Prologue

"You're making a mistake."

Anaya had said that once before, to Jenna, in their sophomore year, the day her sister stole her first crush.

Jenna had smiled like she was sipping poison from a crystal flute. "You're just too soft, Ana. You'll never be tough enough for this world." Then, with a derisive laugh, she added, "Or do you want to do something about it? No? Yeah, that's what I thought. Stupid Ana."

Still, Anaya had defended her. When their father thundered through the house, calling Jenna a liability, Anaya took the heat. She believed that if she held her sister up long enough, Jenna might finally stop trying to destroy her and everything she believed in. But some people don't want to be saved; they want a stage.

That voice haunted her now, years later, as she stood outside the chapel—where her own life was meant to begin again. She approached the chapel steps, where lilies lay in neat rows. At first, their scent was sweet, but something about it turned bitter and wrong. It didn't just smell like flowers anymore. It smelled like fear or something rotting. Maybe both.

She glanced at her phone.

"Ethan wants you at the chapel. Don't waste another minute." – Jenna

That was the message: no apology, no context. Not that she expected more from her. Still, she had stared at it for an hour before coming. Because some part of her still hoped. Still wanted to believe.

She pressed a hand to the door.

Today was supposed to be different. Today was supposed to be Ethan's.

But as the heavy oak door groaned open, she felt it: the weird silence, the watching eyes, the cold air that greeted her.

She stepped forward, her heels echoing on the marble floor.

The glass fractured sunlight across the floor, the colors dancing like a kaleidoscope of lies. Somewhere, she finally heard music stutter to a stop. And at the altar—

She saw her.

Jenna.

Smirking, veil in hand, standing where Anaya was meant to stand.

Not again.

Anaya's heart dropped, slow and sick. "What is this, Jenna?"

Jenna tilted her head. "Hi, too, sister."

She stepped forward with a theatrical sigh, like even Anaya's silence had started to bore her—as if seventeen years of swallowing her pride still wasn't dramatic enough.

"Now, that's no way to greet a sister you haven't seen for nearly a year. Look at you... trying to be bold. That's cute, Ana. Tell me, do you miss me?

"Jesus, Jenna. Enough. ... stop playing. Tell me where he is." Her throat felt strange, not tight, but off in a way that made breathing harder.

Jenna tucked a loose strand of hair behind Anaya's ear, as if she had the right. “You always did love drama,” she whispered. “So I gave you the perfect scene.”

“Please... just tell me where he is” Anaya begged, her voice barely steady.

“Getting dressed,” Jenna shrugged. “For me.” She dropped the veil like she'd dropped her mother's locket, on purpose, without blinking, knowing it would shatter.

“You’re lying.” Anaya wanted to believe this wasn't real. Just another one of Jenna's sick games. It had to be. But when had she ever joked about anything?

Jenna laughed like she always did when savoring every ounce of her pain. "He proposed last week. Fast, huh? But Ethan never waits. Once he wants something, he takes it."

The words sliced clean through her.

"No—"

Anaya shook her head, once, then again, slower. Like the motion might rewind time if she just meant it hard enough.

"He said..... " her voice cracked. "He said he loved me."

"He said he'd rather burn than see me cry again..." Her throat tightened.

"That was what he said."

Jenna stepped closer. "Then consider this mercy."

Anaya blinked, barely seeing her. Everything inside her was sliding, breaking, slipping out of place.

Oh, poor Ana. Still waiting for someone to choose you.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out, just like the thud of her heart and the ache building behind her ribs.

She didn't even hear the footsteps. But there, over Jenna's shoulder—he appeared.

Ethan.

In the black suit Anaya had helped him choose. Handsome, always. Empty. His eyes met hers.

And just like that, she knew.

She wasn't the bride.

She was the audience.

He looked through her, past her, as if she were a rumor he had already buried.

For the hundredth time, Jenna had won.

"How dare you have more than Dad's support," Jenna murmured. "You always had everything handed to you, didn't you?"

She didn't cry. Not yet. She wanted to, but how could she? Even Jenna seemed tired of seeing her cry every time she did. She let it happen instead; the coldness overtaking her hands, the shallow breaths threatening to split open her chest.

Maybe she could hold on a little longer. Maybe she could survive one more betrayal. But God, it was exhausting—carrying every wound since Jenna came into their lives. When all she ever did was love her like a real sister.

But maybe that was never enough.

"Wake up, Ana. You can never be as good as me. You are just too naive"

The words echoed, then faded into white.

****

Anaya blinked. She was standing. Barefoot. Someone was zipping the back of her dress.

"Stand still," a woman barked. "You're ruining the seams—"

Anaya slapped her away. "Don't touch me."

"It's just a dress."

"No, it's not."

Another hand reached out. Anaya bit it.

"God—! You little savage!"

She didn't move. Her eyes fixed on nothing, her jaw locked like steel.

"You think biting changes anything?" the woman sneered. "Your prince is getting married. They even release doves. Want to see the video?"

She shoved her phone onto the table.

Anaya didn't touch it.

But the screen wasn't locked.

And the thumbnail was enough.

Jenna, glowing. In the gown. Wearing her necklace.

The one Ethan had clasped around her neck the night he promised she'd never be alone again.

She'd believed him. Every word.

A sound rose in her chest, constricted, broken, but she bit it back.

Then the door creaked open.

Her father's voice followed, sealed like a verdict. "It's just business, Ana."

Of course, it was.

She wasn't a daughter. Not really. Not to him.

The land, the horses, the weapons. The alliances. She was starting to see the pattern.

A silence settled over her, thick and remorseless. She looked at the necklace one last time. Reached up. Unclasped it. Let it fall.

Was it even the real one?

Did it matter?

Then came the final order from outside:

"Bring her. They're ready."

Anaya stood still.

The gown clung to her. The air turned metallic. The door swung wider.

And in that moment, she understood.

This wasn't a ceremony.

It was a sale.

She wasn't getting married.

She was being auctioned.

And every lie, every kiss, every whispered vow—they had all led to this.

She was the last item on the list.

A tear slipped down her cheek, hot and unwanted.

But her spine stayed straight. They would take her. They would parade her. But when the fire in her finally burned through these walls—

They would all wish they had left her broken