Loading promotion info...

He Lost Me When He Chose His Stepsister

NovelShort Completed

Mystery Revenge Devil Husband

For the nth time, I tried to seduce my husband, Troy Green, but failed once again to consummate the marriage, so I decided to call my brother. “Brother,” I said softly, “I’m going to divorce him.” “Thalia, I warned you, didn’t I? That man… he’s ice. Emotionally constipated. Sexually apathetic. A walking void in an expensive suit.” I thought I could fix him, make him love me, but I was wrong. When the call ended, I walked back to my room only to hear suppressed sounds from Troy's private room. Troy sat on the couch, shirt half-undone, hand moving fast between his legs as he watched a video of Bianca laughing on the beach. Everything was clear to me now. He didn’t reject me because he didn’t feel desire. He rejected me because his desire had nothing to do with me. What's worse is that when his stepsister Bianca threw a tantrum and hit my head that needed hundreds of stitching, he didn't even care and just grounded Bianca for a day. I was done being disregarded, unloved, and untouched, thus I decided to leave him with the ache of losing the woman who once begged for his love... and now it will be his turn in bended knees.

Chapters (9)

Chapter 1

For the nth time, I tried to seduce my husband, Troy Green, but failed once again to consummate the marriage, so I decided to call my brother. The divorce papers lay untouched on the desk as I held the phone to my ear with trembling fingers. “Brother,” I said softly, “I’m going to divorce him.” There was a beat of silence. Then, Nathan’s voice came through, calm and unsurprised. “Thalia, I warned you, didn’t I? That man… he’s ice. Emotionally constipated. Sexually apathetic. A walking void in an expensive suit.” A small, broken laugh escaped my lips. “I thought I could fix him. I really thought if I loved him hard enough, he’d love me back.” “You’re not a repair shop, Thalia. You don’t fix people like him. Listen, come to New Zealand. The beaches are beautiful, the men actually know how to touch a woman. Let Troy Green rot in his glass mansion, untouched and unloved.” I leaned my head back against the wall, breathing through the burn in my chest. “I’ll book the flight once the papers are signed.” “Good,” Nathan said, his voice softer now. “You deserve better. You always have.” When the call ended, I didn’t move for a long time. Then I stood. The corridor was quiet, the marble floors cold beneath my bare feet. I passed the guest wing, the lounge, then paused outside the room at the far end of the hallway. That was Troy’s private sanctuary. A room he always kept locked. A room I was never allowed to enter. Tonight, it wasn’t locked. And from inside, I heard a sound. A low groan. Drawn out. Suppressed. I froze. My fingers brushed the edge of the door, hesitating. Troy was on the couch, shirt half-undone, pants pushed down around his thighs. His back arched slightly, one hand gripping the edge of the cushion, the other working between his legs with a familiar, practiced rhythm. His head was thrown back, lips parted, eyes locked on the screen in front of him. But what turned my stomach—what turned my heart to dust—was what he was watching. It was her. Bianca. His stepsister. The video was from a summer vacation, one we all took together three years ago. I recognized the scenery instantly—waves crashing behind her, the cliffside covered in wildflowers. Bianca was at the beach, laughing, hair wind-blown and sunlit, wearing a white dress that clung to her figure like a second skin. She twirled for the camera, spinning like she was in a perfume commercial. She ran toward the waves, arms outstretched. She turned and smiled, radiant and playful. And then—Troy moaned her name. “Bianca…” Not once. Twice. His voice was breathless. Reverent. I staggered back a step, the world spinning around me. The floor felt miles beneath my feet. My ears rang. This wasn’t the first time. I remembered the first time I caught him watching something on his phone late at night. He had fallen asleep with it in his hand. I told myself it was nothing. Then another time, I found printed photos of her in his desk drawer. Casual shots from family vacations. Bianca by the pool. Bianca in a sundress. Bianca smiling up at the sky. I asked him about it, and he said he was archiving old memories. I believed him. But tonight, there was no denying it. He was watching a video of his stepsister—and pleasuring himself to it. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. The first time I met Troy was at a yacht party Nathan hosted. I couldn’t look away. He was nothing like the men I’d dated before—he was mystery. And I fell. So hard. So fast. So stupid. I begged Nathan to introduce me. I made sure we crossed paths again and again. Eventually, he agreed to marry me. No proposal. No ring. Just a quiet, emotionless: “Marriage works for me. If you want it, I don’t mind.” Our wedding night was a disaster. He never came to the room. He slept in his study. And every night after that was a variation of the same rejection. I tried everything. Lingerie, weekend getaways, wine, massages, midnight kisses. He wouldn’t touch me. For two years, I’d been nothing but a ghost in this marriage. A pretty shadow that cooked his meals, smiled at galas, and went to bed cold every single night. But tonight made everything clear. He didn’t reject me because he didn’t feel desire. He rejected me because his desire had nothing to do with me. That night, I didn’t sleep. I just lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise. Waiting for this nightmare of a marriage to be over. And when dawn broke, I got up and dressed. When I walked into the kitchen, he was already there, sipping his morning coffee, flipping through a financial report. He didn’t look up. “Where’s breakfast?” he asked absently, like I was the maid. I opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and answered without turning around. “I didn’t cook.” He looked up, blinking like he didn’t understand. “What?” “I said,” I repeated, calm and clear, “I didn’t cook. Just eat somewhere else.” His brow furrowed. “Why not? What’s going on?” I turned then. Met his eyes head-on. “I’m leaving,” I said. He stood up slowly, confusion etched into his face. “Leaving? Where are you going?” I smiled. But there was no sweetness left in it. Only frost. “None of your business.”

