From Broken Sister To Beloved Wife

Jenna POV:

"I still can't believe they chose him over you," Cesar's voice was soft, laced with a mix of sympathy and quiet fury. "Their own family. Their own blood." He reached out, gently wiping a tear from my cheek.

The rain beat against the car windows, a rhythmic drumming that echoed the dull throb in my heart. "Blood means nothing to them anymore," I murmured, my gaze fixed on the blurring city lights. "Not when loyalty is for sale."

I'd been an accident, a surprise late-life child, born when my parents were already deep in the trenches of their ruthless data empire. Consumed by the insatiable demands of Salazar Analytics, they'd leaned heavily on Howard and Bryan to raise me. My brothers had been my world, my protectors. Howard, stern but fair, once fought a school bully for me. Bryan, wild and impulsive, would sneak me out to stargaze, promising we'd discover a new constellation together. They were my anchors, my everything.

Then, the plane crash. Suddenly, brutally, they were gone. Howard, barely out of college, stepped into the void, burdened by the weight of the family legacy. The empire, built on secrets and morally ambiguous data, teetered on the brink.

That's when Francis Carr appeared, introduced by Howard as the desolate son of my father's most trusted partner. My brothers, blinded by a misplaced sense of duty, welcomed him into our home. "He's family now," Howard had declared, the words a cruel twist of irony given where we stood today.

I'd found the truth in old medical records, tucked away and forgotten. Francis wasn't the son of our co-founder, but a distant relative, a sickly child whose manipulative mother had orchestrated the entire charade. They' d meticulously erased his old identity, carefully crafting a new, sympathetic one.

I tried to warn Howard, to show him the truth. He'd investigated, then accused me of jealousy, of fabricating lies. He showed me forged documents, dismissed my concerns as childish envy. He chose a stranger's manufactured narrative over his sister's desperate plea.

I watched, powerless, as Francis methodically infiltrated our lives. He' d "accidentally" overhear a client' s sensitive information, then feign innocence when confronted. He' d whisper lies, twist my words, slowly poisoning my brothers against me. I wasn't the brilliant innovator anymore; I was the jealous, erratic younger sister. They believed him. Every time.

"She pushed me," Francis had sobbed, pointing to a scratch he' d inflicted on himself. And just like that, I became the aggressor, the one to be feared. My reputation, my standing in my own home, eroded with each calculated lie.

"Are you okay, Jenna?" Cesar's voice again, pulling me back.

I nodded, wiping my eyes. "I will be. Soon." I wouldn' t fight for a truth they refused to see. They wanted their fabricated reality? Fine. Let them have it. I would build my own.

The next morning, driven by a cold, quiet resolve, I returned to the lab. I had to finish my final project, the culmination of years of work, before I vanished. Just as I started, I heard my brothers' voices, their laughter echoing down the hallway, accompanied by Francis's lighter tone.

Then, the dreaded sound of footsteps approaching my lab door. Howard, with Francis close behind him. My sanctuary, my work, my carefully guarded space.

"He can't come in, Howard," I said, my voice firm. "I'm working on a critical sequence. It's classified."

Howard waved his hand dismissively. "He just wants to see, Jenna. Don't be so dramatic."

I didn't argue. There was no point. I simply walked past them, my heart sinking, and sought refuge in the breakroom, a desperate attempt to regain my composure. When I returned, the delicate scent of my neuro-linker compound was gone. My blood ran cold. The small, crushed vial, half-empty, lay discarded in the waste bin.

My hands trembled as I retrieved the ruined flask. Months of meticulous work, destroyed. I knew. The lab cameras, as always, had been conveniently offline during Francis's "visit." Francis sat at his desk, humming a cheerful tune, a picture of innocent distraction. But his eyes, when he thought I wasn't looking, held a flicker of cruel satisfaction.

"Francis," I said, my voice low and flat. "Did you throw away my compound?"

He blinked, wide-eyed, then burst into theatrical sobs. "Jenna! How could you accuse me? I would never!"

Howard burst in, his face contorted with rage. "What have you done to him, Jenna? Can't you see he's upset?"

"He ruined my compound, Howard," I explained, my voice tight. "The one I've been working on for months."

"Prove it," Howard demanded, his arms crossed, his gaze hard.

"I can't," I admitted, my shoulders slumping. "The cameras were off. But I know he did it."

Howard turned to Francis, who was still sobbing dramatically. "Did you, Francis?"

Francis shook his head, his voice muffled. "No, Howard. I swear."

"There, you see?" Howard said, turning back to me, his voice laced with finality. "He said no. That's enough for me."

My chest felt hollow. The unfinished work, the impending departure. It felt like a cruel joke, the way they were pushing me out the door that I was already leaving.

Howard followed me out, his eyes narrowed, a shadow of suspicion on his face. "You've been acting strangely lately, Jenna," he said, his voice low. "I'm warning you, don't take your frustrations out on Francis."

I stopped, turning to face him, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Why, Howard? Why do you always make excuses for him? What exactly are you protecting? The sheep, or the wolf in sheep's clothing?"

His eyes flashed with anger, but before he could respond, I stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut, leaving his stunned face behind me.