He Lost Me When He Chose His Stepsister

My head throbbed. My limbs ached. The air stank of gasoline and mildew, and the floor beneath me was rough concrete. When they finally pulled the hood off my head, the sudden brightness stung my eyes.

Beside me, Bianca screamed.

Her voice pierced the air like a siren, high-pitched and panicked. “Where are we?! What do you want from us?!”

We were in some kind of abandoned warehouse—rusted beams, flickering lights overhead, empty crates and coiled wires scattered around. The space was vast but suffocating.

“Shut up!” I snapped at her, my throat dry and voice cracking. “You’re not helping!”

Bianca turned to me, disheveled and wide-eyed. “Thalia, I don’t understand—why are we here? What’s going on?”

I stared at her. “You’re seriously asking that? You’re Troy’s precious little sister—or should I say, wife? You’re always beside him, whispering into his ear. How can you not know anything?”

Her lips parted, shocked. “I don’t know—I swear. I didn’t do anything!”

“Of course you didn’t,” I scoffed bitterly. “You just played your perfect little role while I got shoved into hell.”

Before she could respond, a steel door banged open and two men entered. Tall, masked, with weapons at their sides. One of them sneered, clearly enjoying the fear in our eyes.

“You two need to keep it down. Not that it’ll matter soon,” he muttered.

“What do you want from us?” I demanded, trying to steady my voice even though my legs were trembling.

“This isn’t about you,” the other man said. “This is payment. Someone has to bleed for what Troy did.”

Bianca whimpered beside me. “Please… please, just let us go. We didn’t do anything!”

They ignored her. One of them pulled something from his belt—thin, metallic straps and a rectangular device blinking red.

“What is that?” I whispered, my gut sinking.

They forced us to our knees and began strapping the devices around our waists. When the cold metal locked around me, I knew.

It was a bomb.

“No,” I gasped, trying to jerk away. “No! You can’t do this!”

“Stay still,” one of them barked, gripping my shoulders. “You move, you blow.”

Bianca screamed again. “No, no, no!”

“Cry all you want,” the other said. “After we get the money, you both go boom. Simple.”

They left us in the center of the room, the bombs blinking ominously, the air heavy with doom.

Bianca crawled toward me, sobbing. “What do we do? We’re going to die!”

I clenched my fists. “We’re not dying. Someone’s going to come. He has to.”

But even saying that felt like a lie. I couldn’t count on him anymore.

Minutes dragged into what felt like hours. We tried screaming, yelling, kicking the walls, but no one came.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

Troy.

My heart leapt at the sight of him—sweat on his brow, panic in his eyes. He rushed in, scanning the room.

“Troy!” Bianca shrieked. “Troy, help me!”

He ran to her instantly.

I waited. My mouth opened, but no words came. I watched frozen, as he knelt beside Bianca, his hands trembling as he unlatched the bomb from her waist.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I’m sorry. They will not hurt you anymore. I took care of it already.”

And then… nothing. No glance in my direction. No rush to help me.

“Troy,” I croaked, finding my voice. “I’m still—”

But he didn’t look back.

He scooped Bianca into his arms. “Hang on, baby. We’re getting out.”

I was still tied to a bomb. Still shaking. Still pleading.

“Help me! Please!” My voice cracked. “Troy!”

He paused.

He turned his head halfway.

Our eyes met for a split second.

Then he turned away and ran with Bianca in his arms.

The door slammed shut.

My vision blurred. Was it tears? Smoke? I couldn’t tell. The blinking of the bomb was the only thing keeping me grounded.

This was it.

This was the moment I realized—I truly meant nothing to him.

I couldn’t scream anymore. My lungs were raw. I slid to the floor, tears falling silently, and braced for the end.

Seconds passed. Then—an explosion outside. The walls rattled. Gunshots echoed. Chaos.

The door burst open again.

A different man—masked, dressed in black, someone I didn’t recognize—rushed in.

“Hold still!” he shouted.

He knelt beside me and worked fast, unstrapping the bomb, hands steady but hurried. My breath hitched as the blinking stopped.

“You’re safe now,” he muttered. “Stay awake.”

I nodded weakly.

And then, everything faded.