Chapter 2

I just walked away, and grabbed the keys to the Maybach, and drove straight to the divorce lawyer’s office. The receptionist gave me a look that said you again?, but I ignored her and walked in. Attorney Rosario was sitting behind his polished mahogany desk. His tie was crisp, his smile tight. “Mrs. Green,” he greeted carefully. “I received your message. But I’m afraid I can’t—” “Cut the formality,” I said, placing the unsigned divorce documents on the desk. “I want this done. Today.” He cleared his throat. “Thalia… this isn’t just anyone. We talked about this already. Troy Green’s family—his father owns a third of the east-side properties. His name opens doors. He has connections that could bury me.” I leaned forward, locking eyes with him. “And I’ve lived two years of silence. Two years of cold rejection. Two years of pretending my marriage wasn’t a farce. There’s no love here. There never was. Just a man obsessed with someone who isn’t me.” He shifted, uncomfortable. “Still—” “I’m not asking for your sympathy. I’m begging you to do your job. Get me out of this cage.” He stared at me, then finally sighed. “Fine. I’ll file it. It’ll take a few days. But once it’s in, it’s done… and if he says no, I don’t have any say on it.” My throat tightened. I nodded. “Thank you.” I walked out with a weight off my shoulders and a new one building in my chest. Next, I headed to the embassy. Filled out the necessary forms. Submitted the paperwork. I was done being a citizen of Troy’s world. Soon, I’d be gone. And this nightmare would be nothing but a memory I wouldn’t visit again. By the time I stepped back outside, the sun was warm on my face. My chest still hurt—but for the first time, the pain wasn’t sharp. Just dull… survivable. That’s when I remembered Troy’s credit card. I never used it—not once. Never asked for gifts, jewelry, nothing. I’d been the perfect wife on paper and an invisible one in practice. So I opened my phone and started swiping. Designer coats. Cashmere dresses. Heels so tall they looked like weapons. A sapphire clutch I didn’t need. Everything I saw—I bought. Screw it. I deserved this. For every night I sat alone in that freezing marital bed. For every time I cooked him dinner and watched him throw it away untouched. For every rejection, every bruise my heart collected in silence—I deserved this. And of course, Troy noticed. Halfway through the fifth store, my phone buzzed. TROY: “What’s going on with the card?” I smirked and texted back without skipping a beat: ME: “You said do something that makes me happy. This is it. Are you going to stop me now?” A moment later, his reply came. Just one word. TROY: “Fine.” I laughed softly. Victory had never tasted so sweet. I stepped into another boutique, arms already full of bags. The cashier stared at me like I was royalty. And that’s when she walked in. Bianca. Hazel eyes. Brown hair. A beauty mark under her left eye. She stopped mid-step when she saw me—and all the shopping bags surrounding me. “What the hell is this?” she hissed. “You gold-digging bitch—are you trying to make my brother go broke?!” I didn’t even flinch. “I’m not a gold-digger. I’m his wife. So I deserve this.” “Deserve?” she scoffed. “No, you don’t. You’ll never deserve anything from him. You stole this life. That bag,” she pointed, “that dress. I want it. It’s mine!” I rolled my eyes. “You want the dress? Buy your own.” She stormed over, grabbing the same cream Dior gown I had in my hand. “Let go!” “No.” We yanked at the fabric, both of us tugging until it tore straight down the middle with a loud rip. Silence fell. Bianca’s face twisted. “You bitch,” she spat. “You’re the reason Troy doesn’t talk to me anymore. Ever since he married you, he never visited me again, never looked at me the same way. You ruined our relationship! I should have said this before but I was thinking of my brother but I really hate you!” I blinked. “So what? That’s not my fault he married me. You are just his stepsister.” “It is your fault! You took him away from me!” And before I could react, she yanked a stiletto off one of the display mannequins and swung. The heel struck the side of my head. I stumbled, stunned. Warmth bloomed down my temple. I reached up—and my fingers came away red. “Die!” she screamed as she hit me again and again. “Die! Die! Die!”

