He Lost Me When He Chose His Stepsister

When I opened my eyes, everything hurt.

The ceiling above me was too white. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly overhead, pulsing against the pounding in my skull. I tried to move, but even turning my head sent a sharp wave of pain slicing through my scalp.

“Easy there,” a voice said.

A nurse hovered beside me, her voice gentle but concerned. “You were brought in by a good Samaritan. Passed out in a pool of blood at a boutique. Head trauma. You lost a lot of blood—got hundreds of stitches.”

My hand instinctively moved to my head. It was bandaged. Aching. Throbbing.

I blinked slowly. “Who brought me here?”

“We’re not sure. They didn’t leave a name. Just dropped you off and disappeared.”

“So… no family?”

The nurse hesitated.

“We called your emergency contact. Your husband, Troy Green. Also listed your in-laws. But…” she gave me an awkward smile, “no one’s come. You’ve been here for nearly twelve hours.”

I stared at her, waiting for the punchline.

Nothing.

“Twelve hours?” My voice cracked.

She nodded and handed me my things. “Phone’s in there. Maybe try calling him?”

I clutched the phone with trembling hands. My screen lit up—no missed calls. No messages.

I dialed Troy’s number. Straight to voicemail.

Again. And again.

The fourth time, I stopped.

Instead, I opened Instagram.

The moment the app launched, a notification popped up.

BiancaGreen_ went LIVE.

I tapped it.

My breath stopped.

Troy was right there. In the video. They were in Milan. He held shopping bags in both hands, trailing behind Bianca while she giggled at the camera.

“My brother’s been spoiling me rotten,” she said to her viewers, blowing a kiss toward the screen. “Best brother in the world.”

I watched as he handed her a drink, then smiled faintly when she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

I couldn’t breathe. I was bleeding out in a hospital room, alone.

And they were shopping.

Together. A scream clawed its way up my throat before I could stop it. I hurled the phone across the room. It bounced off the wall and hit the floor with a crack.

The nurse rushed in. “Miss Thalia, are you alright?”

I wasn’t.

But I’d never been.

“I want to report an assault,” I told her. “Now. Call the police.”

A few minutes later, a young officer walked in, clipboard in hand. He looked bored.

“Miss Thalia Green?”

“Yes.”

“You’re reporting an assault by… Miss Bianca Green?”

“Yes.”

He looked at me. Something in his eyes shifted.

Then he sighed.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve been instructed not to move forward with any charges filed by you against Miss Bianca Green.”

“What?” I stared at him. “She attacked me. I have stitches. Hospital records. Witnesses!”

He didn’t flinch. “We were told you may be suffering from mental instability. That you have a history of emotional outbursts and exaggerated claims. It was recommended we advise you to speak directly with your husband.”

The air left my lungs.

Troy.

Of course. He owned this city. The police. The hospitals. The narrative.

I had no one. No voice. No power. I was drowning in a sea Troy controlled with a flick of his finger.

I lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling. Hours passed. The day blurred into night.

And then I heard the door click open.

He didn’t knock. He just walked in, still in that same custom-tailored suit, hair perfectly styled, face unreadable.

I sat up.

“Troy—”

“Apologize to Bianca.”

No hello. No concern.

My jaw clenched. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I stared at him. “I was in the hospital. I had stitches. She attacked me.”

“You tried to file an assault case against her,” he snapped. “Do you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

“She hit me with a shoe! She split my head open over a dress and called me a gold digger!”

“She’s my sister,” he said coldly. “She was just trying to protect me. You went on a shopping spree like you were emptying my account. What did you expect?”

“That was the first time I used your card. Ever. I’m your wife.”

“She is my stepsister.”

I blinked. “What?”

I felt something inside me crack.

“You’re choosing her over me,” I said. “Your wife.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes.”

The word dropped like a blade.

I sucked in a sharp breath, but it felt like my lungs refused to expand.

“That’s unfair! I almost died!”

“Yet, you didn’t. You know her. It’s just her temper, okay? And she didn’t mean it. I grounded her for a day, and took her card. That’s done.”

“No, that’s not done—”

He shook his head like I was the one being unreasonable.

“I’m not having this conversation again. You’re going to apologize to her. End of story.”

He turned to leave.

“Take a rest,” he added without looking back. “I still need to take care of my sister. She was traumatized seeing you like that, you were covered in blood.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

I sat there in silence. Blood still crusted around my scalp. A dull ache bloomed in my skull.

And the only person who should’ve held me… left me again.

For his stepsister.