Aliza POV:
The world tilted again, harder this time. The sterile white walls of the clinic blurred. My mother' s words echoed, a cruel, mocking laugh in my ears. Etienne McCarthy. Engaged. To Kaylee. It was a punch to the gut, stealing my breath, leaving me gasping in the silence of the room.
"Engaged?" My voice was a raw whisper, barely audible. "To Kaylee?"
My mother, oblivious to the earthquake she' d just unleashed, chattered on, her tone smug. "Yes! Can you believe it? My little Kaylee! Dr. McCarthy, such a catch. Brilliant, handsome, from such a distinguished family. They've been seeing each other for a while, quietly, of course. Not like some people, flaunting everything." The thinly veiled jab was a familiar sting.
"But... Dr. McCarthy," I stammered, my mind scrambling. "He's... Kaylee is a designer. He's a trauma surgeon. How...?"
"Oh, Aliza, you always were so provincial," my mother scoffed. "Dr. McCarthy is not just any surgeon. The McCarthy family, darling, they're old money, powerful. And his medical career? It was all funded by a special trust. A trust set up by your grandfather, actually. He always wanted to support promising young minds in medicine."
My grandfather. The man who loved me, who saw my potential. His trust... funding Etienne's career? A cold dread began to seep into my bones.
"But... why trauma surgery?" I asked, a new, chilling thought forming. "Kaylee has... that fabricated PTSD from the car accident she caused years ago. She was always going on about her 'fragility,' her 'trauma.'"
"Well, yes!" my mother exclaimed, her voice bright. "He specializes in trauma, you know. To help people like Kaylee overcome their... delicate conditions. He's so devoted to her, Aliza. He even turned down a lucrative position in New York because Kaylee didn't want to leave the West Coast. That's true love."
The phone call crackled, then cut out abruptly. My mother's voice was replaced by a deafening silence. My own breathing was ragged, shallow. My grandfather's trust. Kaylee's "PTSD." Etienne's "devotion." It all clicked into place with horrifying clarity, each piece a shard of glass ripping through me.
Etienne, who had been quietly tidying up his instruments, suddenly stopped. His phone, which had been vibrating subtly on the counter, lit up with a call. He glanced at the screen, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes-not coldness, not indifference, but a strange, urgent concern. His lips tightened. He excused himself, stepping out of the room to take the call.
When he returned, his face was still stoic, but there was a subtle tension around his jaw. He handed me a prescription for painkillers. "You're all set, Miss Cabrera. The wound is superficial. Avoid strenuous activity for a few days." His voice was back to its usual detached tone, but a hint of strain lingered.
"Okay," I choked out. My voice sounded foreign even to my own ears. He turned to leave, his back ramrod straight. "Dr. McCarthy?" I called out, desperate. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. He didn't turn around. "Is... is it true? About you and... Kaylee?"
He hesitated for a beat, a long, agonizing beat. Then, without looking back, he simply said, "My personal life is not relevant to your medical care, Miss Cabrera." His words were a definitive dismissal, colder than any rejection before. He opened the door and walked out.
I watched him go, a growing knot of panic in my stomach. The sterile white room felt suffocating. I had to know. I had to see. I grabbed my purse, ignoring the dull ache in my arm, and hurried out, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I followed his car through the winding city streets, my own car a dark shadow behind his sleek black sedan. He drove to a quiet residential area, pulling up to an elegant, unassuming house I recognized. Kaylee's house. My stepsister's house.
My breath hitched as he got out of the car. He walked with a purpose, a focused intensity I'd rarely seen directed at anything other than his surgeries. He rang the doorbell. A moment later, the door swung open, and Kaylee stood there, looking fragile and ethereal in a flowing white dress. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and seemingly innocent.
Then, she launched herself into his arms.
He caught her, effortlessly, securely. His usually rigid posture softened, his hands coming up to cradle her, to stroke her hair. He buried his face in her neck, holding her tight. It wasn't the polite, distant embrace he offered me. It was possessive. Intimate. Love.
I felt a scream clawing at my throat, but no sound escaped. It was as if a giant hand had reached into my chest and squeezed, crushing my heart into a million pieces. My vision swam. All this time. Three years. My relentless pursuit, my desperate attempts to chip away at his icy facade. It was all a cruel joke. He wasn't cold to everyone. He was just cold to me.