Chapter 3

When I opened my eyes, everything hurt. The ceiling above me was too white. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly overhead, pulsing against the pounding in my skull. I tried to move, but even turning my head sent a sharp wave of pain slicing through my scalp. “Easy there,” a voice said. A nurse hovered beside me, her voice gentle but concerned. “You were brought in by a good Samaritan. Passed out in a pool of blood at a boutique. Head trauma. You lost a lot of blood—got hundreds of stitches.” My hand instinctively moved to my head. It was bandaged. Aching. Throbbing. I blinked slowly. “Who brought me here?” “We’re not sure. They didn’t leave a name. Just dropped you off and disappeared.” “So… no family?” The nurse hesitated. “We called your emergency contact. Your husband, Troy Green. Also listed your in-laws. But…” she gave me an awkward smile, “no one’s come. You’ve been here for nearly twelve hours.” I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. Nothing. “Twelve hours?” My voice cracked. She nodded and handed me my things. “Phone’s in there. Maybe try calling him?” I clutched the phone with trembling hands. My screen lit up—no missed calls. No messages. I dialed Troy’s number. Straight to voicemail. Again. And again. The fourth time, I stopped. Instead, I opened Instagram. The moment the app launched, a notification popped up. BiancaGreen_ went LIVE. I tapped it. My breath stopped. Troy was right there. In the video. They were in Milan. He held shopping bags in both hands, trailing behind Bianca while she giggled at the camera. “My brother’s been spoiling me rotten,” she said to her viewers, blowing a kiss toward the screen. “Best brother in the world.” I watched as he handed her a drink, then smiled faintly when she leaned in and kissed his cheek. I couldn’t breathe. I was bleeding out in a hospital room, alone. And they were shopping. Together. A scream clawed its way up my throat before I could stop it. I hurled the phone across the room. It bounced off the wall and hit the floor with a crack. The nurse rushed in. “Miss Thalia, are you alright?” I wasn’t. But I’d never been. “I want to report an assault,” I told her. “Now. Call the police.” A few minutes later, a young officer walked in, clipboard in hand. He looked bored. “Miss Thalia Green?” “Yes.” “You’re reporting an assault by… Miss Bianca Green?” “Yes.” He looked at me. Something in his eyes shifted. Then he sighed. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve been instructed not to move forward with any charges filed by you against Miss Bianca Green.” “What?” I stared at him. “She attacked me. I have stitches. Hospital records. Witnesses!” He didn’t flinch. “We were told you may be suffering from mental instability. That you have a history of emotional outbursts and exaggerated claims. It was recommended we advise you to speak directly with your husband.” The air left my lungs. Troy. Of course. He owned this city. The police. The hospitals. The narrative. I had no one. No voice. No power. I was drowning in a sea Troy controlled with a flick of his finger. I lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling. Hours passed. The day blurred into night. And then I heard the door click open. He didn’t knock. He just walked in, still in that same custom-tailored suit, hair perfectly styled, face unreadable. I sat up. “Troy—” “Apologize to Bianca.” No hello. No concern. My jaw clenched. “What?” “You heard me.” I stared at him. “I was in the hospital. I had stitches. She attacked me.” “You tried to file an assault case against her,” he snapped. “Do you really think I wouldn’t find out?” “She hit me with a shoe! She split my head open over a dress and called me a gold digger!” “She’s my sister,” he said coldly. “She was just trying to protect me. You went on a shopping spree like you were emptying my account. What did you expect?” “That was the first time I used your card. Ever. I’m your wife.” “She is my stepsister.” I blinked. “What?” I felt something inside me crack. “You’re choosing her over me,” I said. “Your wife.” He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.” The word dropped like a blade. I sucked in a sharp breath, but it felt like my lungs refused to expand. “That’s unfair! I almost died!” “Yet, you didn’t. You know her. It’s just her temper, okay? And she didn’t mean it. I grounded her for a day, and took her card. That’s done.” “No, that’s not done—” He shook his head like I was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not having this conversation again. You’re going to apologize to her. End of story.” He turned to leave. “Take a rest,” he added without looking back. “I still need to take care of my sister. She was traumatized seeing you like that, you were covered in blood.” The door closed behind him with a soft click. I sat there in silence. Blood still crusted around my scalp. A dull ache bloomed in my skull. And the only person who should’ve held me… left me again. For his stepsister.

