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.

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.”

“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.