At first, living with Nadia didn’t feel so bad. She was sweet — bright, giggly, the daughter everyone adored. We shared secrets, clothes, and whispered about our dreams at night. But it didn’t take long for the cracks to show. When she didn’t get her way, she’d cry to our parents. And somehow, the blame always landed on me.
When we were older, I saw her drape herself over Xander at family parties. They’d been closer than siblings, even though they weren’t by blood. She told me they were together. But then she left him for her acting dreams abroad. He was drunk the night I found him alone on the balcony, eyes red, whiskey in hand.
I was stupid. I thought comforting him meant I mattered. That night was a mistake for him — for me, it was the start of my ruin.
When the tabloids leaked photos of us, the scandal nearly destroyed both families. A quick wedding was the only fix. I convinced myself it was fate. And for two short years, it almost felt real. Until she came back. Until she stood in my kitchen, sipping my coffee, saying I’d seduced her man.
Xander defended me, or so I thought — until I found them in my bed. It never really ended. It only grew more blatant.