Chapter 4

The hospital walls were quiet. And for the next three days, I didn’t hear a single word from my husband. Not a call. Not a text. Not even a cold glance through the door. Instead, he sent nurses. Round-the-clock professionals, paid to check on me like I was a client on a bill. They never used his name, never said where he was. But I already knew. Because I saw it all on social media. They were in Sweden. Troy and Bianca. One post showed Bianca posing on a glass-bottom bridge over a glacier. Another had her pouting beside a fireplace, Troy’s coat draped around her shoulders. One video caught them sharing fondue. Bianca giggled at the camera, feeding him a piece of strawberry dipped in chocolate. “My brother spoils me sooo much,” she said sweetly. “Best vacation ever. Recharging with my favorite person.” I closed the app and stared at the ceiling. I remembered how, when we first got married, Troy kept his distance from her. Barely spoke a word. I thought maybe they weren’t close. Maybe she just annoyed him. It didn’t matter. But now… I knew better. He wasn’t ignoring her. He was avoiding temptation. And now, he wasn’t bothering to hide it at all. They were together. Not just as siblings. No one looked at their sister the way he looked at her in that video. And she? She looked like she’d already won. I pressed my palm against my chest and exhaled. Just a few more days. Just a few more hours. I had already filed for the divorce. My visa would arrive soon. I’d already made quiet arrangements with the embassy. My ticket out was coming. All I had to do was survive until then. On the fifth day, I was finally cleared for discharge. I changed out of the hospital gown, packed my things, and signed the paperwork. The nurse wheeled me to the lobby. That’s when I saw them. Troy. And Bianca. Sitting side by side. Bianca had shopping bags in her hands—designer names in bold gold fonts, as if she was here for a runway rather than an apology. “Thalia,” she called sweetly. “You’re looking better!” I didn’t answer. She walked over, holding out the bags like a peace offering. “I got you something,” she said, smile sugary. “Consider it a gift. I didn’t mean for things to get so… crazy. But everything’s fine now, right? We’re okay. Especially since my brother and I made up. That little incident actually helped us reconnect.” I blinked. Then I scoffed. “You mean the part where you split my skull open? That little incident?” Bianca flinched—then immediately ducked behind Troy. “Wait… is she going to hurt me again?” she whimpered. “Brother, I’m scared.” Troy stood between us. “No,” he said calmly. “She’s not.” Then he turned to me, jaw clenched. “Apologize to her. Now.” My chest constricted. “What?” “You heard me,” he snapped. “We already talked about this. You’re going to apologize. She’s shaken. She’s still scared. It’s the least you can do.” I stared at him, blinking through the haze of disbelief. “You want me to apologize,” I said slowly, “to the woman who assaulted me?” “She’s my stepsister,” he said. “I don’t care if she’s the queen of England.” “She didn’t mean to hurt you. It was a misunderstanding. You provoked her by maxing out my card… and by not giving that dress when you can just let her have it.” “Once,” I snapped. “One time. In two years of marriage. I never asked for anything. I never touched your money. But the moment I do, I’m a gold digger? And dress? She didn’t want it. She wanted it because it was mine just like she wanted you because you’re mine!” “She was just trying to protect me,” he repeated. “She thought you were taking advantage of me…and no! I’m not yours!” “Ah, right. You’re not mine, but you get to call me yours? That’s unfair, then.” He didn’t answer. Bianca peeked out from behind him with wide, innocent eyes, but her smirk was already forming underneath. That was it. I stepped back, breathing hard. “Let’s make it fair then because I’m done,” I said. “I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not apologizing. I want a divorce, Troy Green.”

