CHAPTER 40: THE GREAT GUIDE TO BEING A WICKED HALF SISTER 3

FIA

I was going to be sick. Right here in the garden. Right in front of everyone.

"He loved you," Hazel continued. Still whispering. Still crying for the audience around us. "If he wasn’t so blinded by power, he would have been smart enough to stay away from me. I cared about him too actually. Or rather, his penis. Such a waste. But did you, you know, ever have it? No? Such a shame. He just had to ruin everything by getting a morality half way through. Saving you?! Please. I couldn’t let that happen."

She pulled back then. Her face was wet with tears. Her expression was devastated. Oscar worthy. She should get a medal for this performance.

I wanted to claw her eyes out.

"Are they treating you well?" Hazel asked. Loud again. Concerned. The worried sister checking on her poor misguided sibling.

I stared at her. At this monster wearing my sister’s face. At this thing that had just told me she’d murdered the only person who could have saved me.

"Why?" I asked. My voice was flat. Dead. "Are you worried I am being treated well? Afraid you didn’t quite get what you wanted?"

Hazel’s eyes flickered. Just for a second. Then the concerned expression was back.

"I’m in the Luna suite," I continued. Still flat. Still dead inside. "Luna of one of the most powerful packs. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? But I got it instead."

"I gave you my trash. Saying I wanted I is kind of insane."

"This place is grand and your plan to completely destroy me did not quite work out. I believe it makes your blood boil."

Hazel actually chuckled at my response. It was soft and quiet. Then she noticed the rash on my arms. Her eyes widened. She reached for my hands.

"Fia, what happened? Are you hurt?"

She grabbed my wrists and turned my arms over. Examining the welts. Making a show of concern. The worried sister noticing her sibling is injured.

I snatched my hands back.

"Don’t touch me."

The words came out louder than I intended. Sharp. One of the guards shifted. I felt his attention focus on us.

Hazel’s eyes went cold for just a moment. Then she was crying again. Reaching for me again.

"I’m sorry," she said. Loud enough for others to hear. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just worry."

Then quieter. Just between us, her cruel streak came back in full form.

"Omegas do not have strong genes. Sister, are you already falling apart? Tsk. Tsk Tsk. And it hasn’t even started yet."

My hands were shaking. I crossed my arms to hide it. To keep from doing something stupid like hitting her. Like screaming like a mad woman where everyone could hear. It would only make things worse for me. Who would even believe me? Hazel had already proven she could lie better than I could tell the truth.

"He’ll never love you, you know." Hazel’s voice was soft. Gentle. Like she was imparting sisterly wisdom. "He’ll never forgive you. Not with what you did. Not while you’re living in rooms meant for me. Wearing my clothes."

She stepped closer and touched my arm again. It was light. Delicate almost. The perfect picture of a concerned sister.

"You should see the way he looked at me today," she whispered. "When we arrived. When I told him I was worried about you. He looked at me like I was everything he’d lost. Like I was the one he actually wanted." She paused. Let that sink in. "If I wanted this, I could have it, you know. I could have him. I could have everything. But I don’t need to rush. You’re doing such a good job of destroying yourself already."

The rash on my arms was burning. Or maybe that was just my rage. My helplessness. My complete and utter defeat.

Because she was right.

I had nothing. No proof. No ally. No way out. Milo was dead. The truth died with him. And Hazel was standing here in front of me, crying fake tears, playing the devoted sister, making sure I knew exactly how trapped I was.

I looked at her. Really looked at her. At this person I’d grown up with. This person who’d shared a home with me. Who’d called me sister. Who’d smiled and laughed and pretended to care.

"I just want to ask you one thing," I said quietly.

Hazel tilted her head. Waiting.

"What did I ever do to deserve this?"

For a moment, just a moment, the mask slipped. I saw the real Hazel underneath. The cold. The calculating. The absolute absence of anything resembling love or compassion.

Then she smiled.

It was soft and sad to look at. The heartbroken sister trying to understand her sibling’s choices.

"You existed," she whispered. "You were always there. Always in the way. Always taking things that should have been mine. Father’s attention. The sweet pride of the pack before I turned them against you. You never knew when to disappear."

She touched my cheek. Her hand was cold even when the gesture was soft and tender.

"But don’t worry," she said. "I’ll make sure everyone knows how much I love you. How worried I am about you. How I tried so hard to help you despite what you did." Her smile widened slightly. "And when you finally break completely, when you can’t take it anymore and do something desperate, everyone will remember that I was the good sister. The one who tried."

She was going to drive me insane. Literally. She was going to push and push until I snapped. Until I did something that proved I was unstable. Unfit. Sick. Twisted. Everything she’d claimed I was.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Hazel pulled back. Wiped at her eyes. She then turned toward the entrace to the gardens and I saw Luna Isobel. Stepmother had not been there before or maybe I hadn’t even noticed Isobel was there. But of course she was. Of course she was part of this.

"I should go," Hazel said. Loud again. "Before I upset you more. I just needed to see you. To know you’re safe."

She hugged me one more time in a quick performative manner.

Then she whispered one last thing.

"Sweet dreams, sister. You need it in the nightmare that is now your life."

She walked away. Back to our mother. Back to their perfect performance of concerned family members checking on their wayward daughter and sister.

I stood there in the garden. Surrounded by flowers and fountains and beautiful things. With guards watching me. Servants whispering. And my sister’s poison spreading through my veins like the mold that had been in my lungs.

Milo was dead.

The truth was dead.

And I was completely, utterly alone.

As Hazel and Isobel vanished from sight, the garden seemed to shrink around me. The guards returned to their posts. The whispers resumed. I let out a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

A new message. From Hazel.

It was just a view once image.

I tapped it open, already dreading whatever cruelty she’d sent.

And then I saw it.

Milo’s head, severed and laid on a silver platter like some grotesque offering. His eyes were still open. Staring. Empty.

The phone slipped from my hand. My stomach lurched. I turned away and gagged, bile burning my throat as the world spun out beneath me.