I didn't sleep.
How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Adrian's face, heard his voice explaining why marrying my stepsister was somehow an act of noble sacrifice. The wedding dress hung on my closet door like a ghost, mocking me with its pristine perfection.
By dawn, I'd made my decision. I wasn't going to hide in my room like some tragic heroine from a Victorian novel. If my family wanted to watch this farce of a wedding, they could do it without pretending I didn't exist.
I stripped off the wedding dress and chose my armor instead a sharp black blazer, tailored pants, and heels that could double as weapons. If I was going to war, I'd dress the part.
The Sterling family would arrive soon for what they thought was still my wedding. How exactly did one call off a wedding twelve hours before it was supposed to happen? Did Hallmark make cards for that?
I found my father in his study, the same room where he'd taught me about business when I was a child, where he'd once told me I was smart enough to run Hartwell Industries someday. He looked up from his newspaper as I entered, and I saw the guilt flicker across his face before he could hide it.
"Elena," he said carefully. "You're up early."
"Hard to sleep when your fiancé decides to marry someone else." I kept my voice level, professional. "I assume you already know?"
His silence was answer enough. My chest tightened with a pain that felt different from last night's devastation. This was betrayal of a different kind deeper, more fundamental.
"How long have you known?" I asked.
"Sweetheart"
"How. Long?"
He set down his newspaper with hands that trembled slightly. "Margaret approached me last week. She said Sophia was getting worse, that the doctors..." He trailed off, unable to meet my eyes.
"A week." The words tasted like ash in my mouth. "You've known for a week, and you said nothing."
"What was I supposed to say? Elena, you don't understand"
"Then explain it to me." I moved closer to his desk, leaning forward with my palms flat on the mahogany surface. "Explain to me how you could know my wedding was being called off and not tell me."
Before he could answer, the study door opened and Margaret swept in, followed by Sophia. My stepmother looked immaculate as always, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her designer dress impeccable. But it was Sophia who made my breath catch.
She was glowing.
Gone was the pale, sickly waif who'd been hovering at death's door for months. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright, and she wore a cream-colored dress that was suspiciously bridal in its elegance.
"Elena!" Sophia rushed toward me with her arms outstretched, as if we were long-lost sisters reuniting instead of... whatever we were now. "Oh, Elena, I'm so sorry! I never wanted it to happen like this, but Adrian said you understood, that you were happy for us"
"Happy for you?" I stepped back, avoiding her embrace. "Sophia, you're supposed to be dying."
Her face crumpled instantly, tears springing to her eyes with Oscar-worthy timing. "I am! I mean, I... the doctors said... but Adrian makes me feel so much better, and when he suggested..."
She dissolved into sobs, burying her face in her hands. Margaret immediately moved to comfort her, shooting me a look that could have frozen hell.
"How dare you?" Margaret's voice was ice and venom. "Your sister is fighting for her life, and all you can think about is yourself?"
"My sister?" I laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Let me be very clear about something, Margaret. Sophia is not my sister. She's the daughter of the woman who married my father for his money."
"Elena!" My father's voice cracked like a whip. "That's enough."
"Is it? Because I'm just getting started." I turned to face all three of them, these people who were supposed to be my family. "Let's talk about what's really happening here. Adrian didn't wake up yesterday morning suddenly overcome with concern for Sophia's dying wish. This has been planned."
Margaret's composure slipped for just a moment a tiny crack in her perfect facade that told me I was right.
"You orchestrated this," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "You convinced Adrian that marrying Sophia would be noble, selfless. You probably told him I'd understand because I'm just so giving, so accommodating. Did you promise him I'd wait? Did you assure him that Elena would always be there when he was ready for her?"
"You're being hysterical," Margaret said coolly, but her grip on Sophia's shoulders had tightened.
"Am I? Or am I finally seeing clearly for the first time in years?" I looked at my father, willing him to meet my eyes. "Tell me something, Dad. When Margaret suggested this arrangement, did you think about me at all? Did you wonder how I might feel about watching my fiancé marry someone else at the church where I was supposed to be a bride?"
"Elena, please." Sophia's voice was weak, trembling. "I'm sick. I might not have much time left. Is it so wrong to want just a little happiness?"
I stared at her really looked at her and saw past the tears and the trembling lips to something else. Something calculating in her eyes that disappeared the moment she realized I'd seen it.
"You're not dying, are you?" The words left my mouth before I'd fully formed the thought.
The room went dead silent. Even Sophia's sobs stopped.
"What did you say?" Margaret's voice was dangerous now.
"I said she's not dying. Look at her." I gestured toward Sophia, who had gone very still. "When was the last time any of us actually spoke to her doctors? When was the last time we saw medical records, test results, anything concrete?"