Chapter 5

“No.” Troy’s voice was firm, final. “I’m not signing anything, Thalia.” I turned to face him, my expression carefully blank. Every muscle in my body screamed to lash out, but I swallowed it all down. I’d been doing that for so long now. “I’ll make it up to you,” he added, as if his words could erase everything that had already been done. “Don’t be so dramatic. Everything’s going to be alright. Now get in the car. Bianca’s tired from the trip. She needs to go home.” I laughed—a loud, bitter sound that felt like it might rip me in half. There it was—the truth I’d known in my gut all along. I’d never get a divorce. Not from a man like him. Not unless I ran away. But my visa wasn’t here yet, so I smiled faintly. Swallowed my pride. And slipped into the backseat of the car. I would bear with it a little longer. Bianca was beside Troy in the passenger seat, talking non-stop about their trip like it was some fairytale. “We hiked the Matterhorn—it was freezing, but he carried me down the trail like a knight.” She went on, oblivious to everything else. “Then there was this sweet shop, and he bought the whole shelf because I couldn’t decide!” “Troy even booked the entire rooftop of the Ritz for dinner. Candles and everything.” I stared out the window, dead silent. Her giggles and his soft chuckles filled the space, but I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. The rest of the ride passed in quiet torment, my chest tight with rage and helplessness. That night, Bianca announced she’d cooked dinner. “I made something for everyone! Come eat with us!” she chirped, her tone sweet, as though that would make up for all the damage she’d done. I was about to refuse when Troy gave me that look—the one that said if I didn’t play nice, I’d be the problem. “Bianca apologized. She’s trying, Thalia. Don’t be immature. She’s just a kid.” A kid who split my skull open. I forced myself to sit down. My hands clenched under the table, white-knuckled as I stared at the steaming bowl of soup she’d placed before me. Bianca beamed at me. “Try it. I added a secret spice.” I hesitated, staring at the soup. Then I took a sip, trying to swallow my disgust. Something tingled at the back of my throat. Then that tingling turned to a violent burning. I dropped the spoon. My chest tightened, the air choking from my lungs. My throat swelled, panic rising like a tidal wave. Shrimp. Tiny bits of shrimp. The cruelest betrayal. I looked at Bianca through blurred vision. Her face was frozen in mock horror. “Oh my god. I didn’t know! I didn’t mean—” Liar. She always knew. Always. I glanced at Troy. His eyes hardened—not in concern, but in irritation. “Bianca, go upstairs. You don’t need to see this.” And then he walked away. Left me there. I staggered to the kitchen, my hands trembling as I fumbled through the drawers, searching for my EpiPen and allergy meds. My body was shutting down, but I fought to stay conscious. I swallowed a pill, just enough to stabilize myself. An hour later, I collapsed in bed, utterly drained, barely hanging on to life. Sleep took me swiftly, mercifully. When I woke, it was dark. Something felt… wrong. I got up slowly, my legs shaky. I made my way to my closet—and froze. The shelves were in disarray. My drawers were torn open. Boxes had been dumped out like someone had ransacked my room. And the velvet case that held my mother’s bracelet—gone My pulse spiked. My stomach twisted with dread. I ran out of the room, heading for the backyard. That’s when I saw her. Bianca. She stood by the pool in her swimsuit. Smiling. Wearing my bracelet. The last thing my mother had ever given me before she died. Something inside me snapped. I stormed over to her, grabbing her wrist with all the fury that had been building inside me for months. “That’s mine,” I growled. Bianca yanked her arm back, a defiant smirk twisting her lips. “It looks better on me,” she taunted. “You broke into my room.” “So what?” she sneered. The bracelet snapped in half during the struggle. The pieces scattered to the ground with a sickening crunch. I saw red. The rage was all-consuming. I shoved her—hard. She shrieked as she lost her balance, stumbling backward before plunging into the pool with a splash. The sound echoed through the night. Water churned violently. And then… silence. I stood there, breathing heavily, staring at the ruined pieces of my mother’s memory clutched in my hand. I didn’t regret it. Not for a second. But then I heard her. Bianca. She was flailing in the pool, her arms waving wildly as she screamed for help. Her voice was panicked, desperate. “Help! Help! I can’t swim!” I stood frozen, watching her flounder in the water. Her cries echoed, but I didn’t move. I didn’t offer her an ounce of sympathy. She wasn’t a child. Not anymore. And in that moment, I realized I didn’t care if she drowned.