He pulled back slightly, his thumb gently wiping a tear from her cheek-a tear that wasn't there a moment ago. He murmured something, his voice low and tender. Kaylee sniffled, her head resting against his chest.
"He never rejected me," I whispered aloud, the realization a bitter pill. "He rejected me because he had her." The thought was a fresh wave of agony. Why hadn't he just told me? Why let me make a fool of myself for so long?
Then, Kaylee spoke, her voice carrying even across the distance, high-pitched and fragile. "Etienne, darling, I know Aliza was at the clinic again. Did she... cause any trouble? She can be quite persistent when she wants something." She glanced towards the street, a sly, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips.
Etienne stiffened slightly. "She's fine, Kaylee. Just a minor cut. I handled it."
"Oh, good." Kaylee sighed, leaning into him. "I just worry about you. She's so... intense. I asked you to be distant, to protect her from getting hurt, and you did. But I worry she won't understand. She might think you actually dislike her." She pressed a dramatic kiss to his jaw. "You're too good to her, Etienne. Even in your coldness, you're trying to be kind."
Etienne's hand tightened around her waist. "I did what you asked, Kaylee. Anything for you." His voice was soft, laced with devotion. "She'll get the message eventually."
My blood ran cold. Protect her from getting hurt? Anything for you? It wasn't indifference. It was a calculated performance. Orchestrated by Kaylee. My own stepsister. My vision swam again, a black tide rising. The betrayal was a physical blow, worse than any cut or bruise. My love, my yearning, my pride-all of it had been a pawn in her twisted game.
I felt like I was drowning, my lungs burning for air. Kaylee, the sweet, fragile girl, had been manipulating us all along. My grandfather's trust, her fabricated trauma, Etienne's chosen profession, his distant yet kind manner towards me-it was all a lie. A meticulously crafted lie designed to crush me.
I stumbled out of the car, my legs giving way beneath me. The rage was a searing inferno, burning away the last vestiges of my shattered heart. "Kaylee!" I roared, my voice raw, broken. "You manipulative bitch!"
Kaylee gasped, pulling away from Etienne, her face a mask of terror. "Aliza! What are you doing here?" Her innocent facade cracked, revealing a flicker of something venomous underneath.
Etienne stepped in front of Kaylee, shielding her with his body. His eyes, fixed on me, were now truly glacial. "Aliza. What is the meaning of this?" His voice was cold, his concern for Kaylee palpable.
"Meaning?" I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "You want meaning, Dr. McCarthy? I'll give you meaning!" I pointed a trembling finger at Kaylee. "She orchestrated this! All of it! The indifference, your 'devotion'... She played you both, Etienne! She's been poisoning my family against me for years! Don't you see it?"
Kaylee whimpered, clinging to Etienne. "She's lying, Etienne! She's just jealous! She always hated me, ever since Mom married her father. She thinks I stole her family, her inheritance. She's always been venomous."
"Stole your inheritance?" I snarled, stepping forward, ignoring Etienne's warning glance. "My grandfather's trust! The one that funded your entire medical career, Etienne! Kaylee manipulated it! Made it seem like her own legacy! And her 'PTSD'? A fabricated excuse for you to specialize in trauma, so you could be her personal therapist, her devoted doctor!"
Etienne's jaw tightened. "Kaylee has a genuine condition, Aliza. Her childhood was difficult. You wouldn't understand."
"Difficult?" I scoffed, a fresh wave of pain washing over me. "Because her gold-digging mother married my stepfather? That's her 'difficult childhood'? I watched my mother turn into a stranger because of her! I watched her turn my own family against me!"
"Aliza, enough!" Etienne commanded, his voice sharp. "Kaylee is delicate. She's been through a lot. You're just projecting your own bitterness onto her because you couldn't accept that I never felt anything for you beyond professional courtesy."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Never felt anything for you. My knees buckled. He actually believed her. He truly believed her. The air vanished from my lungs. I felt a dizzying wave of nausea.
"You really think that?" I whispered, my voice barely a thread. "After everything? After all these years?"
"I am committed to Kaylee," he said, his voice firm, unwavering. "She is my fiancée. And I love her."
