"Fern, Mom and I genuinely wanted to pay our respects. No matter what anyone says, your mother did die because of us. I feel terrible about it."

Christina's voice dripped with rehearsed sincerity.

"But I just graduated—I can't afford anything valuable. So let me sing you a song instead. As an apology. Would that be alright?"

Before I could respond, she darted to the karaoke machine.

The opening notes filled the room.

Upbeat. Celebratory.

I went rigid.

On the anniversary of my mother's death—she was going to sing me a party song?

Christina caught my eye and winked.

Winked.

The rage I'd been choking down erupted.

I grabbed the wine bottle from the coffee table and hurled it at her head.

Crash—

Glass shattered.

Christina shrieked and threw herself at Kevin.

"Kevin! Are you okay?!"

"I didn't mean to! I swear I didn't pick that song—I must have been so nervous seeing Fern that I hit the wrong button..."

Kevin had stepped between us. Blood traced a slow path down his forehead.

His eyes were ice. And they were fixed on me.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Fern? She's still your sister—half-sister or not. You could have killed her!"

"With that temper of yours, no wonder she's too terrified to think straight."

"I actually felt guilty about keeping things from you. Now I see I was right. God knows what you would've done to her if you'd known sooner."

Christina clung to his waist, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes.

"Kevin... you're always protecting me. I don't deserve you."

He softened instantly, reaching down to stroke her hair.

"What else am I supposed to do? You're soft as a little rabbit. If I don't protect you, the wolves will eat you alive."

The words hit me like a blade to the chest.

He'd said that exact thing to me once. Years ago, when we were young. When I still believed him.

He probably didn't even remember.

I drew a slow breath.

Reached into my bag.

Pulled out the divorce papers—the same ones I'd started once before but never finished signing.

"Kevin. Let's end this."

He laughed. A short, dismissive sound.

Without even glancing at the terms, he scrawled his signature across the page.

"Really, Fern? You're pulling this stunt again?"

"Fine. I'll play along. But I didn't cheat this time, so don't expect me to come crawling back with apologies."

"Thirty days from now. The county clerk's office. You'd better still have this much backbone then—because I won't be there to catch you when you come crying."

He was so certain.

All those times I'd forgiven him had made him certain.

He thought I'd never risk the family alliance. Never throw away everything our marriage represented.

He was wrong.

"Don't worry," I said quietly. "I won't change my mind."

I turned and walked out without looking back.

I didn't go home.

I booked a hotel room for the month—one month to wait out the mandatory cooling-off period.

One month until I was free.

In the days that followed, Kevin didn't text. Didn't call. Not once.

Word reached me through the grapevine: Christina had mentioned wanting to learn to ski in Switzerland.

And Kevin—ever the doting protector—had whisked her away to his villa there.

My phone buzzed. Hailey Brooks's voice was sharp with outrage.

"Are you kidding me right now?!"

"Everyone knows about that villa, Fern. He built it for you. After he proposed, remember? He said it was to make up for the honeymoon you never got. He swore no one else would ever set foot there."

"And now he's taking his little side piece on vacation?! What is this—is he cheating again?!"

I sat by the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows, the divorce papers spread on the table before me.

For a long moment, I couldn't speak.

These papers weren't new.

Kevin had drafted them himself—the last time I'd caught him cheating.

Back then, the humiliation had been suffocating. So I'd called Hailey, dragged her to a club, and ordered a whole table of pretty boys to sing with us. Petty revenge. Meaningless comfort.

Kevin had found out within the hour.

He'd stormed in with a squad of men, trashed the place, and beat those boys bloody.

He seized my hand in a crushing grip.

"Fern, you're ruthless."

"Fine. I admit it—I fell for you. I can't stand the thought of another man near you. Happy now?"

Then came that livestream confession that broke the internet.

Kevin Henson swore he'd changed. Swore he'd be a devoted husband from then on.

And for a while, we really did have something sweet.

Just like Hailey said, he went all in—learning my tastes, catering to my every whim.

When he found out I loved skiing, he built me a private estate in Switzerland. Even named it after us—a blend of our names, a promise carved into stone.

But now.

I stared at Christina's latest social media post.

The estate's nameplate had been changed.

Those four characters that once symbolized us—"Kevin and Fern Forever"—had been replaced.

Now it read: Kevin Embraces Christina.

"Yes, he cheated again. So no, I don't want him anymore."

I set down my phone and signed my name on the divorce papers without a second thought.

On the seventh day after Mom's passing—her first memorial—Dad called out of nowhere, asking me to come home for breakfast.

I thought maybe, just maybe, he still felt something for her.

That he'd want to burn paper offerings with me. Honor her together.

I was wrong.

When I walked through the door, Christina and her mother Glenda Fleming were already seated at the table.

My face went cold. I turned to leave.

"Stop right there!"

Dad's voice cracked like a whip. Before I could take another step, he launched into me.

"I heard you tried to hit Christina at the club the other day! What kind of sister does that?!"

"Thank God Kevin stepped in, or you'd have hurt her! And after all that, you want a divorce? You ran away from home?!"

"I don't know what your mother taught you, but she raised a shrew. Get on your knees and apologize before you destroy both families' partnership!"

I looked at this man—this man who only saw dollar signs where his heart should be.

A cold laugh escaped me.

"You knew I ran away. Did you once ask where I've been staying? Whether I was okay?"