Chapter 6

I watched Bianca flounder in the pool, her arms thrashing wildly. She was screaming for help, but I stood there, frozen. Every inch of me wanted to leave her there, to let her drown. After everything she’d done to me, she deserved it. The lies, the manipulation, the way she’d tormented me… I had no reason to save her. But I couldn’t. Troy would never forgive me if I let her die. He’d never forgive me if I let something happen to her, no matter what she’d done. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t risk him turning on me, not when I was already hanging by a thread. With a deep breath, I stepped toward the pool’s edge and extended my hand. My voice was low, barely above a whisper. “Grab my hand, Bianca. I’ll help you.” She grabbed it, but the moment her fingers brushed mine, I felt a sharp yank. Without warning, she pulled me into the water, her grip tight around my wrist. I gasped as the cold water surrounded me, my body sinking deeper. Panic surged through me. I couldn’t swim. I was going under. Bianca’s smug face appeared in front of me, her lips curling into a vicious smirk. “How dare you try to hurt me?” she spat, her eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. “You thought you could drown me and get away with it?” I struggled, fighting to keep my head above water, but Bianca only tightened her grip. “My brother never dared hurt me,” she sneered. “And now you think you can? You think you’re better than me?” I kicked my legs, but the weight of her words only made it harder to breathe. My chest tightened. “You’ll drown before I do,” she taunted, laughing. “I know you’re the one who doesn’t know how to swim, Thalia. You’ll drown. Just like I wanted.” She pushed me further down. The cold water engulfed me, my body sinking deeper into the darkness. I gasped, trying to get air, but there was nothing but water, swallowing me whole. I felt my strength fading. My limbs grew heavy. The world around me spun, the surface so far away. Suddenly, I heard a voice. “Troy!” It was Bianca, her voice sharp and frantic. “She tried to drown me! She pushed me in!” I heard the sound of footsteps rushing toward the pool. Troy’s voice followed, full of disbelief. “What’s going on?!” I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t even lift my head anymore. I felt myself slipping, my body too weak to keep afloat. The water in my lungs burned, but I couldn’t fight it anymore. “She tried to drown me!” Bianca screamed again, her voice full of triumph. “She pushed me in. She wanted me dead. She wanted to get rid of me!” I could hear Troy, now closer, his voice shaking with anger. “What? What the hell are you talking about?” I heard the sound of him tending to Bianca, pulling her out of the water, wrapping her in a towel. Her voice was full of mock hurt as she demanded help. “Help me! She tried to kill me!” Bianca cried, her voice dripping with fake tears. “I’m so scared.” And me? I was still sinking, still drowning, my vision darkening. I was too far gone to scream, too far gone to reach out for help. They wouldn’t help me. They never did. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was the sound of Troy murmuring to Bianca, his voice soft and soothing as he tended to her. Then everything went black. When I woke up, I was in my bed. My body ached, and I felt as if I had a fever. The heat was unbearable. My throat was dry, burning with each shallow breath. Troy sat beside me, his face twisted in anger. “What the hell did you do, Thalia?” I blinked, trying to focus, but everything felt like it was moving too fast. I couldn’t make sense of his words at first. “Trying to kill Bianca? She’s here to help you, to make friends with you,” he scolded, his tone sharp and accusing. I swallowed hard, trying to force my voice out, but it was strained, like speaking was too much of an effort. “She ruined… my mother’s bracelet.” Troy’s expression hardened, his lips curling in disgust. “It was just a bracelet, Thalia. Just a piece of jewelry. I can buy you a thousand more if you want, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not worth all of this. It’s not worth trying to drown Bianca!” My chest tightened. My throat felt like it was closing up again, the weight of his words suffocating me. “She ruined it. She stole it. She—” Troy cut me off, his voice sharp. “Enough! I don’t want to hear any of this!” I flinched at the force of his words, but he didn’t stop. “Just take a rest, Thalia. Tomorrow, you’ll apologize to my sister. And then I’ll take both of you somewhere nice, so you can make it up to each other. I will not tolerate this in my house again!” I stared at him, my mind spinning. I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t believe it. I had nearly drowned. I had been close to losing everything—and for what? For something that didn’t even matter to him. His footsteps echoed as he walked out of the room, leaving me in the suffocating silence. I was alone again. And I couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears spilled down my cheeks, my body shaking with the weight of it all.

Chapter 7

The fever had taken its toll. I was burning up, my skin flushed and clammy, but Troy insisted on taking care of me, hovering over me as if it would make up for everything he’d done. He brought me water, checked my temperature every hour, and even tucked me in when I drifted off to sleep. It felt strange, this tender care, but I couldn’t bring myself to trust it. I knew better. I knew the truth, even if he didn’t think I did. By the third day, the fever had broken. I was exhausted, but I could stand without swaying. The ache in my chest from everything that had happened didn’t fade, but at least the physical pain was gone. Late that night, I couldn’t sleep. My throat was dry, and I felt the hunger creeping in, so I decided to go downstairs to grab something to eat. The house was quiet, too quiet, as I crept down the stairs, hoping not to wake anyone. But as I turned the corner into the living room, I stopped dead. Troy was sitting on the couch, his arm draped over Bianca’s shoulders. She was sleeping, her head resting against his chest, her legs tucked under a blanket. I was about to turn around and go back to my room when I saw it. Troy leaned down and kissed Bianca softly on the lips. My heart stopped. He pulled away for a second, his voice low, barely audible. “I love you, Bianca. I’ve always loved you. I couldn’t say it before, but you’re the one for me.” My breath hitched, a wave of cold nausea washing over me. I stepped back into the shadows, too stunned to move, my mind reeling. I already knew the truth. I’d seen the way he looked at her, the way he took care of her, always defending her, always putting her first. But hearing him say those words—those words that were meant for me, once—cut deeper than I expected. I fought to stay calm, to breathe through the pain. I wasn’t going to break down again. Not this time. I turned away and made my way back to my room, my mind a whirlwind of anger and heartbreak. That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. Everything was clearer now. The facade, the pretense, the lie that had been my life with Troy—it all collapsed in that moment. I couldn’t stay here anymore. I pulled my laptop from the drawer and checked my email. The subject line made my heart race: Your Visa Has Been Approved. And right beneath it, a message from my lawyer: The Divorce Papers Are Ready. I stared at the screen, my hands trembling. It was happening. It was finally happening. I could leave. I could escape this nightmare. I smiled to myself, a genuine smile. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a glimmer of hope. The next morning, I made a call to my brother. “See you soon,” I whispered, the excitement in my chest blooming. “I’ll be there. I’ll be free.” But fate had other plans. As soon as Troy left for work, I started gathering my things. I couldn’t wait any longer. I was leaving today. But the house felt wrong. The air was thick, and I couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at the pit of my stomach. I had just finished packing a bag when I heard the first crash. The sound of glass breaking echoed from downstairs. My heart leaped into my throat. I rushed to the window and saw men—thugs, their faces obscured by masks—sneaking through the yard. The alarm system was blaring, but it was too late. They were already inside, and bodyguards were knocked out. I ran to the door to warn Bianca, but I wasn’t fast enough. They stormed into the room, grabbing me by the arms and pulling me away from the door. Bianca screamed as she tried to fight them off, but they overpowered her, too. We were trapped. “Get them both,” one of the men growled, his voice rough.

