My Sister Stole My Husband And My Life

By the time they left the police station, Arielle Arnold had finally gotten the full story from the officers. Without a second thought, she snatched the office phone off the desk and hurled it at the nurse who had belittled Emmeline.

That led to more apologies—and restitution.

On the drive, Arielle wanted to say something to Emmeline but had no idea where to begin. The whole situation was a mess. She knew how badly Emmeline had wanted that baby, which made comforting her now almost impossible. She wanted to scream at Henrik Dean, Quinn Larson, the kidnapper—hell, even that nurse. But she was afraid her words would only cut Emmeline deeper.

Finally, Emmeline broke the silence.

"Arielle, please keep this whole thing under wraps for me."

"What? You're not going to tell Henrik? You're not even going to rip him a new one?" Arielle's disbelief was plain. "He wasn't there for your procedure. He let you get bullied. That's unforgivable!"

"Exactly. So what's the point?" Emmeline's voice was heavy with fatigue.

Emmeline leaned back in the passenger seat. Her eyes drifted to the window—or maybe to her own pale reflection in the glass. Her mind wandered back, inevitably, to that call from the operating room and Quinn's teasing voice.

"Henrik... be gentle..."

Oddly, now, all she felt was numb. Confronting them felt pointless.

The reflection staring back at her was weary—eyes that had once sparkled now clouded and dull.

She and Henrik Dean had been childhood sweethearts. They'd been in love for ten years before going through with their families' arranged marriage right after college. Then, just three months in, the Larsons introduced Quinn. From that day on, her marriage, her family—everything—began to unravel.

It wasn't the first time she'd been forced to face that kind of disappointment. She'd dreamed their love would carry her from school uniforms to a wedding gown and make her the happiest wife alive. But in just three short years, she'd become a shadow of herself—unrecognizable and defeated.

Maybe it had been doomed from the start.

Arielle dropped her off at the front door and glanced toward the yard. "You sure you want to go back in? Want me to stay a while?"

"I'm fine," Emmeline said, shaking her head as she stepped out. "Drive safe."

There were things she chose not to share, and Arielle didn't push. That was the silent understanding that came from years of friendship.

"Call me if you need anything," Arielle sighed, then drove off.

Emmeline walked into the house as if everything were normal. Brittany Arnold greeted her warmly. "Welcome home, ma'am! What would you like for dinner?"

"I already ate."

Her steps heavy, Emmeline climbed the stairs and sank onto the bed. Her stomach still ached on and off. She closed her eyes, hoping sleep would dull the pain.

Sometime later, the bedroom door creaked open.

Henrik leaned over her, studying her tense face with a chuckle in his voice. "Pretending to be asleep, are we?"

Emmeline opened her eyes and caught Quinn's perfume clinging to him. She subtly shifted away, as if dodging something foul.

Henrik didn't notice. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently touched her forehead. "Did you spend all day at home? Why'd you call me this afternoon? I was busy and didn't hear it."

"Wishing for your demise," Emmeline said, deadpan.

"And what would you do if I were gone?" Henrik laughed and ruffled her hair.

She pulled away on instinct, her answer sharp. "I'd throw a huge party. With fireworks."

His smile faded. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket.

"Didn't you say you wanted to visit the seaside again? I bought you a villa in the Maldives. You can escape the cold and vacation there in the winter."

Emmeline pressed her lips together and stared at the keys, her mind drifting far away. The Maldives had been their honeymoon spot. Even though their return from the honeymoon marked the day Quinn was brought home and the beginning of her life's downward spiral, she had loved the scenery and climate so much that she used to pester Henrik to visit again every year.

But the second year, after they'd booked tickets, Quinn texted that she'd run into trouble with some thugs, and Ila Taylor called Henrik back from the airport.

This year, even after they arrived in the Maldives, Quinn offended some powerful executive at a party, and Ila summoned Henrik back to smooth things over.

Once, the Maldives held her fondest memories with the person she loved most. But losing that love made it no different from a man-made beach at some resort—maybe even more repulsive.

"Henrik Dean."

"…"

She sat up, her voice steady and resolute. "Let's get a divorce."

Henrik stopped twirling the keys. His hand moved to her cheek. "Why don't you just ask for my life?"

Emmeline didn't have the energy to argue. "I mean it. Please think it over. I'd like this resolved within a month."

If they couldn't settle it amicably, she'd take it to court. She couldn't pretend in this marriage anymore.

Only a small bedside lamp lit the room as Emmeline lay back down, leaving Henrik nothing but a narrow, solitary silhouette.

Henrik stood there for a while, his gaze fixed on the strands of hair scattered across the pillow. His expression darkened, and he sank deep into thought.

Finally, he went to the bathroom and washed up like nothing had happened. Then he returned to bed and wrapped her in his arms as if nothing had changed. His heavy breath washed over her neck, an almost suffocating intimacy.

Divorce... How could Emmeline really divorce him?

He'd taken care of her for years. Without him, she couldn’t even manage to pour herself a glass of water properly.

They had been tangled up in each other's lives for as long as they could remember, like two trees grown together—one couldn't survive if the other were cut down.

Since Quinn showed up, Emmeline had lost her sense of security. She was using tactics like this to get more of his love and attention.

He understood that. But he would never let go. He could soothe her with attention, time, and affection.

His breath was heavy against her neck, an annoying tickle.

She pushed at him with her arm, but he took advantage, pinning her arms beneath the pillow and kissing her face, neck, and chest—expertly, gently.

In the dim light, Emmeline's eyes flew open in anger. When she couldn't shake him off, she bit his shoulder. Hard.

He groaned and nipped her earlobe in retaliation.

"Emmeline, be gentle."

Be gentle, Emmeline.

Henrik, be gentle.

She didn't let go. She bit down harder until she tasted the warm, metallic tang of his blood.

Instinctively, she let go and looked at his face in the darkness.

His eyes held their usual warm patience. He smiled through the pain and whispered, "Are you calm now? You can have my left shoulder, too."

Exasperated, Emmeline kneed him in the stomach. He curled up in pain while she commandeered the entire blanket, ignoring his muffled groans.

But shamelessly, once he recovered, he wrapped her—blanket and all—in his arms.

"Now we're even. Let's not stay mad, okay?"