My sister and I spent over a decade fighting over the same boy next door.
But he always preferred Effie—talented, versatile Effie.
It drove me crazy. I threw myself into learning everything I could, mastering anything that might make him notice me. Just once. Just a glance.
By twenty-five, I'd clawed my way to a degree from MIT and followed it up with an MBA from Harvard.
But the moment I came home, Patrick Stephens pulled his hand away from mine.
"The only one I like is Effie. Stop wasting your time."
I stood frozen.
My best friend pulled out a tissue to wipe my tears.
I dodged her hand, blinking in confusion.
"Why do I find him so... boring?
"Dull. Tedious. Nothing but a pretty face.
"I can't even understand why I liked him in the first place.
"Am I fickle?"
My best friend laughed.
"You're not fickle. You've grown. He just hasn't."
...
Effie Simmons and I stepped out of the car at the same time.
Without warning, Effie stumbled.
Patrick Stephens rushed forward without hesitation and caught her.
She leaned into his arms and shot me a silent smile. Mocking. Triumphant.
Everyone ducked their heads, stifling laughter.
They all knew what came next—the part where I'd yank Effie away, scream at her for faking it, accuse her of stealing Patrick from me.
Then Patrick would lash out, tell me I was being childish, and the whole thing would end with me in tears.
But a moment passed, and I didn't move.
All those years I'd nearly driven myself insane trying to earn one extra look from Patrick Stephens. School, startups, building a media brand. After navigating the cutthroat world of business—after rubbing shoulders with people who shaped policy—
Effie's little stumble?
It was laughable.
"Glad you're not hurt."
My voice was flat, indifferent. I handed a gift bag to one of the staff.
"From my parents, for Mr. and Mrs. Stephens."
Effie's expression soured.
Patrick frowned and glanced at me.
Inside the villa, I noticed the dining room had only four chairs. Mr. Stephens, Mrs. Stephens, and Patrick already accounted for three.
Effie suddenly broke into a smile.
"Oh, sorry, sis. I forgot to mention you were coming too. Your aunt and uncle didn't set a place for you."
"Why are you explaining yourself?"
Patrick turned a cold gaze on me.
"Celeste Simmons, Effie didn't do it on purpose. Just go grab yourself a chair. There's no need to make her feel bad about it."
Always the same.
Patrick always sided with Effie. Completely. Unconditionally.
But the strange thing was—I genuinely felt nothing.
I couldn't even understand why I'd once fought my sister so bitterly over him.
"Mr. Stephens, I haven't said a single word yet."
Patrick blinked.
In the past, my eyes would've already been red. I would've been screaming, calling Effie a manipulative little snake.
"Sis, you're upset."
Effie's eyes glistened as she stepped forward and grabbed my hand. "Please don't be angry. I'll go get you a chair."
She turned to fetch one, but Patrick caught her wrist and pulled her back.
He looked down at me.
"This is the Stephens house. Not a place for you to throw your weight around.
"If you don't want to get your own chair, then don't bother eating."
A few of the staff couldn't hold back their laughter.
I heard someone whisper, "Just watch. She'll go grab that chair herself, tail wagging."
"Oh, please. She'd swallow any insult just to sit a little closer to him."
"No need."
I let out a quiet laugh.
"I only came to deliver my parents' gift to your family. I wasn't planning to stay for dinner.
"Besides, I have somewhere to be. Enjoy your meal."