Chapter 8

My head throbbed. My limbs ached. The air stank of gasoline and mildew, and the floor beneath me was rough concrete. When they finally pulled the hood off my head, the sudden brightness stung my eyes. Beside me, Bianca screamed. Her voice pierced the air like a siren, high-pitched and panicked. “Where are we?! What do you want from us?!” We were in some kind of abandoned warehouse—rusted beams, flickering lights overhead, empty crates and coiled wires scattered around. The space was vast but suffocating. “Shut up!” I snapped at her, my throat dry and voice cracking. “You’re not helping!” Bianca turned to me, disheveled and wide-eyed. “Thalia, I don’t understand—why are we here? What’s going on?” I stared at her. “You’re seriously asking that? You’re Troy’s precious little sister—or should I say, wife? You’re always beside him, whispering into his ear. How can you not know anything?” Her lips parted, shocked. “I don’t know—I swear. I didn’t do anything!” “Of course you didn’t,” I scoffed bitterly. “You just played your perfect little role while I got shoved into hell.” Before she could respond, a steel door banged open and two men entered. Tall, masked, with weapons at their sides. One of them sneered, clearly enjoying the fear in our eyes. “You two need to keep it down. Not that it’ll matter soon,” he muttered. “What do you want from us?” I demanded, trying to steady my voice even though my legs were trembling. “This isn’t about you,” the other man said. “This is payment. Someone has to bleed for what Troy did.” Bianca whimpered beside me. “Please… please, just let us go. We didn’t do anything!” They ignored her. One of them pulled something from his belt—thin, metallic straps and a rectangular device blinking red. “What is that?” I whispered, my gut sinking. They forced us to our knees and began strapping the devices around our waists. When the cold metal locked around me, I knew. It was a bomb. “No,” I gasped, trying to jerk away. “No! You can’t do this!” “Stay still,” one of them barked, gripping my shoulders. “You move, you blow.” Bianca screamed again. “No, no, no!” “Cry all you want,” the other said. “After we get the money, you both go boom. Simple.” They left us in the center of the room, the bombs blinking ominously, the air heavy with doom. Bianca crawled toward me, sobbing. “What do we do? We’re going to die!” I clenched my fists. “We’re not dying. Someone’s going to come. He has to.” But even saying that felt like a lie. I couldn’t count on him anymore. Minutes dragged into what felt like hours. We tried screaming, yelling, kicking the walls, but no one came. Suddenly, the door burst open. Troy. My heart leapt at the sight of him—sweat on his brow, panic in his eyes. He rushed in, scanning the room. “Troy!” Bianca shrieked. “Troy, help me!” He ran to her instantly. I waited. My mouth opened, but no words came. I watched frozen, as he knelt beside Bianca, his hands trembling as he unlatched the bomb from her waist. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I’m sorry. They will not hurt you anymore. I took care of it already.” And then… nothing. No glance in my direction. No rush to help me. “Troy,” I croaked, finding my voice. “I’m still—” But he didn’t look back. He scooped Bianca into his arms. “Hang on, baby. We’re getting out.” I was still tied to a bomb. Still shaking. Still pleading. “Help me! Please!” My voice cracked. “Troy!” He paused. He turned his head halfway. Our eyes met for a split second. Then he turned away and ran with Bianca in his arms. The door slammed shut. My vision blurred. Was it tears? Smoke? I couldn’t tell. The blinking of the bomb was the only thing keeping me grounded. This was it. This was the moment I realized—I truly meant nothing to him. I couldn’t scream anymore. My lungs were raw. I slid to the floor, tears falling silently, and braced for the end. Seconds passed. Then—an explosion outside. The walls rattled. Gunshots echoed. Chaos. The door burst open again. A different man—masked, dressed in black, someone I didn’t recognize—rushed in. “Hold still!” he shouted. He knelt beside me and worked fast, unstrapping the bomb, hands steady but hurried. My breath hitched as the blinking stopped. “You’re safe now,” he muttered. “Stay awake.” I nodded weakly. And then, everything faded.

