Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3 — The Sister’s Gambit
Three weeks passed.
The burn on my face began to heal, transitioning from angry red blisters to a tight, shiny pink scar that I covered carefully with makeup before returning to the office.
My colleagues asked no questions. The HR department had handled my sudden leave with professional discretion, and I threw myself back into my logistics accounts with a fierce, singular focus.
Work was predictable. It was safe. It required no emotional negotiation.
Derek had adhered to the protective order, likely advised by a very nervous defense attorney. The silence from him was a blessing.
The silence from his family, however, broke on a Tuesday afternoon.
I was leaving the office building in downtown Miami, walking toward the parking garage, when a familiar, shrill voice cut through the noise of the traffic.
"Skylar!"
I stopped, my heart instantly hammering against my ribs.
Suzanne was standing near the entrance of the garage, wearing oversized sunglasses and a designer jacket that I had undoubtedly paid for.
She looked frantic, but there was a sharp edge of entitlement still lingering in her posture.
"What are you doing here, Suzanne?" I asked, keeping my distance, my hand instinctively reaching into my purse to grip my phone.
"I need to talk to you," she said, pulling off her sunglasses. "Derek is a mess, Skylar. He's staying on my couch, he lost his job because of the arrest record, and the legal fees are destroying him."
"That sounds like a personal problem," I replied coldly, turning to walk toward the elevators.
"Wait!" Suzanne stepped in front of me, her voice dropping into a manipulative whine. "Please. You're ruining his life over one mistake."
I stared at her, genuinely astounded by the sheer audacity of her delusion.
"A mistake?" I echoed, my voice tight. "He threw boiling liquid in my face, Suzanne. He scarred me."
"He was stressed!" she argued, waving her hand dismissively. "You know how he gets. You pushed him! If you had just given me the card like he asked, none of this would have happened."
The sheer toxicity of her logic hit me like a physical blow.
She wasn't apologizing. She was blaming me for my own assault because I had dared to stop funding her lifestyle.
"You are exactly like him," I said, my voice dropping to a low, steady register. "You take, and you take, and when someone finally says no, you act like you're the victim."
Suzanne’s face flushed an ugly shade of red. "You owe him, Skylar. He gave you the best years of his life."
"He took my money, he took my peace of mind, and he burned my face," I countered, stepping around her.
"If you ever approach me again, Suzanne, I will call the police and file a harassment order against you as well."
"You selfish bitch!" she shrieked, drawing the attention of several people entering the garage. "You're going to die alone in that apartment!"
I didn't turn back.
I walked into the elevator, hit the button for my floor, and watched the doors close on her furious, distorted face.
My hands were shaking, but I felt a surge of incredible power.
For years, I had bent over backward to accommodate Suzanne's demands, terrified of Derek's wrath if I upset his sister.
Now, I had looked her in the eye and recognized her for what she truly was: a parasite who had finally been cut off from the host.
When I got home that evening, I poured myself a glass of wine—the first alcoholic drink I had allowed myself since the attack.
I sat on my balcony, looking out over the water, and raised the glass.
May you like
I wasn't going to die alone.
I was finally going to live.