"Elena, that's enough." My father stood up, his face flushed with anger. "Sophia is family, and she's ill. End of discussion."
"Is she? Because she looks remarkably healthy for someone who supposedly has months to live. In fact, she looks better than she has in years."
"You're being cruel," Margaret said, but there was something off about her tone. Something defensive.
I moved closer to Sophia, studying her face. "What's the name of your doctor?"
"I... Dr. Morrison. You know that."
"Dr. Morrison retired six months ago."
Sophia's eyes widened slightly before she caught herself. "I mean Dr. Peterson. He took over my case."
"There is no Dr. Peterson."
The lie hung in the air between us, ugly and obvious. I watched as Sophia's mask finally slipped, revealing something cold and triumphant underneath.
"It doesn't matter," she said quietly, no longer bothering to cry. "Adrian is mine now. He chose me."
"Because you're dying!"
"Because I'm not you." The venom in her voice was startling. "Because I don't lecture him about business or have opinions about everything. Because I need him."
I felt the words hit like physical blows, each one designed to cut where it would hurt most. But underneath the pain was something else a clarity I hadn't experienced in years.
"You're right," I said softly. "You're not me. You're a liar and a manipulator, but you're not me."
Margaret stepped forward, her face twisted with fury. "How dare you speak to my daughter that way?"
"She's not your daughter," I said. "She's your weapon. And you've used her very well."
"Elena, that's enough!" My father's voice boomed through the study. "I won't have this kind of talk in my house."
"Your house?" I turned to him, seeing him clearly for perhaps the first time in my adult life. "This is our house, Dad. The house my mother lived in, the house where she raised me. The house that should have been mine."
"Should have been yours?" Margaret laughed, the sound sharp and ugly. "You ungrateful little girl. Do you have any idea what your father has given you? The education, the lifestyle, the opportunities? And this is how you repay him? By attacking your sick sister?"
"She's not sick, and she's not my sister." I looked between the three of them, these people who had shaped my life for so long. "But you're right about one thing, Margaret. I have been ungrateful. I've been grateful for scraps when I should have demanded my inheritance."
My father's face went pale. "Elena"
"My mother's shares in Hartwell Industries," I continued. "The trust fund she set up for me. The properties that were supposed to transfer to my name when I turned twenty-five. Where are they, Dad?"
The silence stretched between us like a chasm.
"I can see by your face that you know exactly what I'm talking about," I said. "So I'll ask again. Where is my inheritance?"
"The company needed capital," Margaret said smoothly. "Your father made investments"
"Using my money."
"Using family money for family business."
"My mother wasn't family to you. I'm not family to you." I felt something cold and hard settling in my chest, like ice forming around my heart. "None of this was ever about Sophia's illness or Adrian's noble gesture, was it? This was about making sure I never had the power to challenge you."
Margaret's smile was sharp as a blade. "Challenge me with what? You have no shares, no trust fund, no inheritance. You have what we choose to give you, and that can disappear at any time."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's reality." She moved to stand beside my father, her hand possessive on his shoulder. "Richard has made his choice. Sophia will marry Adrian today, as planned. And you will smile and support your sister, or you will find yourself with nothing."
I looked at my father, this man who had once been my hero, who had taught me that family meant loyalty and love and protection. "Nothing to say, Dad? No defense of your daughter?"
His eyes were wet, but his voice was steady when he spoke. "Elena, if you can't support this family, then perhaps... perhaps you should consider whether you belong in it."
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. After everything after years of devotion, of putting family first, of sacrificing my own dreams for theirs he was choosing them.
"I see." My voice came out surprisingly calm. "So this is how it ends. Not with Sophia dying, but with Elena disappearing."
"Don't be dramatic," Margaret said. "You're welcome to stay for the wedding. To smile and play your part like a good daughter."
I looked around the room one last time at the family portraits that would soon not include me, at the books my father had read to me as a child, at the window where my mother used to sit in the morning sun.
"No," I said quietly. "I don't think I will."
I walked toward the door, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor with military precision.
"Elena, wait." My father's voice stopped me at the threshold. When I turned back, I saw something that might have been regret in his eyes. "Where will you go?"
I thought about lying, about pretending I had somewhere to run. But in this moment, honesty felt like the only weapon I had left.
"I don't know." I met his gaze steadily. "But anywhere is better than here."
"Elena"
"Goodbye, Dad." I looked at Margaret, then at Sophia, memorizing their faces. "Congratulations on your wedding day. I hope you get everything you deserve."
I walked out of the study, out of the house, out of the life I'd built around people who had never really loved me at all.
Behind me, I heard Sophia's voice, bright and excited: "Should I wear your grandmother's pearls with my dress? They'll look so beautiful for the ceremony."
My grandmother's pearls. The ones my mother had worn, the ones that should have been mine.
I didn't look back.
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