Designer coats. Cashmere dresses. Heels so tall they looked like weapons. A sapphire clutch I didn’t need. Everything I saw—I bought.
Screw it.
I deserved this.
For every night I sat alone in that freezing marital bed. For every time I cooked him dinner and watched him throw it away untouched. For every rejection, every bruise my heart collected in silence—I deserved this.
And of course, Troy noticed.
Halfway through the fifth store, my phone buzzed.
TROY: “What’s going on with the card?”
I smirked and texted back without skipping a beat:
ME: “You said do something that makes me happy. This is it. Are you going to stop me now?”
A moment later, his reply came. Just one word.
TROY: “Fine.”
I laughed softly. Victory had never tasted so sweet. I stepped into another boutique, arms already full of bags. The cashier stared at me like I was royalty.
And that’s when she walked in.
Bianca. Hazel eyes. Brown hair. A beauty mark under her left eye.
She stopped mid-step when she saw me—and all the shopping bags surrounding me.
“What the hell is this?” she hissed. “You gold-digging bitch—are you trying to make my brother go broke?!”
I didn’t even flinch. “I’m not a gold-digger. I’m his wife. So I deserve this.”
“Deserve?” she scoffed. “No, you don’t. You’ll never deserve anything from him. You stole this life. That bag,” she pointed, “that dress. I want it. It’s mine!”
I rolled my eyes. “You want the dress? Buy your own.”
She stormed over, grabbing the same cream Dior gown I had in my hand. “Let go!”
“No.”
We yanked at the fabric, both of us tugging until it tore straight down the middle with a loud rip.
Silence fell.
Bianca’s face twisted. “You bitch,” she spat. “You’re the reason Troy doesn’t talk to me anymore. Ever since he married you, he never visited me again, never looked at me the same way. You ruined our relationship! I should have said this before but I was thinking of my brother but I really hate you!”
I blinked. “So what? That’s not my fault he married me. You are just his stepsister.”
“It is your fault! You took him away from me!”
And before I could react, she yanked a stiletto off one of the display mannequins and swung.
The heel struck the side of my head. I stumbled, stunned. Warmth bloomed down my temple. I reached up—and my fingers came away red.
“Die!” she screamed as she hit me again and again. “Die! Die! Die!”
When I opened my eyes, everything hurt.