He Saved His Sister and Left Me to Die

The first delivery arrived at my hotel room at precisely 8 AM.

"Ms. Duncan?" The concierge's voice came through the phone. "There's a floral arrangement for you at the front desk."

I frowned, confused. "I didn't order any flowers."

"They're from Mr. Alexander," he explained. "He's arranged for them to be delivered to your suite."

My stomach twisted. "Send them back."

"Ma'am, there are seventeen arrangements. The entire lobby is filled with them."

I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temple. "Just... leave them there."

By noon, the hotel manager called again. "Ms. Duncan, Mr. Alexander has requested to purchase the restaurant for this evening. He's offering to compensate all guests who have reservations."

"This is ridiculous," I snapped. "Tell him I won't be there."

But Jack didn't give up. My phone rang every thirty minutes. Each time, I declined the call, but he left increasingly desperate voicemails.

"Rebecca, please," his voice cracked on the fifth message. "Just one dinner. Like we used to do at Canlis. Remember how you loved the salmon?"

I deleted the message without listening to the rest.

"He's losing it," Naya observed, watching me from the edge of the bed. "This isn't normal behavior."

"No," I agreed, my hand unconsciously moving to my chest. "It's not."

By the third day, Jack had escalated to sending hourly text messages with photos of places we'd visited together—the waterfront park where he'd first kissed me, the art gallery where we'd spent rainy Sunday afternoons, the mountain overlook where he'd proposed.

*We were happy once*, one message read. *We can be again.*

I blocked his number.

---

"Jack's been acting strange lately," Kennedy's voice drifted from her luxurious penthouse as she spoke on the phone. "Yes, more erratic than usual."

She paced across the marble floor, her silk robe flowing behind her. On the coffee table lay Jack's phone—which she'd "borrowed" earlier that morning.

"I'm telling you, Marcus, something's wrong. He's making huge withdrawals from the accounts."

She paused, listening to her caller. "No, not for business. Something personal."

Kennedy's perfectly manicured nails tapped against the phone as she opened Jack's messages. Her eyes narrowed as she scrolled through the exchanges.

"Rebecca Duncan," she whispered, the name like poison on her tongue.

She switched to Jack's call log, finding numerous calls to the same hotel. With practiced ease, she hacked into the hotel's reservation system.

"Ms. Rebecca Spencer," she read aloud. "Room 1724."

A slow, calculated smile spread across Kennedy's face. "Marcus, I think I know what's going on."

She ended the call and immediately began drafting a new plan. Seven years ago, she'd destroyed Rebecca Duncan's life with careful precision. She could do it again.

"Time to welcome you back properly," Kennedy murmured, typing furiously on her laptop.

---

"Naya, do you think this looks okay?" I held up a navy dress, studying it in the boutique's mirror.

"It's perfect," she assured me. "Quinn will love it."

The boutique was one of Seattle's most exclusive, with private fitting rooms and personalized service. Naya had insisted on this shopping trip—a way to distract me from Jack's obsessive behavior.

"Maybe I should try something more conservative," I suggested, eyeing another dress.

"Rebecca Duncan."

The voice froze me in place. Kennedy Alexander stood in the doorway, immaculate in a white designer suit, her blonde hair styled in perfect waves.

"Hello, Kennedy," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.

She stepped into the boutique, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Shopping for your new husband? How... quaint."

Naya moved protectively closer to me. "We don't want any trouble."

"Trouble?" Kennedy's laugh was brittle. "I'm just here to shop. Unless you're afraid of a little competition?"

Before I could respond, she turned to the boutique assistant. "I'll take that dress she's holding. And the one she was looking at earlier."

The assistant hesitated, glancing between us.

"My credit card has no limit," Kennedy added sweetly.

I set the dress down carefully. "We were just leaving."

"No!" Kennedy's voice rose dramatically. "Don't run away! Not when we have so much to discuss!"

Other shoppers turned to stare as Kennedy's voice carried through the boutique.

"Tell them, Rebecca," she demanded, pointing at the growing audience. "Tell them how you abandoned Jack when he needed you most."

My chest tightened, the familiar pressure building behind my artificial heart.

"Tell them how you left him broken and alone while you ran off to marry someone else!"

Naya grabbed my arm. "Rebecca, don't engage."

But Kennedy was already pulling out her phone, showing a photo of herself and Jack to anyone who would look.

"See? He chose me in the end. Always chooses me." Her smile was venomous. "Your little marriage? Just a pathetic attempt to replace what you threw away."

The boutique had fallen silent, all eyes on us.

"Your husband probably doesn't even know what you really are," Kennedy continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Does he know about your... condition?"

My fingers moved instinctively to my chest.