"Oh wait—I forgot. Your heart's too busy chasing after your mistress. You didn't even show up to your own wife's funeral. And you have the audacity to criticize how she raised me?"

Dad slammed his chopsticks down. His hand flew up to strike me.

Glenda's eyes darted. She caught his arm just in time, playing peacemaker.

"Honey, don't. The poor girl's grieving. We should be understanding." She patted his chest. "I'm fine, really."

Then she smiled—that sickly-sweet smile.

"Besides, if you bruise her face, how will she stand next to Christina as my bridesmaid?"

Everything stopped.

My voice came out raw, scraped hollow.

"What did you just call him? You're married?"

"Mom's been dead for seven days, and you couldn't wait to bring your mistress home as your wife?!"

Dad's expression hardened. Not a shred of shame.

"Your mother's gone. What—I'm supposed to mourn her forever?"

"Christina's grown now. I can't let people keep calling her a bastard. This is my responsibility as her father!"

Responsibility.

I sank into the chair, laughter spilling out of me—bitter, broken. Tears streamed down my face.

Christina sidled up beside me, grabbing my hand like we were the best of friends.

"This is wonderful, sister. Now we're officially family! I don't know all the rules of high society yet, so you'll have to teach me. I'd hate to embarrass myself."

"Sure." I smiled. "No problem at all."

Glenda and Dad exchanged satisfied looks.

I wiped my tears. Pulled out a cigarette. Lit it with one hand.

Then I leaned in close and blew the smoke right into Christina's face.

"Here's your first lesson. I'm the legitimate daughter—born to the actual wife. You? You're the bastard child of a home-wrecker."

I took another drag.

"Until I speak to you first, you don't get to open your mouth in my presence. Understood?"

I ground the cigarette into the back of her hand.

As her skin sizzled and Christina's scream tore through the air, I seized her chin.

"You think I don't know? You were alone with my mother before she died. I haven't even settled that score yet—so don't push me!"

"Fern! Have you lost your mind?!" My father slammed his palm on the table. Glenda rushed to pull the sobbing Christina into her arms, shooting me a venomous glare.

I dusted off my hands, a hollow laugh escaping my lips.

"My mother only ever had one daughter. Where exactly did this bargain-bin sister come from?"

"Dad, you know my temper. You want to throw a wedding for these two? Legitimize them in front of everyone?" I tilted my head. "Go ahead. I'll have someone tear the whole thing apart. Try me."

Perhaps it was because I was still, technically, Mrs. Henson.

My father's face went rigid. Glenda's expression curdled.

But the moment shattered when a familiar voice cut in from behind me.

"With me here, I'd like to see anyone try."

Kevin strolled in, one hand tucked casually in his pocket.

The instant Christina saw him, her tears found new purpose. She threw herself into his arms, thrusting her burned hand toward him like a wounded dove.

Kevin's brow creased with concern. He stroked her hair, murmuring softly, "It's okay, sweetheart. I'll take you to the best dermatologist in the city. Not a single scar, I promise."

His voice turned lighter, almost playful. "Our Christina still has to be the prettiest bridesmaid at Mom's wedding, doesn't she?"

I stared at him, my voice cracking. "Kevin. Do you even hear yourself?"

He lifted his gaze to meet mine. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, but his eyes—his eyes were glacial.

"I heard everything. Men from wealthy families—who doesn't have a woman or two on the side? Your mother died because she couldn't handle it. And somehow, that's Christina's fault?"

His tone sharpened. "You got to grow up with a father by your side. Why shouldn't Christina have the same?"

"No matter what it takes, I'm going to bring her back into the Sullivan family. Everyone will know she's a legitimate daughter of the Sullivans—and no one will ever call her a bastard again."

"You want to wreck this wedding, Fern?" His jaw tightened. "Try it."

I knew he meant every word.

The last time he'd issued a threat like that, the man's company had been swallowed whole by the Hensons within a week. The owner himself had his legs shattered, his tongue cut out, and vanished from Seacrest City entirely.

And what had that man done? Made a crude joke about me.

I should have seen this coming.

Kevin had always been a playboy at heart. To him, my father's affair was trivial—barely worth a raised eyebrow. He couldn't begin to fathom the devastation my mother and I had endured.

But knowing that didn't make it hurt any less—this betrayal, delivered point-blank by the man who had once slept beside me.

My palm connected with his face before I could stop myself.

"Get out!"

Kevin let out a low, humorless laugh, working his jaw.

Before he could respond, Christina lunged at me, shoving me with all her strength.

"I've had enough of you! Don't you dare bully Kevin anymore!"

Kevin watched her with an amused glint in his eye. "Well, well. The little bunny has teeth after all."

"You've always protected me, Kevin." Christina's voice trembled with righteous fury. "Now it's my turn to protect you!"

I crashed backward into two massive potted cacti.

Needles pierced my back, my palms, everywhere. Blood dripped onto the tile. The pain was so sharp I couldn't help the hiss that escaped through my teeth.

My father's face twisted with irritation. "A perfectly good breakfast, ruined by your dramatics."

He turned to Kevin, his tone shifting to something warm and ingratiating. "Perfect timing, actually. Have you eaten? Let's go somewhere else."

Kevin didn't even glance my way. His attention remained fixed on Christina's injured hand as he murmured his assent, already guiding her toward the door.

At the threshold, Christina turned back.

Her lips moved silently, forming words meant only for me.