"She never wanted her dead. She only wanted her gone. But grief has a way of exposing the truth—and some words, like "sister," cannot be taken back. Marliese just detonated a bomb in her own room."
Marliese's room looked like a storm had passed through it.
Shattered glass littered the floor. Drawers had been ripped open and dumped out. Clothes, papers, and shattered frames lay scattered everywhere, as if she had tried to tear the room apart with her bare hands.
The news had spread through the city like wildfire.
Kieran D'Angelo's wife was dead.
The CEO of the D'Angelo Company had lost his wife to a fire.
Aurielle was gone.
Since the moment Marliese heard, she hadn't been herself.
For three days now, she hadn't eaten.
For three days, she hadn't slept.
She sat in front of the mirror, unmoving, staring at her own reflection. Her eyes were red, hollow, lifeless. A woman who looked like she had aged ten years overnight.
Her phone lay in her lap.
She had tried calling the same number again and again.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
She didn't know that the person she was calling couldn't pick up. She didn't know what had already happened—or what was still yet to happen.
Her fingers trembled as she lowered the phone, tears spilling silently down her cheeks.
She had wanted Aurielle gone from their lives.
Gone—not dead.
Aurielle's existence had always been a threat. A living secret. One wrong move, one wrong word, and everything Marliese had buried for years would come spilling out. She had only wanted distance. Silence. Safety.
Not this.
No matter how selfish she was…
No matter what she had done…
Aurielle was still her daughter.
And now she was dead.
Marliese pressed a hand to her chest as the ache became unbearable. She hadn't even gotten the chance to speak to her properly. To touch her. To hold her. To say goodbye.
After everything she had done—everything she had sacrificed to keep Aurielle safe—this was how it ended.
The door creaked open.
Kendella stepped inside and froze.
Her gaze swept across the ruined room, then landed on her mother sitting stiffly before the mirror.
"Mother?" she called, confused.
No response.
Kendella frowned and walked closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She had noticed it for days now—how Marliese refused to eat, refused to speak, refused to leave her room.
She had assumed it was stress. Or guilt.
But this?
This looked like grief.
Kendella crossed her arms. "Ever since you heard about Aurielle's death three days ago, you've been like this," she said. "Tell me—why?"
Marliese didn't move.
Kendella scoffed. "Aurielle was a nobody. Why are you so affected by her death?"
She stepped closer, voice growing firmer.
"We should be happy, Mother. She's gone. She's finally out of our lives. This is what we wanted."
Marliese's fingers curled slowly against her thigh.
"I mean—she's dead, yes. But at least she's gone forever." Kendella smiled faintly. "This is good news."
Marliese's jaw tightened.
"Kieran will finally be mine now," Kendella continued, excitement slipping into her voice. "I can finally marry him. I'll finally be his wife."
She let out a breathy laugh.
"Thank God that whore is finally dead."
The slap came so fast Kendella didn't see it coming.
Her head snapped to the side, pain exploding across her cheek. She stumbled back, hand flying up to her face, shock written all over her expression.
It was the first time Marliese had ever raised her hand to her.
Silence fell thick and suffocating.
Marliese stood, her entire body shaking with rage and grief.
"How dare you," she said, her voice low and sharp. "You are so selfish, Kendella."
Her chest rose and fell as tears burned behind her eyes.
"Kieran just lost his wife," Marliese continued. "And all you can think about is marrying him? You're happy she died?"
Kendella stared at her, stunned.
"At least have some respect for your sister that's dead."
The words slipped out before Marliese could stop them.
Her eyes widened.
She covered her mouth instantly—but it was too late.
Kendella had already heard.
Slowly, Kendella turned back to her mother, her eyes wide, her hand still pressed against her burning cheek.
"…What?" she whispered.
Her voice rose, sharp and incredulous.
"What did you just say?"
Her gaze locked onto Marliese's face.
"What do you mean by sister?"