My Sister Stole My Millions and Said the Billionaire Loved Her

A flicker of hesitation crossed my parents' faces.

Ethel scoffed. "Oh, please. Stop deluding yourself. You worked right under Logan's nose for how long? If he were actually interested in you, something would've happened ages ago. But with me? One meeting, and the sparks were flying."

That little speech was all it took. The hesitation vanished, replaced by contempt as they turned their glares on me.

"You've always been scheming," my father spat. "Always had to one-up your sister. You knew she struggled in school, and you deliberately took first place every single time just to rub it in. You knew she didn't make much money, that all she could bring home for the holidays was a bag of bananas, and you had to show her up with a gold bracelet!"

"Now you're trying to lie your way into stealing your sister's spotlight. No wonder you ended up crippled. You got exactly what you deserved!"

I froze.

Ethel was only a year younger than me. I'd felt my parents' favoritism since childhood. That was precisely why I'd pushed myself so hard to be better, to be good to them, desperately hoping to earn even a scrap of their love.

I never imagined this was how they saw it. Years of longing for their affection, years of trying, and all I got in return was you deserved it.

An iron fist clenched around my heart, twisting without mercy. The words tore out of me before I could stop them. "If Ethel is all you need, then let's cut ties. For good."

My parents stared for a moment, then let out dismissive laughs.

"A cripple making threats now? Fine. Cut ties. Just don't come crawling back to us in tears."

"That's right. We'll be living the good life with Ethel. Don't you dare come sniffing around for handouts!"

But Ethel was studying me, something calculating behind her eyes. A slow, chilling smile crept across her lips. "If we're cutting ties, let's make it permanent. I don't want this cripple clinging to me like a stray dog begging for scraps after I marry Logan and become Mrs. Stephens."

She raised her hand and drew a finger across her throat.

My parents went rigid. "No!" they said, almost in unison.

I blinked, and despite everything, something complicated stirred in my chest. Even with all their favoritism, when it came down to life and death, they still cared about me...

"Murder carries a death sentence!"

"If Abigail dies, so be it, but killing her would land us in prison too!"

The faint warmth that had kindled inside me went cold in an instant.

They weren't worried about me. They were worried about themselves.

Ethel waved it off. "What does it have to do with us? She's a cripple. Nobody would think twice if she killed herself out of despair, right?"

"Back when I was hiding from debt collectors, I saw people off themselves all the time when they hit rock bottom. Nobody ever investigated. Relax."

Sympathy flooded my parents' eyes, but not for me. "Oh, Ethel, you've had it so rough. But better days are ahead now."

The tenderness in their gazes, set against the coldness they'd shown me moments ago, was a stark contrast.

It was like a blade, severing the last thread of hope I'd been clinging to.

"Why?"

The word ripped out of me, raw and shattered.

"All these years, you've only ever cared about Ethel. And now you want me dead. How can you be this heartless? What did I ever do wrong?"

My breakdown only made them recoil in disgust.

My father barked, "What kind of attitude is that? All these years, even a dog would know to wag its tail and show some gratitude. You're nothing but a cripple now. What right do you have to bark at us?"

My mother wavered slightly. "Abigail may have her faults, but she's still your sister. Do we really have to go that far?"

Ethel's expression twisted with venom. "Yes, we do! Our whole lives, she's lorded it over me. Everything she did was better, everything she had was more. Before, she was at least useful as my personal ATM, so I put up with it. But I'm about to rise to the top, and she's nothing but dead weight now. If I don't settle this score while I can, what, am I supposed to let her stick around and dirty my shoes?"