Aliza POV:
Etienne, his face a mask of cold fury, lifted Kaylee gently into his arms. She was whimpering, clinging to him like a terrified child. He shot a venomous glare at my mother and stepfather. "I expect an explanation for this, Mr. and Mrs. Wiley," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "And I expect her to be dealt with."
My stepfather, his face pale with a mix of fear and anger, hurried to assure him. "Of course, Etienne! She'll be confined to her room. No visitors. No phone. She won't cause any more trouble, I promise you."
I watched them go, Kaylee's theatrical sobs fading into the distance. My mother didn't even spare me a glance. She was too busy fussing over Kaylee, her "delicate flower." My stepfather, his face still contorted with rage, grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my bruised flesh. He dragged me roughly up the stairs, ignoring my whimpers of pain, ignoring my dislocated wrist. He shoved me into a small, dusty guest room at the very end of the hall, far from the rest of the family.
"You'll stay here until you learn some respect," he spat, slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside. The click of the lock echoed in the darkness, a final, definitive sound.
I collapsed onto the musty bed, the pain in my wrist and arm searing, a constant, throbbing agony. My cheek still stung from my mother's slap. My heart, however, felt the deepest wound. It was a gaping, bleeding chasm of betrayal. They had all chosen Kaylee. Every single one of them.
Hours bled into days. My arm swelled, my wrist throbbed with every beat of my pulse. I drifted in and out of consciousness, a fever creeping in, turning the room into a hazy, nightmarish landscape. In my delirium, I cried out, my voice raw and desperate. "Mom? Mom, please... it hurts..."
But there was no answer. Only the cold, unforgiving silence. The realization, when it came, was a fresh wave of despair. My mother was gone. The woman who bore me, who raised me, was a ghost, replaced by a stranger who had chosen another.
Then, another name tore from my lips, a painful echo of a love I had so foolishly clung to. "Etienne... Etienne, why...?"
My mind, clouded by fever, replayed his cold eyes, his dismissive words, his unwavering protection of Kaylee. I am committed to Kaylee. She is my fiancée. And I love her. The words were a brand, searing themselves onto my very soul. I was a fool. A pathetic, deluded fool.
Days later, the fever finally broke, leaving me weak and drained, but with a chilling clarity. The door creaked open. My stepfather stood there, a grim expression on his face. He held a pen and paper. "Have you come to your senses, Aliza? Are you ready to apologize to your sister and behave like a proper daughter?"
I looked at him, my eyes hard. I struggled to sit up, my injured arm screaming in protest. With my good hand, I took the pen and paper. My hand trembled, but my resolve was solid. I wrote a single word: "Never."
He snatched the paper, his face contorting with rage. "Never? You insolent brat! You think you can defy us? You'll rot in this room before we let you out! You'll get nothing from us!" He stormed out, slamming the door even harder this time.
A sad, humorless laugh escaped me. "Nothing?" I whispered to the empty room. "You already took everything."
I lay back, exhaustion washing over me. The pain was dull now, a constant companion. My mind was clear, focused. I had to get out. I had to escape.
A faint, acrid smell began to permeate the room. Smoke. My eyes snapped open. Panic clawed at my throat. I heard hushed voices outside, muffled by the thick door.
"Is she in there?" a woman's voice, barely a whisper.
"Yes. Kaylee said to make sure she 'learns her lesson.' A little fire should do it." A man's gruff voice. "Just enough to scare her. Not too much."
"But what if she...?"
"Don't worry. It's an old house. The fire will spread quickly."
Kaylee. The venomous snake. She wanted to scare me? No. She wanted more. She wanted me gone. Permanently. The smoke was thicker now, acrid, burning my lungs. My arm, my dislocated wrist-I was trapped, helpless.
I coughed, my throat burning. The darkness was closing in. I could hear the crackle of flames, growing louder, closer. This was it. This was how it ended. Betrayed by my family, left to die in a fire orchestrated by my stepsister.
The door burst open with a resounding crash. A figure stood silhouetted against the orange glow of the flames. Etienne. His eyes, usually so cold, were wide with a frantic urgency. He didn't hesitate. He plunged into the smoke-filled room, moving towards me with a desperate speed.
"Etienne?" I choked out, disoriented, unsure if it was real or another feverish hallucination.
He reached me, his arms strong as he scooped me up, pulling me off the bed. "Hold on, Aliza!" he commanded, his voice strained. He turned, shielding me with his body as he navigated through the smoke. A burning beam crashed down, narrowly missing us. He cried out, a guttural sound, as a searing pain shot through his shoulder. He stumbled, but didn't let go.
He carried me through the inferno, his face set in a grim determination. The air was thick with smoke, the heat intense. He burst through the front door, collapsing onto the dew-kissed lawn, still holding me tight. Fresh air filled my lungs, cool and life-saving.
I woke up hours later, in a pristine, white room. A hospital. My arm was set in a cast, my wrist bandaged. The scent of antiseptic filled the air. Etienne sat beside my bed, his shoulder bandaged, his face pale and drawn. He held a glass of water, his hand shaking slightly.
He looked up as I stirred, his eyes meeting mine. "You're awake," he said, his voice rough. He held out the glass. "Here. Drink this."
I took the glass, my eyes lingering on his bandaged shoulder. "You saved me," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "You were hurt."
He looked away, his gaze falling on the wall. "It was my duty," he said, his voice flat, emotionless. "As a doctor. And a member of this family, I suppose. I couldn't let Kaylee's... rash actions go that far." He paused, then added, "She confessed. About the fire. The maid heard her." He didn't even call her "my love" anymore.
A cold, bitter laugh escaped me. "Her 'rash actions'? You call attempted murder 'rash actions,' Dr. McCarthy? And here I thought you were saving me out of some misplaced sense of... something else." I looked at him, my eyes hard. "What about Kaylee? Is she proud of her failed attempt? Or did she throw another one of her dramatic fits?"
He turned to me, his eyes now cold, hard. "You're a cruel woman, Aliza. Even after everything, you still think only of yourself. And of tormenting Kaylee." He stood, his movements stiff. "I merely did what was right. Don't mistake it for anything more. You're safe now. I'll inform your family."
"My family?" I scoffed, a fresh wave of bitterness washing over me. "My family is gone, Etienne. You helped Kaylee destroy them. You helped her destroy me. Don't you dare pretend otherwise."
He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. He looked back at me, his gaze cold, his face devoid of emotion. "You always were so dramatic, Aliza. So full of self-pity. Kaylee may be fragile, but at least she's honest. You, on the other hand, are just... venomous."
With that, he walked out, leaving me alone in the sterile silence, the weight of his words crushing me. Venomous. He thought I was venomous. All because I dared to speak the truth, to fight for myself. The irony was a bitter, painful taste in my mouth.
