Scars and Lies

Once, I had told Dillon not to push himself so hard to learn sign language. It was late at night and the warm glow of the lamp cast soft shadows across his face as he practiced, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"You don't need to do this," I had said, placing a hand over his. "I can adjust—I'm used to it."

But he only smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that softened the intensity of his expression. "All these years, you couldn't hear. You suffered so much pain and exclusion, yet you endured it all alone with no one to confide in. I don't want you to live like that. It hurts me. I want to be the first person who can truly communicate with you."

Those words had struck something deep within me, breaking the dam of emotions I had held back for years. Tears had streamed down my face as I realized he was the first person willing to make such an effort for me. Even Gabriel, whose life I had saved, had never bothered to learn sign language. My parents, for whom I was simply a shadow to Alyssa, hadn't even considered it.

But now, as I watched Dillon skillfully sign, I felt no warmth. Only a deep, stinging irony. His hands, which once brought me comfort, now mocked me with their fluid, graceful movements. He used the gentlest gestures to show his care for me, yet took advantage of my deafness to bare his heart to another woman—right in front of me, knowing I couldn't hear a thing.

He signed again, his face calm and attentive. "Honey, Alyssa's birthday banquet is about to begin. We should head out now. If we're late, people will start gossiping."

His eyes sparkled—not with love for me, but with anticipation, as if the thought of seeing Alyssa gave him renewed energy.

A dull ache spread through my chest, tightening with every second. I forced a small smile and pulled my hand back. "Then wait for me a moment. I'll go change my clothes," I said, keeping my voice steady, though my throat burned with suppressed tears.

I turned and hurried upstairs, each step heavier than the last. The moment I shut the bedroom door behind me, the composure I had clung to crumbled. My shoulders shook as tears spilled over, silent yet overwhelming.

When I finally managed to calm myself, I changed into a modest yet elegant gown and smoothed my hair. I didn't want to give Alyssa or anyone else another reason to look down on me. On my way downstairs, something caught my attention—a faint crack of light spilling from Dillon's study.

The door was slightly ajar, just enough to tempt me. In five years of marriage, I had never once entered his study. Dillon had made it clear that he wanted a private space and I had respected that boundary, believing it was his way of separating work from home life.

But today, something compelled me to push the door open.

The moment I stepped inside, my heart plummeted.

The walls were nearly covered in photos of Alyssa, an entire timeline of her life displayed with obsessive precision. From her childhood innocence to her poised adulthood, her every expression—smiling, crying, laughing—was captured and framed. The warmth that should have filled a study was replaced by the cold sterility of a shrine.

Not a single photo of me was there.

I stumbled forward, my legs shaky as I approached the desk. On its surface was a neatly arranged stack of love letters. My hands trembled as I picked up the topmost one. [To Alyssa, my 99th love letter.]

Every word on the page dripped with devotion, declarations of a love so deep it left no room for anyone else. Beside the letters lay a document—a transfer contract for Knight Holdings.

Knight Holdings was the crown jewel of the Knight family, a legacy Dillon had poured himself into preserving. Yet, here he was, ready to hand it over to Alyssa, casting aside generations of effort for her sake.

It struck me that while Dillon spent countless hours in this study, it wasn't work that consumed him. It was her. The realization left me hollow, as though my very being had been erased, my existence reduced to a pawn in his plans for another woman.

By the time we arrived at the Coles' manor, I felt like a shadow of myself. The grand estate glowed under the golden lights of the chandeliers, the air filled with soft music and polite laughter.

The birthday girl, Alyssa, stood at the center of attention, radiant in her custom-designed gown. The shimmering fabric hugged her figure perfectly and her makeup enhanced her already striking features. She looked like a princess, every inch the beloved daughter of the Coles.

My parents hovered around her, their faces glowing with pride and affection. Their hands brushed against hers often, as though they couldn't bear to lose her again. They had once treated me the same way, lavishing me with love and attention.

That was before. Before Alyssa had returned.

Ten years ago, when she was found after being missing for so long, I thought we could finally rebuild our family. But her first words to me shattered that hope.

"Sis, what did I do wrong? Why did you let them kidnap me?"