence, like she's talking about a holy relic.
My face twists into genuine disgust. "I don't like hockey or sports. I think it's okay if she has him. He sounds perfect for her, since she's a sports journalist anyway." I shrug, like I'm suggesting we share a dessert instead of a husband.
"I'm not accepting your leftovers!" Eliza suddenly shouts, lurching to her feet. What is with her and all the yelling today? She points a sharp finger directly at me. "Eden, whatever this is—"
"It's clearly redemption, Eliza. Please, just sit down and reason with me." I cut her off, my voice softening into a sickly-sweet plea. "I know I've taken your things in the past... mostly when we were kids, and I hope this would help build our relationship back up, even if it's just a little." I sniffle, fighting back fake tears that I hope look convincing. "I don't want a man to come between our bond as sisters. So please, accept the um..." I turn to mother, blinking innocently. "What's his name, again?"
"Lorenzo Sterling." Mother says, her voice crisp and clear.
"Please accept Lorenzo Sterling.." I finish my plea, looking back at Eliza with wide, supposedly sincere eyes.
Eliza rolls her head back and lets out this loud, psychotic laugh. She saunters backwards, covering her mouth like she can't believe what she's hearing, before her face switches into something much darker. "You're sick! All of this is insane!"
Says the woman who's been screaming and throwing her hands in the air all day. It's a good thing she hasn't tried to bite anyone yet.
"Shut up, Elizabeth." My father cuts her off harshly, his voice like a whip crack. "Your sister is trying to make amends. I suggest you listen. Don't forget that you got that job at Sport Watch because of me. This arrangement would help you build your career, since you obviously forgot where you came from and got married to a junior journalist. For what? Love." He spits the word out like it's a bad taste. "Be reasonable for once and stop being so childish."
The silence that follows is thick and sickening. My dad got her that job? I didn't even know that. I don't know what to say or even think right now. Maybe I really am going crazy, just like she's always said. Eliza keeps quiet after that, letting out a heavy, wet sniffle. But I don't think it's out of defeat. It's the silence of someone realizing, finally, that all their words are meaningless here.
"I'll call Fang Luther to adjust Eden's dress for her," Mother says, rising to her feet as if the matter is completely settled. "Please call Lorenzo and inform him that the wedding date has been adjusted."
"I most certainly will. Thank you, Eden." My father's voice is a low, satisfied rumble. "I can only imagine how traumatic today has been for you, my dear. It takes real courage to be this forgiving. I'm proud of you." He holds my hand gently.
"Thank you, daddy," I grin, adjusting my dress as I sit back properly, basking in the win.
He checks through his wallet, a sleek black leather thing, and pulls out a card. Not just any card. The black one. He hands it to me. "Here. Use it for the rest of the week. Do whatever you want with it. You've earned it."
My lips part in a perfect little gasp of surprise. I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Oh, you shouldn't have.." I say, the words muffled against his shoulder. I pull back, clutching the card. "Thank you so much. I love you, daddy."
"I love you too, my sweet girl," He pats my head twice, a familiar, dismissive gesture, just before he gets up. "Good night, Eden."
"Good night," I smile, the picture of a perfect daughter.
He stops at the doorway to stare at Eliza. He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable under the weight of her silent, furious stare. "Good night, Eliza," he says tightly, and then he's gone.
I turn to look at her, sighing sharply when she refuses to take her gaze off me. I was just about to get up, but now I stay put. Let her look.
"So this is why you did it, huh? To get paid?" Her voice is flat, stripped of all the earlier hysterics.
My brows furrow. I lean back into the plush couch, suddenly very interested in examining my neatly manicured fingers. "You know, if I wanted money, I don't need to have your snake between my legs to get it." I look up at her. "Daddy gives me these all the time."
"Thought as much," she sighs, a sound of pure exhaustion. "Why then? If you didn't want money or want him, why did you do it? You have no idea how I've tried to put up with your disgusting, bratty personality for my entire life. Eliza the nerd. And Eden, the perfect child. The one that everyone loves—"
"Everyone loves?" I cut her off with a scoff. "That's absurd."
"Please," she says, the sarcasm dripping. "Even our aunts and uncles consider you first, Eden. Don't play dumb with me. I get compared to you almost daily. I can't breathe without people wondering why I'm the odd one out... why I'm not more like you."
"It's not my fault you don't have a good fashion sense!" That's the only thing I can think to say, the only ground I feel sure of. I don't have many skills, not like her. I can't say I'm better looking because we have the same face, the same assets. My eyes flick over her evening outfit: an oversized grey cardigan and faded sweatpants. She's always had this nerdy, tacky style, even after she took off the braces and finally got contact lenses.
"You think it's just about fashion sense, Eden?" She sounds almost pitying.
"Yes! You got the job. You always topped the class, Eliza. People scream your praise everywhere. I only get applauded at home, that's it. People love *you*. You said it yourself. You always bring gifts from your company, you get cards on Valentine's day from multiple admirers, not to mention your massive Instagram following. People beg to see you on screens.. I've seen the blogs." The words come out in a rush, and I hate how defensive I sound.
Eliza scoffs, then sniffles again. She tears her gaze from me and roughly cleans her face with the back of her hand. "I hope one day you'd truly understand me, but that isn't coming until you pay for everything you've taken from me." Her voice is cold, final. She rises to her feet. For a moment, I feel something spasm through me. Fear, maybe. Or maybe it's just a sudden draft from the window right before one of the maids closes it.
"And is that a threat?" I ask, lifting my chin.
"No. Just a promise of retribution." With that, she's out, leaving me alone with the sudden quiet.
I brush it off. What else can I do? I go upstairs, heading for the bath the maids had already prepared for me. This is the second one today. The first was to scrub Xavier's saliva off my chest. Now, I'm going to wash off her words. I strip out of my dress and sink into the cool water. I grab the bag of chips from the side table, chewing aggressively while watching a movie on the mini projector.
"Retribution?" I laugh out loud when her words cross my mind again. The sound is hollow in the tiled bathroom. "I'm the one who was wronged."
She was going to marry Lorenzo in two days. That fact alone was enough for me to know I had won. She was just speaking out of defeat, trying to get the last word. After I finish, I get up with a loud yawn, ready to step out of the tub. My foot slips on the wet, slippery surface. I flail, my balance gone completely. I fall hard on my back, my head slamming against the sharp porcelain edge of the bathtub.
A sharp gasp escapes my lips. My vision instantly blurs, speckled with black dots. A searing, white-hot pain explodes at the back of my skull. The metallic scent of my own blood clouds my nostrils. No.. this can't be happening. I try to fight it, my limbs thrashing weakly against the water.
My mouth feels impossibly heavy, too leaden to form a cry for help. I keep fighting the darkness pulling at the edges of my sight until I simply can't anymore. I finally surrender, sinking into a void where I can hear a distant, mechanized voice.
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