Chapter 9

My body ached, my throat was dry, and the sting in my chest was worse than any injury—because I remembered everything. The bomb. The betrayal. The moment Troy ran… but not for me. I was in a hospital. Alive. Barely. Saved by a stranger, abandoned by my husband. The nurse said I’d been unconscious for almost a full day. I had cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious—at least not on the surface. She offered me water. I asked for silence. There was no point in staying. I waited until the nurse left, then pulled the IV from my arm and stood, dizzy but determined. I grabbed the hospital robe tighter around my body and left the room. In the hallway, I saw him. Troy. He was on a call, his face blank as ever. When he saw me, his eyes widened with surprise—but not relief. “You’re awake,” he said simply. “Where are you going?” “Somewhere that’s not here.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to fly out. Handle a business mess. I’ll bring back something for you.” That was it. No questions. No apology. No guilt. Just another excuse to run. I couldn’t believe this. I nodded, even smiled faintly, but inside, something finally broke. Quietly, completely. I left the hospital and went straight home. The house was exactly as I left it—cold, neat, unloved. I took my time gathering my things, moving slowly, deliberately. I didn’t cry. I’d run out of tears days ago. Before leaving for the airport, I sent one last message. To Bianca. “Meet me.” She replied within minutes, probably thinking I was coming to beg, to fight, to start another pitiful argument over Troy, but no. I chose the café near the pier—the one with the wide windows and the sound of the waves crashing just beyond the glass. A place that once felt calming. Today, it just felt final. “If you’re here to start something, Thalia, I swear—when Troy comes back—” I cut her off by sliding a small velvet box across the table. She blinked, confused. “Open it.” She did. Inside was my wedding band. She frowned. “What is this?” “Try it on.” “What—?” “Just do it.” Hesitantly, she slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit. Perfectly. Her face twisted in confusion, but I didn’t let her speak. “You’ve always wondered why he hesitates with you,” I said, my voice calm, sharp. “You think it’s guilt. You think it’s because of me. But it’s not.” I leaned forward. “He’s in love with you, Bianca. Not platonically. Not like a brother. Not innocently.” Her eyes widened. “There’s a hidden room in the estate. He kept things in there—photos of you, sketches. And also recorded videos of you that he watched every night while pleasuring himself.” I let the weight of my words settle. She froze. “That ring? He didn’t have it sized for me. He made it for you. You were always the one. I was the stand-in.” Bianca went pale. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. “I thought you deserved to know,” I said. I stood and placed the signed divorce papers in front of her. “Give this to him. Tell him it’s done.” She stared at the papers, hands shaking. “Where will you go?” I gave her a smile, small and empty. “Anywhere that’s mine.” Then I left the café. I didn’t look back. The airport smelled of strong coffee and long goodbyes. I wheeled my suitcase toward the gate, my stomach hollow but my mind clear. While waiting in line at security, I glanced across the terminal. Troy was there. He wore a black coat, dragging his suitcase, walking toward the VIP lounge. He didn’t see me. He didn’t even look up. I didn’t call his name. Didn’t wave. I just watched him pass. He disappeared behind glass doors as if I never existed. My phone buzzed. Troy: Just landed. Got you something. A picture followed—a thin silver bracelet, cheap-looking, no box. A souvenir from the duty-free aisle. I stared at it for a long second. Then I laughed—soft, bitter, detached. So that was it. He bought Bianca a necklace worn by royalty once. Of course, I know that the business trip wasn’t business but an auction to get what Bianca wants! And me? A bracelet from the airport. I opened our thread. Scrolled through the years of messages. Lies. Half-hearted apologies. Silent treatments. Gaslighting wrapped in charm. I blocked his number. Then I boarded my plane without looking back. Because love should not feel like begging to be seen. And I would never, ever beg again.