Part 1
“We gave your wedding money to your sister. She deserves the attention more than you,” my dad announced, standing in the middle of the living room like he had just delivered some profound wisdom that should be met with gratitude and applause.
His arms were crossed over his chest in that familiar posture of authority he always adopted when making decisions about my life without my input. My mother sat beside him on the floral couch, nodding along as if this made perfect sense, as if taking forty thousand dollars from one daughter to give to another was simply responsible parenting.
I stood frozen in the doorway, my fiancé Ethan’s hand warm against the small of my back.
The words echoed in my head, refusing to form into anything coherent.
Forty thousand dollars.
My grandmother’s final gift to me. The money she had set aside specifically for my wedding. The inheritance she had made my parents promise to protect.
Gone. Handed to my sister Vanessa, who stood in the kitchen doorway with a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, watching my reaction like it was entertainment.
“What did you just say?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Your sister is getting married next spring,” my mother explained with exaggerated patience, as if I were a child who needed simple concepts broken down into digestible pieces. “Her fiancé’s family is not as financially comfortable as Ethan’s.
It only makes sense that we help them have the wedding they deserve. You understand, don’t you, Isabella?”
I turned to look at Ethan, searching his face for some indication of how to respond to this insanity. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly so.
But I had been with him long enough to recognize the tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes that meant he was carefully controlling his anger.
“They have ninety‑six hours,” Ethan said, his voice measured and controlled. “No more.”
My father blinked, his confident posture faltering slightly.
“Excuse me?”
“Ninety‑six hours to return every cent of Isabella’s inheritance to her account,” Ethan replied. “After that window closes, the consequences will be entirely of your own making.”
Vanessa laughed from the kitchen doorway, a sharp, mocking sound that cut through the tension.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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