After Betrayed, I find myself

I stared at the phone in my hand, the screen fading to black.

John Black. My father.

I threw my suitcase into the trunk of my sedan and slammed it shut. The metal clanged loudly in the quiet parking lot. I got into the driver's seat and tossed my phone onto the passenger side.

*He's demanding you sign over your shares of the college to her as a wedding gift.*

John's panicked voice echoed in the cramped space of the car. He didn't care about my broken engagement. He didn't care that Anderson had slept with my adopted sister in my own bed. John only cared about the family business and the college shares I held.

I started the engine and pulled out onto the main road. The drive to the Black family estate took forty minutes. Forty minutes of gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white, my mind dragging me back to the exact moment my life fractured.

Before I turned eighteen, it was just the two of us. My mother died when I was in kindergarten, leaving John to raise me alone. He used to be a good father. He ran a mid-sized auto-parts business, earning enough to keep us comfortable in a quiet suburban neighborhood. We never worried about money. We ate dinner together every night.

Then, the week of my eighteenth birthday, everything shattered.

I remembered walking through the front door, dropping my heavy backpack on the entryway rug.

"Dad, I got the highest score on the AP Chemistry exam," I yelled into the house.

No answer.

I walked into the living room. John stood by the fireplace. Next to him stood a girl in a plain white dress. She looked incredibly fragile, her shoulders hunched, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

But it wasn't her posture that made my blood run cold. It was her face.

She looked exactly like the framed photos of my dead mother sitting on the mantelpiece. The same almond-shaped eyes. The same narrow jawline.

"Dad?" I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Who is she?"

John placed a protective hand on the girl's shoulder. "Andy, come here."

I stayed glued to the carpet. "What's going on?"

"This is Fiona," John announced. "She's going to live with us now."

My jaw tightened. "Live with us? Why?"

"Her parents passed away. She has nowhere else to go. She's your new sister."

"I don't have a sister," I fired back. "And we don't have the space."

"She'll take the guest room," John replied smoothly. "The one with your mother's old sewing machine."

"You're giving her Mom's room?"

"She needs a place to sleep, Andy."

Fiona shrank against John's side. "I'm sorry. I don't want to intrude."

"You aren't intruding," John told her gently. He glared at me. "Be welcoming, Andy. She's family now."

From that day forward, I ceased to be his priority. The ghost of his dead wife lived in our guest room, and John gave her everything.

Two months later, I found him sitting at the kitchen table, a checkbook open in front of him.

"I'm paying the deposit for Wills College today," John said without looking up.

"For both of us?" I asked, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl.

"Yes. Fiona needs a solid education."

I set the apple down. "Dad, her grades are terrible. She barely graduated high school. The tuition at Wills is massive. Can the business afford two private tuitions?"

John slammed his pen onto the table. "I will work longer hours. She deserves a chance."

"It's going to bankrupt you," I argued. "The auto-parts shop barely broke even last quarter. You showed me the ledgers."

"I am the parent here," John barked. "I make the financial decisions."

"I can take out student loans," I offered. "Save the cash for the business."

"No. I am paying for both of you out of pocket. It's final."

Fiona drifted into the kitchen, clutching a mug of tea. "Are you fighting about me?"

"No," John said quickly.

"I'm sorry, Andy," Fiona whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I know I'm a burden."

"You aren't a burden, sweetheart," John insisted. He shot me a venomous look. "Your sister is just being selfish."

Selfish. The word stung. I bit the inside of my cheek and walked out of the room.

The favoritism only worsened. It culminated on the night of our shared coming-of-age ceremony.

John rented a ballroom at the local country club. I wore a pale blue silk gown I had saved up my own allowance to buy. I stood by the buffet table, watching my father introduce Fiona to his business partners.

Fiona walked over to me a moment later, holding a crystal glass of red wine.

"You look pretty tonight, Andy," she murmured.

"Thanks," I replied stiffly.

"Dad bought me this necklace," she added, touching a string of pearls at her throat. "Do you like it?"

I recognized the pearls immediately. They were my mother's.

"Take those off," I demanded.

"Dad said I could wear them."

"They belong to my mother. You have no right to touch her things."

Fiona stepped closer. She tilted her wrist.

The crimson liquid splashed directly onto my chest, soaking the pale blue silk in seconds. The cold wine seeped through the fabric, sticking to my skin.

"What the hell!" I shouted, jumping back.

The music stopped. Heads turned.

John rushed across the dance floor. "What happened?"

"She poured wine on my dress!" I yelled, pointing at Fiona.

Fiona dropped her empty glass. It shattered on the marble floor. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed loudly.

"I tripped!" she wailed. "I'm so sorry, Dad. Andy bumped into me."

John spun around and grabbed my arm. "Why aren't you watching where you're going?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "She did it on purpose, Dad! She walked right up to me and dumped it."

"Stop lying," John snapped. His grip tightened on my bicep. "You are acting like a spoiled brat. Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. You're ruining Fiona's special night."

My throat closed. The unfairness of it choked me. I pulled my arm out of his grasp and turned to run.

Before I could take two steps, a tall figure blocked my path.

Anderson.

He was a senior at Wills College, already interning at his family's massive corporate firm. He took off his expensive black suit jacket and wrapped it around my stained shoulders, hiding the massive red blotch.

"I've got her, Mr. Black," Anderson said. His voice carried a smooth, unquestionable authority.

John backed down immediately. "Of course, Anderson. Please excuse her behavior."

Anderson didn't reply to my father. He wrapped his arm around my waist and guided me out of the crowded ballroom, away from the staring eyes and the whispers.

We walked out to the quiet terrace. The cool night air hit my flushed cheeks.

"Don't cry over a ruined dress, Andy," Anderson murmured, pulling me against his chest. "I'll buy you a hundred better ones."

I buried my face in his crisp white shirt. He smelled like expensive cologne and safety.

"He didn't even listen to me," I choked out. "He just took her side."

"I'm on your side," Anderson promised. He tipped my chin up, forcing me to look into his dark eyes. "I'll always protect you."

"He hates me," I sobbed. "My own father hates me because I don't look like my dead mother. Fiona does."

"You don't need him," Anderson said, brushing a tear from my cheek. "You have me. I'm going to take over my father's firm soon. I'll build an empire, and you'll be right beside me. We'll leave them all behind."

"You promise?"

"I swear it, Andy."

I believed him. I thought he was my anchor. I thought Anderson would never leave me, never betray me.

Ten years later, he was marrying the very girl who ruined that dress.

I pulled my car into the winding driveway of the Black family estate. The massive iron gates loomed ahead, heavily guarded by private security.

I rolled down my window. The guard recognized me immediately and hit the button to open the gates.

The gravel crunched beneath my tires as I drove up to the main house. A sprawling brick mansion with tall white pillars. Anderson's silver Porsche was parked right near the front steps.

They were waiting for me inside.

Anderson wanted to ruin my career and hand it to Fiona? John wanted to force me to surrender my shares?

I put the car in park and killed the engine.

They thought I was still that crying eighteen-year-old girl on the terrace. They thought I would roll over and surrender my life to keep the peace.

I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and pushed the car door open. The cool afternoon wind whipped my hair across my face.

I walked up the stone steps and reached for the heavy oak door.