I turned on my heel and headed straight toward my room, ignoring Leandro’s scowl and Abby’s little pout. My silence seemed to disturb them more than any argument could.
“Wait, sister,” Abby’s shrill voice chased after me. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you… are you mad at me?”
I froze at my door, my hand tightening on the knob. Slowly, I turned, meeting her watery eyes. “What do you expect me to say?”
Her lips trembled, and then, right on cue, the tears started to spill. “So you are mad at me…” she whispered, lower lip trembling like some innocent child. “I didn’t mean anything bad, sister. I was only trying to help you.”
I hated it. God, I hated it. That act. That pitiful, babyish crying. It always worked—on everyone else. On my father, on Leandro, even on strangers.
And maybe, deep down, it was why my life had been ripped apart in the first place. Because Abby had mastered the art of playing the victim, while I… I had been too blind.
I clenched my fists at my sides. Her tears reminded me of everything I had buried: how her mother, Lillian, had been the reason my father left my real mother. How my mother had wasted away in depression, her body and heart too weak to survive. And when she died, I was forced into this house. Into their hands.
Father had always been good to me, yes. But Lillian… she despised me. She made sure I knew it every single day. The bruises, the threats, the whispers in my ear at night: If you ever tell him, I’ll kill your father. Keep quiet, or he dies.
And so I had. I had swallowed my pain, my anger, my helplessness, and grown up believing silence was my only weapon.
But not anymore.
“Victoria,” Leandro’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He sounded furious. “You’re making your stepsister cry!”
I blinked at him, stunned. Then a laugh burst from me, bitter and sharp. “Cry? It’s not my fault! I don’t even know why she’s crying.”
Abby sniffled, her lashes fluttering delicately. “Maybe… maybe it’s because you’re mad about me fitting your gown earlier… You think I’m gonna steal Leandro, is that it?”
The room went still. Then I laughed. “Oh, trust me,” I said, each word dripping with venom, “I’d love for you to marry Leandro instead of me.”
I didn’t wait for their reaction. I walked out.
But Leandro wasn’t done. He followed me into the corridor, his hand grabbing my wrist. “Victoria! What’s wrong with you? Why are you saying things like that when it’s only days before the wedding? We’re about to be married!”
I yanked my arm back, glaring at him. “I’m tired, Leandro.”
“Tired?” His eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing. “Is this because of Brendon? Is that it? Because you’ve been cheating on me with him?”
The air froze.
“You think I don’t know?” His grip tightened on me. “He proposed to you, didn’t he? Do you think I’d let you marry someone else? You’re mine, Victoria. Mine.”
“You’re insane,” I spat.
He smirked, leaning close enough for me to feel his breath. “From now on, Brendon will never look at you again.”
My heart stuttered. “What… are you saying?”
Leandro pulled out his phone and shoved it in my face. A video played—grainy, intimate. Us. In bed. Exposed.
Except… no. That wasn’t me. My blood ran cold.
“You’re lying,” I hissed. “Nothing like that ever happened between us. That’s fake—AI, edited—”
“Really?” His lips curved. “Then explain how I know about the scar on your breast. I told him about it too.”
My stomach dropped. “You…” My voice cracked. “Did you check my body when I was asleep?”
He only smirked darker.
“I’m warning you, Victoria.” His voice was low, dangerous. “If you even think about ditching the wedding or running to Brendon, everyone will see this video. Your reputation will be ruined.”
Tears stung my eyes, but not from fear. From rage. “Why?” I demanded. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I love you,” he said simply. “And I hate seeing you with Brendon.”
“That’s not love.”
“Whatever you say,” he sneered. “But in this lifetime, you’re mine. The only one you’ll ever marry.”
He stormed away, leaving me shaking.
I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing air into my lungs. Damn it. Damn him. He thought he could trap me with this? Twist reality? Brendon had to believe me. He had to.
Unless…
A thought struck me. Abby liked him. She always had. Maybe… maybe I could use that. Maybe if I nudged her toward him, she’d convince Father to swap the engagement. After all, this was a business arrangement. My feelings had been the only reason I agreed back then. But now?
Now, I knew better.
I was on my way to Father’s office when voices stopped me. From the library.
I crept closer.
“…why not just marry me?” Abby’s voice. Sweet, dripping. “Why bother with her?”
Leandro’s chuckle followed. “Because she has the largest share from her father. My parents want her. She’s the legal daughter. You? Your mother’s just a mistress. They’ll never accept you.”
My breath hitched.
“But once she signs everything over,” Abby pressed, “you’ll get rid of her, right?”
“Of course.” His tone was mocking, cruel. “Then it’ll be just you and me. She’s nothing but a placeholder.”
I bit back my laugh, cold and sharp. Perfect. Keep talking. Keep proving me right.
I turned to leave, but another scene caught my eye—down the hall. My stepmother, Lillian, stood in the gallery, hurling my mother’s portrait onto the ground.
“No!” I rushed forward, grabbing it. My chest ached at the sight of my mother’s painted smile. “Don’t throw this away! That’s my mother!”
Lillian’s eyes narrowed. “And I’m the mistress of this house. Remember that.”
I stood taller, clutching the painting to my chest. “And I’m the legal daughter.”
Her lips twisted. “So what? You’re defying me now?”
Her hand cracked across my face before I could react.
