My Sister Pretended to be the Billionaire's Wife

Mary turned to me, lips curling into a smug smirk. Then, in a voice chillingly identical to Mrs. Jacobson’s, she spoke:

"I've been studying her every day—her posts, her photos, her routines. I know what she eats, how she smiles, even the way she breathes."

"From this moment on, I am the only Mrs. Jacobson in this world."

"You’ll always be beneath me—out of reach."

Her performance was eerie—flawless, even. And that only made the scene more grotesque.

My mother clapped her hands with delight, eyes shining with pride.

"Our Mary is amazing! She can mimic anyone! Even the voice—it's exactly like hers!"

My father nodded in agreement.

"That tone, that attitude—it’s spot on! Like Mrs. Jacobson herself is standing here!"

They were bursting with pride and ambition, completely intoxicated by their twisted fantasy.

But to me, they looked utterly insane.

Did they really believe this would work? That Wallace—a man known for his obsession with his wife—wouldn’t notice something was off? He knew her every expression, every inflection, every breath. My sister's cheap imitation wouldn't fool him for a second.

And yet, they continued rehearsing their grand deception.

Mary turned to them and instructed calmly, like a director briefing her actors:

"Later, call the bounty hotline. Say you found me unconscious on the roadside and brought me home out of kindness. When the time comes, I’ll thank you personally, and Wallace’s ten million will be in your hands."

My mother’s grin stretched ear to ear.

"Don’t worry, we’ll act our hearts out."

She turned to Mary with pride swelling in her voice.

"My brilliant daughter, one move and you’ve made us millionaires!"

Mary arrogantly lifted her chin.

"From now on, call me Mrs. Jacobson."

Without hesitation, my mother bowed slightly, as if greeting royalty.

"Yes, Mrs. Jacobson. Our future depends on you."

Even my father, usually reserved, was practically trembling with excitement. He wiped his hands on his pants before dialing the number on the reward poster. With a composed voice, he gave them our address, just as rehearsed.

When he hung up, the house burst into excitement. My parents began fantasizing about mansions, cars, and lavish dinners.

I watched them, my face cold.

They had no idea the hell they were summoning.

In the eyes of someone like Wallace, they were nothing but ants trying to impersonate a god. Once he uncovered the truth—and he would—their fates would be far worse than they imagined.

I had already died once because of them. I would not let them drag me down again.

While their backs were turned, I quietly packed my things. My only goal: get out before the storm broke.

Just as I reached for the door handle, my father stepped in front of me.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

I forced a steady voice.

"The hospital sent me on a business trip. I have a flight to catch."

Mary’s gaze locked onto me, cold and sharp. She sneered.

"Sister, you’re not thinking of betraying me, are you?"

Before I could answer, my mother lunged forward and gripped my arm, her nails digging into my skin.

"You ungrateful wretch!" she hissed. "If you dare say a word, I’ll kill you myself!"

She raised her hand to strike me.

But before it fell—a knock at the door.