My sister mocked my « cheap » mourning dress in front of everyone, calling me a disgrace to the Hale family.
She had no idea how much the dress she was criticizing cost: 30,000 dollars, that I owned the luxury brand she modeled for, and that her termination letter had already been signed hours earlier. The rest is history… I made them pay dearly.
The church was heavy with grief—our father’s casket in the front row, the air thick with whispers of condolence—when my sister, Victoria Hale, decided it was the perfect moment to humiliate me.
« Elena, seriously? » she said, loud enough to silence three pews. « You found that dress in a bargain bin? You’re embarrassing us all. »
A rush of heat went up my neck. My mother looked away. Our aunts froze. Victoria wore a sly smile, relishing the attention. She had always loved to position herself as the Hale sisters’ superior. In her eyes, I was just another one. The one who was easily forgotten. The one she had eclipsed since childhood.
She had no idea how wrong she was.
Continued on the next page
