Chapter 2The Wedding Before Mine

After the call, my bedroom door swung open. It was my mother.

"Where is that sapphire necklace your father left you?"

I remained silent.

Her brow furrowed in annoyance. "What's with the attitude? Your sister thinks it's pretty and wants to wear it for a few days. Just get it. Don't be so childish!"

Della clung to our mother’s arm, her face a mask of disappointment. "It's okay, Mom. I know she's never really seen me as a sister. If she doesn't want to, I won't force her."

"She wouldn't dare!" my mother snapped, turning her glare on me. "That necklace belonged to my husband—your father. As of today, it’s yours, Della." She looked back at me, her voice hard as steel. "If you don't hand it over, don't blame me for having your room searched."

I stared at her, a bitter smile twisting my lips. It felt more like a grimace. The gentle, loving mother from my memories had vanished, replaced by this harsh, scolding stranger.

But it didn't matter anymore. I was leaving this place for good. There was no point in another meaningless fight.

Wordlessly, I retrieved the velvet box, opened it, and handed her the necklace.

A satisfied smile spread across her face. "That's my girl. Della is your little sister. You should always give her the best of everything."

After Mom left, Della fastened the sapphire clasp around her neck, admiring her reflection in my vanity mirror.

"Don't blame Mom for favoring me, sis. Honestly, this necklace looks much better on me anyway." She smirked. "Just like Mike looks better as my boyfriend." Her eyes met mine in the reflection. "Some things are just meant to be mine. No one else can ever have them."

I said nothing, watching her pathetic victory dance. With people like her, any reaction was fuel for the fire. Indifference was the only weapon.

I grabbed my purse, walked past her as if she were thin air, and headed for the stairs.

"Ah! Sis, why did you push me—"

Della suddenly lurched in front of me, feigning a push and stumbling backward toward the top of the staircase.

As much as I loathed her, my instincts kicked in. I reached out to grab her arm. It was a twenty-step drop; this was no joke.

"Clara, you venomous bitch!"

A hand slapped mine away from Della’s arm with brutal force. My hand slammed against the wooden banister with a sickening crack. A wave of white-hot pain shot up my arm, and I broke out in a cold sweat.

"Mike, you came just in time! I was so scared, I…" Della sobbed, burying herself in Mike’s arms, her face a mess of tears and fabricated terror.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here now," Mike murmured, stroking her hair. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

I looked down at my hand, already swelling and turning a bruised, angry purple. Then I looked at Della, who hadn't suffered so much as a scratch, being held and comforted as if she were made of glass.

The irony was a bitter pill to swallow.

The boy who had once promised to cherish me forever, the man I was supposed to marry in three short months… how had his heart turned so cold, so fast?