He Secretly Married My Sister ,So I Faked My Death and Let Him Lose Everything

Ever since my parents adopted Agatha when I was ten, their love had slowly tilted toward her.

She was sweet and adorable, the kind of girl who made people want to protect her. But her love life was a disaster. After a string of breakups, cheating boyfriends, and ugly fights, my parents only grew more protective of their youngest daughter.

Then I met Frederick. Out of sheer jealousy, Agatha tried to sabotage the relationship. She faked a suicide attempt by swallowing pills, though the dose wasn't enough to do real damage. My parents caught her in time.

She blamed me. Said I'd driven her to it. After that, they grew even colder toward me, convinced I was some vicious, jealous creature.

After the wedding, my parents barely kept in touch. All their energy went to worrying about how Agatha was doing.

Even so, I had no choice but to come back. Frederick had arranged everything.

Now, sitting together again, the dining table was loaded with dish after dish. It had been so long since I'd tasted my parents' cooking. The first bite loosened something tight in my chest.

Frederick sat beside me, piling food onto my plate without pause. My parents clustered around Agatha on the other side of the table, asking about her life.

"How long are you staying this time, sweetie? Why don't you spend a few nights here with us?"

Mom's face was all warmth as she heaped food onto Agatha's plate. Agatha said she just wanted to stay and take care of me.

I didn't respond. I just watched my parents. Not a single word about my miscarriage. All they cared about was rolling out the red carpet for their precious younger daughter.

Agatha noticed Frederick serving me and let out a teasing little laugh. "My brother-in-law is so good to you, sis. Nobody does that for me except Mom and Dad."

I scoffed. "What are you, five?"

Agatha's face twisted. She rolled her eyes, then caught my parents looking and instantly rearranged her expression into something wounded and pitiful.

Frederick's chopsticks hovered, then slowly lowered back to the table. "She didn't mean anything by it," he said quietly. "Do you have to go after her like that?"

Dad took one look at Agatha's hurt expression and turned on me. "Your sister just got home! Would it kill you to be civil?"

He pivoted right back to soothing Agatha, then disappeared into the kitchen and returned with bowls of mango tapioca pudding to cheer her up.

Agatha's eyes darted sideways. She picked up a bowl and carried it to me with both hands. "Dad worked so hard on this. You should have the first taste, sis."

I turned my face away. I couldn't stand watching her perform. The smell of mango alone was enough to make my stomach lurch. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw every person at that table staring at me.

"Your sister is being so thoughtful. Just drink it, or you'll hurt her feelings." My parents closed in, their voices gentle but suffocating.

I was severely allergic to mango. When I was ten, I'd accidentally eaten some and spent a week in the hospital. But they'd forgotten all of that. The only thing they remembered was that Agatha's favorite dessert was mango tapioca pudding.

I stared at them, wide-eyed. No words came.

I turned to Frederick.

He frowned, giving me a look that said just do it. Don't make this awkward. "It's a dessert. How hard can it be? Does the whole family have to bend to your every whim?"

I said nothing. When it was clear I wasn't going to give in, Agatha kept up her sweet act and pushed some of the other dishes toward me.

Then she flashed a sly little grin and locked eyes with Frederick. A subtle nod passed between them. Frederick could smell the mango, but he picked up his chopsticks and started loading food onto my plate anyway.

"If you can't manage the dessert, at least eat something. It's your family's way of showing love. We're all together for once. Just humor them."

The passive aggression was impossible to miss. Before I could react, Frederick lifted a piece of food to my mouth and pushed it in.

The moment it hit my throat, I gagged and spat it out. Mango fibers. My skin flushed red almost instantly, hives blooming across my arms. My breathing turned shallow and ragged.

Just as I'd expected. An allergic reaction.

Agatha stumbled backward and collapsed to the floor in theatrical shock. My parents rushed to shield her, pulling her away so she wouldn't have to see my swollen, blotchy face. Frederick hurried over to comfort her too.

I staggered to the bathroom and shoved my fingers down my throat, retching until there was nothing left. I found the medication myself. It took thirty minutes before my body slowly returned to something close to normal.

I leaned against the wall, gasping. Once my heartbeat steadied, I decided to stay in the bathroom a while longer. I had no desire to rejoin that farce of a dinner.

After another fifteen minutes, I'd finally calmed down. I reached for the door handle and froze.

My mother's voice, just outside.

"You two already made her lose the baby last time. You need to watch how far you push things. Today you nearly killed her!"

A pause, then: "You just found out you're pregnant yourself. Think about the child in your belly and show some restraint."

Rage detonated inside my chest. My eyes went wide. Agatha was pregnant too? My parents already knew? They knew about my allergy and they'd still let Agatha pull this stunt?

My heart plummeted. The pain in my chest felt like something being carved out of me with a dull blade. I wiped my tears, forced air into my burning lungs, and threw the door open.

"What the hell did you just say, Mom?" I was shaking. "Agatha made me lose my baby on purpose? And you helped her do it?"

I screamed it. In my fury, I hurled the miscarriage report straight at her face, demanding to know why not one of them had asked me a single question about losing my child.

"Who is your real daughter here?" I roared.

"I already apologized, sis." Agatha's voice was soft, her expression the picture of innocence. "If you're angry, take it out on me. Don't yell at Mom."

The sight of that rehearsed, doe-eyed look made bile rise in my throat. I snatched the bowl of tapioca pudding and upended it over her head, then smashed the bowl on the floor.

She yelped and hopped around as the warm liquid ran down her scalp, screaming that I was insane. My mother joined in, calling me a lunatic, shooting me a look of pure disgust before dragging Agatha to the bathroom to clean up.

Frederick grabbed my arm and tried to hold me still. "Calm down. She didn't know you were allergic. You're fine now, so just let it go."

I shoved him off and called him exactly what he was: a fraud. An actor playing a role.

The commotion brought my father storming in. One look at the scene and he seized my arm and wrenched me aside. There was nothing in his eyes but contempt. "How dare you talk to your mother like that!"

The force of it sent my lower back crashing into the corner of the table. The old injury in my spine flared white-hot. I couldn't straighten up. I crumpled to the floor, writhing, and the three of them just stood there looking down at me like I was something foul they'd found on the bottom of a shoe.

In that moment, everything finally clicked into place. To them, I was nothing but a tool. A blood bank. The family love I'd spent my whole life reaching for had never existed.

I gathered every ounce of strength I had left and dragged myself upright. The pain was blinding, but I walked out without looking back.

Outside, snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes. I pulled out my phone and called Joseph Lawrence.

"I need a favor."