Chapter 4

Stella wailed dramatically on the window ledge, tears streaming down her face.

She clutched the curtains, leaning halfway out into the open air, yet her knuckles remained securely locked onto the frame. She kept glancing back at me, weaponizing her fake suicide to force my surrender.

My bedroom was on the ground floor.

Even if she jumped, the drop into the soft flowerbed wouldn't even scratch her knee.

Yet my parents and Chase rushed forward in absolute panic.

Two grabbed her arms, one wrapped his arms around her waist, desperately pulling her back like she was dangling over a cliff.

Chase spun around and roared at me, his eyes bloodshot with rage:

"Elena, are you completely heartless? Apologize to Stella right now!"

"She's your sister! You took the title of the biological daughter that she wanted so badly—can't you let her have anything else? Do you really have to push her to her death before you're satisfied?"

Chase glared at me.

My parents glared at me.

As if throughout this entire nightmare, the villain was me—the woman locked in a room on her own wedding day, the woman whose ring was stolen, whose identity was wiped from her own wedding favors.

A wave of sheer exhaustion washed over me.

I was so tired. Too tired to fight, too tired to care who was right or wrong.

I gave a slight bow toward Stella and spoke in a monotone voice:

"I'm sorry, Stella."

"It was my fault for being a bad sister and failing to give in to you. Please come down. I was wrong."

Satisfied with her victory, Stella climbed down from the sill with a petulant sniffle.

My parents and Chase swarmed her, wiping her tears, whispering sweet reassurances, soothing her bruised ego.

Once she managed a triumphant little smile, she cast a spiteful glance my way.

"Fine, I forgive her. She's my sister; I can't stay mad forever. The sun is setting, so Elena and Chase should hurry back to City Hall before it closes."

Her "generosity" earned another round of breathless praise from Chase and my parents, who remarked on how sweet and forgiving she was, telling me I should take notes from her.

Gradually, the chaos cleared out.

My parents escorted Stella downstairs, Mom throwing one last venomous glare over her shoulder:

"I don't know how you can call yourself the older sister. Stella is ten times more mature than you'll ever be!"

Only Chase and I remained in the room.

He rubbed his temples, letting out a weary sigh.

"Elena, I don't know what got into you today. I'm giving you five minutes to wash your face. I'll be waiting downstairs. We're going straight to City Hall to finish this."

He turned to walk away.

I couldn't help myself. I called his name.

"Chase."

He stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

"Do you really have nothing else to say to me?"

Chase paused for a second, then chose to deliver one final lecture:

"Stop being angry, Elena. As the sister, you should learn to be the bigger person."

He shut the door behind him.

Staring at the closed wood, I whispered into the empty room:

"I was supposed to be the younger sister."

Too bad nobody cared to listen.

A few minutes later, the housekeeper knocked gently and stepped inside.

"Miss Elena, Mr. Sterling says the car is waiting."

Seeing my silence, she asked cautiously, "Do you... need a few more minutes to rest?"

I shook my head. I walked over to the desk, swept all my identification documents, passport, and cards into my tote bag. I didn't pack a single stitch of clothing.

Why would I want the clothes Stella had deemed unworthy of her own closet?

Then, I stepped onto the window ledge.

"No," I smiled faintly. "I'm running away. Tell them I'm calling off the wedding."

"Say goodbye to them for me."

Leaving the housekeeper frozen in shock, I stepped down into the garden.

It was the most liberating decision I had made in twenty-seven years.

The drop was only two feet. Stella wasn't stupid—I was the stupid one for staying trapped for so long.

My feet hit the grass smoothly. I slipped through the side gate, flagged a cab, and headed straight for the airport.

I didn't care where I went. At the counter, I simply asked for a ticket on the next departing flight.

Seconds before boarding, my phone buzzed violently with text messages from Chase.

Each one was more furious than the last:

[Elena, the maid said you ran away? Stop throwing these ridiculous fits!]

[Where the hell are you?]

[Do you want to get married or not?! Get your ass back here right now!]

I looked down at the glowing screen, my thumb hovering over the red button.

With a firm, steady press, I powered down the phone.

Chase, I'm never getting married to you.

And I'm never coming back.