Today was the final stretch before the gala. One more day of pretending. One more day of smiling through a hollow.
I wrapped a scarf around my hair, pulled on my coat, and headed toward the main hall to double-check the placement cards. That was when the door creaked open behind me.
Patricia. Her smile was different now—sharp around the edges, too polished to be sincere. There was no audience this time. No parents. No Denver. Just us. And when it was just us, Patricia was never sweet.
She stepped into the room like she owned it. “You’re up early,” she said with mock cheer. “Still playing the diligent servant? That’s so admirable.”
I said nothing. I didn’t need to. I knew exactly who she was when no one was looking.
This wasn’t new. I still remembered the time she’d shattered my favorite porcelain doll when—then screamed that I pushed her into the cabinet. I got grounded. She got a new dress.
Another time, she convinced me to sneak cookies from the kitchen and then cried to our mother when we were caught. I took the blame. She got praised for being honest.
Even when we were older, she’d whisper cruel things in passing:
"Denver only married you because of the merger."