The Requiem for a Substitute

My boyfriend Sheridan was in love with Royce, not me.

We were in our fourth year together when he demanded I donate my kidney to her.

I was silent for a moment, and his hand cracked across my face.

"That's your own sister, Royce. Don't be so selfish."

I forced a bitter smile.

What he didn't know was that my time was already running out.

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1

My parents called while I was with Sheridan at a Chelsea gallery opening.

Between champagne toasts, I excused myself.

I stepped outside to take the call.

"Come back to the Park Avenue penthouse tonight."

It was the first call in twenty years.

The commanding tone was still painfully familiar.

After hanging up, I sighed and returned to our VIP section.

When I pushed the door open, several art critics were toasting Sheridan.

"Mr. Valmont, you’re so wonderfully consistent. Your taste hasn't changed one bit over the years."

"This one has been with you the longest, and the resemblance is uncanny."

"Mr. Valmont, this woman you’ve handpicked… I’m sure in life, as in work, she must be…"

The voices died the moment I walked in.

At these events, there were always hushed jokes at my expense.

At first, I didn't understand.

I often asked Sheridan about it.

He'd glance up at me from a mountain of paperwork.

Then he’d stroke my head like I was a cherished pet.

"They’re just jealous. Pay them no mind, that’s exactly what they want."

I’d take a deep breath, believing him.

But sometimes, in the heat of the moment, he’d murmur things under his breath.

It broke my heart.

Unfortunately, I never again summoned the courage to confront him about it.

I held my tongue until the reception wound down.

Sheridan held my hand, but his expression seemed distant.

I glanced at the time.

"I'll drop you at the SoHo place, then I have to make a stop."

He frowned slightly and asked, "Where are you going?"

His face was flushed, and the alcohol was making him clingy.

I gave him a gentle kiss to soothe him.

"Take me with you. Wherever you go, I go. Don’t leave me by myself. I promise, I’ll be quiet and wait."

He looked at me with drowsy eyes, but his gaze seemed to pierce right through me, as if he were seeing someone else.

In the end, I relented and nodded.

I took him with me to my parents' house.

However, as the car pulled into the private driveway on Park Avenue, his mood visibly soured.

After we parked, I was going to have him wait in the car for a bit.

But before I could stop him, he got out.

I tried to grab him, but he was already striding into the penthouse building.

I scrambled after him.

My parents were already waiting for me.

Seeing them again after twenty years… words couldn’t capture the feeling.

I walked into the apartment.

I was about to say something.

But Sheridan spoke first, calling out, "Auntie Eleonora?"

I glanced at him silently.

My mother, Eleonora, was visibly excited too.

"Sheridan, you..."

Then she looked at me, standing behind him.

A look of understanding dawned on her face.

My parents didn't say anything, perhaps because Sheridan was there that day.

So, for the time being, they let me go.

However, when Sheridan returned to our apartment in SoHo, he seemed distracted.

That night, he was ferociously aggressive in bed.

He straddled me, fingertips tracing lazy circles on my chest, while his hips moved with a raw, undeniable force, as if trying to purge some unspoken emotion.

During one of his orgasms, I stroked his sweaty back and asked how he knew my family.

His eyes glazed over as he answered with a single word.

"Royce."

It caught me completely off guard.

In an instant, all my desire vanished.

My name is Reina Carrington, and Royce Carrington is my older sister.

For all these years, no one knew I came from the Carrington family.

After all, I was an unwanted child.

In my early years, I lived with my grandmother in a small town in upstate New York.

My parents sent me a fixed living allowance every month.

But they never initiated contact with me.

The official story was that they feared my sister would be hurt by their divided love.

Later, while I was still at NYU, my grandmother fell ill.

I had no choice.

I tried to contact them.

But they were unreachable.

Fortunately, I met Sheridan at the hospital while he was on an IV drip.

He froze when he saw me.

He was the one who approached me.

He struck up a conversation and offered his help.

In the end, he pulled me out of the darkness.

But my grandmother passed away.

Sheridan helped me arrange her funeral.

My parents never showed up.

I’d long since given up on them.

Naturally, Sheridan and I became lovers.

After graduation, I went to work directly at his gallery.

In the past, I didn't care how others made fun of me.

But today, hearing Sheridan say that name shattered the lie I’d been telling myself.

Later, Sheridan fell into a deep sleep.

I sat on the apartment's fire escape, staring at the Manhattan nightscape, and smoked all night.

The words I'd heard earlier echoed in my mind.

The resemblance between Royce and me is striking. We could be twins.

Most importantly, as a child, trying to win my parents' attention, I had meticulously copied Royce's mannerisms.

As a result, even I started to lose track of where she ended and I began.

I huddled on the cold iron escape all night.

I tried to comfort myself.

I told myself the world is a big place, full of people named Royce.

How could it be a coincidence that she just so happened to be my sister?