The room was filled with a faint trace of lilies. Soft, familiar and something sharper: Anna's perfume.
Charlotte paused at the threshold, her eyes quietly scanning the scene before her.
Anna stood near the piano, dressed in that same blush-pink gown, the one Charlotte had once gifted her.
Once a token of sisterhood, of affection freely offered, now it felt like an emblem of betrayal. Every gentle tilt of Anna's head, every perfectly timed smile, every meek flicker of her lashes was part of the same old act. The tender, harmless sister who could do no wrong.
Charlotte had fallen for that act before. Not this time.
Anna turned, her expression bright with practised warmth.
"You know, Sister Charlotte," she began lightly, her voice smooth and sweet.
"This room is my favourite place in the entire house. It's peaceful. Aunt Maya and Dad must have loved you so much to design it just for you. Unlike me the unwanted child, the responsibility no one asked for, born out of wedlock."
Charlotte's lips twitched but not in amusement. Those very words had once sliced through her, had once made her ache with guilt. She used to believe Anna's pain justified everything. Her bitterness, her envy and everything else. She'd blamed her father endlessly for what he'd done. Even after his death, she had never truly forgiven him.
Maya Sharma, her mother, had been the same. Righteous, proud, unwilling to stay beside a man who betrayed her. She had forgiven him eventually, but the love had died long before she did.
Charlotte said nothing. The old Charlotte would have cried then, would have tried to console Anna, desperate to heal wounds that weren't hers to mend.
Anna blinked prettily, pretending to regret her own words. "Forget it," she murmured.
"Why am I even talking about these things?"
Charlotte stepped forward, her gaze steady.
"Yes," she said softly.
"One shouldn't dwell on bad things." Then, with careful lightness, she added.
"By the way, what was that good news you mentioned?"
She knew if she let Anna lead the conversation too long, she'd risk saying something that would give her away. Not yet. The game had only begun, and this time she would play it well.
Anna's smile faltered for just a heartbeat before she smoothed it back into place. She brushed invisible dust from her skirt, her movements dainty, controlled. A performance rehearsed countless times.
"I wanted to tell you that I've been accepted into Infinity Dance Academy."
She said brightly, the delight in her tone a shade too forced.
Charlotte tilted her head slightly.
"Infinity Dance Academy?"
"Yes," Anna said, eyes gleaming with false pride.
"It's one of the best in the country. But... there's a small issue." She sighed delicately, lowering her lashes.
"The admission fee is a bit high around a hundred thousand dollars. I was wondering if you could help me, just for now. I'll pay you back as soon as I can."
Her voice was honeyed, each pause calculated. Charlotte remembered every word, every cadence. The same lie, spoken once before.
In her past life, she had believed it. She'd believed Anna's story, her tears, her supposed dream of becoming a dancer. She had given her the money. And days later, Anna had returned with another lie, a robbery, a tragedy, a convenient excuse.
Not this time.
Charlotte smiled faintly, careful to mask the chill in her eyes.
"A hundred thousand? That's quite a sum, Anna. I'm afraid I don't have that kind of money right now."
Anna's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"But," Charlotte continued, tone smooth and even.
"Perhaps Grandfather could help. He's always valued higher education, hasn't he?"
The colour drained from Anna's face. "Grandfather?" she repeated too quickly.
"No, no...that won't be necessary. You know how he feels about me. I'd rather not bother him."
Charlotte studied her, the tremor of panic under her calm, the restless fingers, the stiff smile.
The mask was cracking.
"Still," Charlotte said mildly,
"you should at least try. He might surprise you."
Anna's smile returned, brittle now.
"You're kind, Charlotte, but I don't want to trouble him. I just thought... as sisters..." She let the words trail off, her eyes searching for sympathy.
Charlotte's gaze softened but her voice stayed steady.
"I understand."
A silence stretched between them. Thin, humming with unspoken things.
Anna shifted her weight, forcing a laugh.
"Anyway, it's fine. I'll manage somehow. I just thought I'd ask."
"I wish I could help," Charlotte said, feigning regret.
"But do let me know if you change your mind."
Anna nodded stiffly. "Of course." Frustration flared in her eyes, but she smothered it beneath that polished smile. For once, her performance had failed, and the sting of it burned.
What's the use of being beautiful if you're just an airhead, she thought bitterly, glancing at Charlotte, her rival, her mirror, her reminder of everything she could never be.
Charlotte stood there, serene as marble. The late afternoon light kissed her features. Her soft curls brushing her shoulders, her delicate peach-blossom skin glowing faintly, her eyes a deep hazel that could see through pretence itself. There was a quiet power in her beauty now something unearthly, reborn.
Anna turned abruptly and left, heels clicking sharply against the floor. The moment the door closed, Charlotte's smile faded.
Her gaze lingered on the empty space. She remembered the lie. The academy, the robbery, the crocodile tears. Every word, every betrayal. Anna hadn't changed.
But Charlotte had.
This time, she thought, you won't get away with it.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," she said.
Ronnie entered, carrying a tray with a glass of orange juice and a small packet of medicine. "Miss Charlotte," she said gently,
"You should take these. You looked a bit pale earlier."
Charlotte gave a small nod, taking the glass.
Ronnie lingered by the door, fidgeting with her apron. Her brow furrowed with hesitation before she finally spoke. "Miss Wilson... please don't take me wrong. But Miss Anna isn't who she pretends to be. She's proud, rude to the staff, and sometimes cruel sometimes. But when you're around, she turns sweet, gentle, almost saintly. It's all an act."
Charlotte didn't look surprised. She swallowed the medicine, then took a sip of juice.
"I know, Ronnie."
Ronnie blinked. "You... do?"
A faint smile touched Charlotte's lips. Not bitter, not sad, just knowing.
"I've been blind all these years. But not anymore."
Ronnie exhaled, relief softening her features.
"I'm glad to hear that, Miss."
Charlotte nodded.
"Thank you, Ronnie. You've always been honest."
"Always will be," Ronnie replied quietly, and slipped from the room.
As the door closed behind her, silence fell once more. The evening light spilt across the floor. Pale, cold, endless.
The past had returned, not to haunt her, but to offer her a choice.
And this time, Charlotte Wilson would not make the same mistakes.