Chapter 40

[ 931 words ]

Katia’s POV

I didn’t even look up from my tablet, my stylus moving across the screen. “Is that why you’re here, Delia? To show me you have a chauffeur? Because I’ve seen a car before, and I’m fairly certain the Rolls-Royce brand existed long before you married into it. If you’re done looking for validation from the sister you threw away, why don’t you cut to the chase? I’m on a clock p>

Her smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of the old, spoiled irritation she couldn’t quite hide. She sat down across from me, smoothing out the fabric of a designer skirt that probably cost more than my first server rack. “I told you on the phone. I wanted to apologize for the wedding. It was… a high-stress time. The Windsors are very traditional, and having a—well, having you there with the history we have… it was complicated. I shouldn’t have told you to stay away p>

“Forgiven,” I said flatly, giving her a sharp, meaningless smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Anything else? Because I have a 2:00 PM meeting with people who actually contribute to my bottom line p>

Delia blinked, clearly caught off guard. She had expected me to grovel or at least offer her a glass of expensive sparkling water so we could pretend to be friends. She looked around my office, her eyes searching for a crack in my armor, a sign that I was jealous of her new life. “Are we cool, Katia? I mean, we’re sisters. We’re family. We should be able to talk p>

I let out a short, dry laugh that echoed off the high ceilings. “Pardon me if I don’t have time for fake family love, Delia. It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? I don’t really want you or our parents anywhere near me or my son. You made your choice six years ago when you let them kick me out, and you made it again at your wedding. Stay on your side of the glass fence in your Windsor mansion, and I’ll stay here in the world I built without you p>

“Suit yourself,” she snapped, her true colors finally bleeding through the polite, “newlywed” facade. Her voice lost its sweetness, turning brittle and cold.

I leaned forward, placing my hands flat on the glass table between us. My bare fingers were splayed out against the reflective surface, every detail magnified by the glass. “You are my sister, Delia. That’s a biological fact I can’t change. But if you want to treat me like a stranger, be my guest. Just don’t expect me to play the role of the long-lost relative when you get bored of your new toys or when the Windsor name starts to feel too heavy for you to carry p>

Delia’s eyes didn’t move from my hands. Her gaze was locked on my nails—the specific, pale-pink, high-gloss manicure I’d had done at that boutique salon in France. I watched the gears turning in her head, the panicked calculation of a woman who had spent her morning looking at a photo on her husband’s Instagram and was now looking at the physical evidence right in front of her. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“You were in France, right?” she asked, her voice suddenly sharp, a tremor of desperation underneath the accusation.

“Yep,” I replied with a casual shrug, leaning back into my chair. “With Sam and Aiden. Why? Did you need travel tips? I found the jazz scene in the Riviera quite… enlightening p>

Delia leaned in, her eyes narrowing until they were mere slits of blue ice. “Did you spend any time with my husband while you were there, Katia? Tell me the truth p>

I leaned back further, a slow, mocking smile spreading across my face. I let the silence hang in the air, thick and suffocating, enjoying the way she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Why would I spend time with your husband, Delia? He was supposed to be on a honeymoon with you. Or did the Windsor Prince leave his beautiful bride behind to do business in the Riviera while you stayed home and practiced your ’Mrs.’ signature p>

Delia went deathly quiet. I had hit the nerve, and I had hit it hard. The realization that she had been left behind while her husband was out with me was clearly a pill she couldn’t swallow, but then again, she had no proof it was me. Also, she couldn’t call me a liar without exposing her own fraud to the world; if she admitted she knew it was my hand, she’d have to admit she wasn’t the woman in the photo she’d been bragging about.

“He was working,” she muttered, standing up abruptly and snatching her designer bag off the floor. “And I was… busy with family obligations at the estate. I just thought I’d check because of the coincidence p>

“Check all you want,” I said, standing up and walking toward the door to usher her out. “But next time you want to play ’happy families,’ do it with someone who hasn’t seen the back of your head for half a decade. Give my best to the chauffeur, Delia. I hope the ride back is as comfortable as you imagined p>

I watched her stomp out toward the elevator, her heels clicking aggressively against the floorboards. She was terrified. She knew that photo wasn’t her, and now she knew exactly whose hand it was or maybe suspected. But more importantly, she knew I held the power to shatter her perfect, manufactured life with a single phone call.

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