My Sister Stole My Husband And My Life

This was the third time Emmeline Larson had been kidnapped.

[D4718]

[Please Help]

Her palms went slick as she typed a desperate plea into her backup phone. The door of the abandoned house opened.

A middle-aged man with a pockmarked face crouched in front of her, his teeth yellowed from tobacco. “Don’t waste your energy.”

He snatched the phone tucked beside her and glanced at Henrik Dean’s reply.

[Emmeline, aren’t you done with this yet?]

He dangled it in front of her face with an ugly smile. “Looks like your hubby isn’t feeling very supportive, huh?”

Then the phone rang. The man put it on speaker. “I’ve got your wife.”

“How much is she paying you?”

The voice on the other end was lazy, almost amused. “I’ll pay you double to send her back.”

“No need. Let me have some fun with your wife, and then I’ll return her.”

The man’s face didn’t change, but his tone was joking as well.

After a beat, the voice on the other end turned icy. “Emmeline, you need to stop.”

The line went dead with a harsh click.

Fear climbed Emmeline’s spine like a vine.

The man drove a kick into her stomach. White-hot pain burst through her, and everything went dark.

This time, no one would come for her. Even the last person she cared about had finally stopped believing her.

---

By the time Emmeline got home, only the housekeeper, Brittany Arnold, was out raking leaves in the yard.

“Ma’am, wasn’t today Miss Quinn’s birthday party? Why are you back so early?” Brittany asked, noticing how pale Emmeline looked.

“I was a little tired, so I came home,” Emmeline said. She felt drained and wanted nothing more than to sleep.

Brittany watched her walk inside and caught a red stain spreading down her leg. Alarmed, she hurried after her. “Ma’am, it looks like your period started. Go change, and I’ll clean those for you.”

Brittany handed her a pad. Emmeline paused, looked down at herself, then gave in—showered, changed, and collapsed into bed.

Her stomach still throbbed, but exhaustion won, and she slipped into a restless sleep.

Through the haze of a dream, she thought she felt a large hand rest on her forehead, then pull away.

When she woke, it was evening, and the house was silent.

Still lying in bed, she checked her phone. More than a dozen unread messages—none from Henrik.

She opened one from her friend Arielle Arnold. It was a video.

At the elegant birthday party, Henrik looked sharp in a tailored suit, all quiet authority. Quinn Larson wore a pink princess dress, her skirt swirling, looking innocent and sweet.

Henrik’s hand rested lightly at Quinn’s slim waist. They looked like a couple from a storybook, moving in perfect harmony through the opening dance, surrounded by the guests.

[Emmeline, good thing you skipped it. Your parents pulled quite a stunt—having Henrik dance the opening dance with Quinn when there were so many other men there.]

[But why aren’t you answering today? Did something happen?]

She called Arielle.

“Arielle, I was kidnapped.”

“What?” Arielle’s voice went stunned, then dropped to a whisper. “Kidnapped again? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine now,” Emmeline said, her voice thin.

“But how did you get away? I didn’t see Henrik leave, and your parents acted totally normal. I figured you were avoiding Quinn.”

“I didn’t escape. The guy took my valuables and left… and he roughed me up.”

“God. Did you call Henrik?”

“I did. He didn’t come.” Emmeline let out a bitter laugh.

Arielle paused, disbelief sharp in her tone. “Seriously… what’s the point?”

Good question. What was the point?

A couple of slaps that had already faded from her face.

He had kicked her lower abdomen several times. Only after she got home had she discovered the vaginal bleeding, yet the skin over her abdomen showed no visible injuries.

He’d taken her phone, her wedding ring, and over eight hundred dollars in cash from her bag.

But kidnapping wasn’t some petty crime. Why risk it for such a small payoff?

Even she thought it was absurd.

Who would believe her?

“She’s far too cunning,” Arielle gasped. “If Quinn isn’t behind this, I’ll be shocked.”

“Unfortunately, you’re the only one who thinks so,” Emmeline sighed.

The first kidnapping happened when she was a six-month-old baby.

Three months after she married Henrik, her family dredged up the past and introduced a girl her own age. “Emmeline, we brought home the wrong baby back then. Quinn is our biological daughter.”

The second happened at Quinn’s welcome party. Emmeline had not been hurt at all. Henrik paid just ten thousand dollars in ransom, and the kidnappers returned her unharmed, but the incident ruined the party formally announcing Quinn as the family’s daughter.

The third was today—Quinn’s birthday.

All three kidnappings were connected to Quinn. Leaving aside the first, the second and third had both fallen on important days for her: the first time the Larsons publicly acknowledged her as their daughter, and her first birthday party with the family.

She’d been kidnapped twice on important occasions and somehow always came out of it looking unscathed to everyone else.

If the first was a coincidence, the repetition made it look like Emmeline was staging them out of jealousy.

After hanging up, Emmeline went to the bathroom and noticed more blood on the pad.

She checked the date. Her period was almost ten days late. Could this ordeal really have brought it on?

Uneasy, she booked a checkup on her phone for the next day and lay back down.

After resting, her stomach felt a little better, but a dull ache remained.

She closed her eyes, lashes wet with unshed tears.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before the bedroom door opened.

Henrik walked in, the faint smell of alcohol trailing him. He sat beside her and pinched her cheek gently. “Weren’t you kidnapped? Huh?”

Emmeline opened her eyes and swatted his hand away. “Yeah. Sorry I survived to disappoint you.”

Her voice was sharp, her eyes bright with threatening tears.

Henrik hesitated, then leaned in to kiss her forehead. “All right, Brittany said you’re on your period. I understand why you acted that way today. Don’t be angry anymore, okay?”

“You understand my ass.”

She pushed him away and buried her head under the covers.

Henrik sighed and left the room.

In the kitchen, Henrik poured brown sugar into boiling water, then cracked an egg into it.

“What time did Mrs. Dean get home today?”

Brittany thought for a moment. “Around three this afternoon? You came back less than twenty minutes later. After you left, ma’am stayed in her room the whole time.”

“Did anything seem off with her?”

“She looked pale and didn’t realize her period had started, but nothing else seemed unusual.”

Just as the egg in brown sugar water was ready, his assistant Myles Cole called.

“Mr. Dean, the license plate Emmeline reported—D4718—doesn’t come back to anyone. You even had me track her phone as soon as you received her message. I went to the abandoned house at that location, but there was no one there.”