Stranded For His Fake Sister

Colton's POV:

The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, felt like a cruel spotlight on the empty stretch of highway. I drove back, my chest tight, a knot of dread growing with every mile. Kattie wasn't answering her phone. I' d called her five times since I dropped Krystle off at the gala. No answer. Just a voicemail.

I told myself she was just mad. That she needed space. That she, being "so understanding," would eventually come around. But the frantic calls and the silence on the other end chipped away at my flimsy reassurances.

I pulled over at the exact spot where I' d left her. The gravel crunched under my tires. The air was still and hot, the silence oppressive.

She wasn't there.

My heart leaped into my throat. A cold, heavy stone dropped into my stomach. My eyes scanned the desolate landscape. Nothing. Just the endless road and the shimmering heat.

Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at my throat. Where was she?

I jumped out of the car, calling her name. "Kattie! Kattie, are you there?"

My voice was swallowed by the vast emptiness. No reply.

I walked the roadside, frantic, searching for any sign. A discarded water bottle. A footprint. Anything. But there was nothing. The earth, hard and unforgiving, held no trace of her.

A small, crumpled piece of paper caught my eye, pinned under a loose rock near where I'd parked. I picked it up, my fingers fumbling.

It was a page torn from one of Kattie's sketchbooks. Her precise, elegant handwriting spelled out a single sentence.

You made your choice, Colton. And so have I.

My blood ran cold. The paper shook in my hand. This wasn't just Kattie being mad. This was Kattie being gone.

The drive back to the city was a blur. My mind raced, replaying every moment, every word. The guilt, thick and suffocating, pressed in on me. I' d dismissed her, left her, abandoned her. And for what? For Krystle's petty drama.

When I finally reached our penthouse, the door was unlocked. A chill ran down my spine. The silence inside was deafening, heavier than usual.

"Kattie?" I called out, my voice hoarse. No answer.

I walked into the living room. The large, empty suitcase was gone. Her art supplies, usually scattered across her desk, were nowhere in sight. Her side of the closet was bare. The framed photos of us, once proudly displayed, were turned face down.

My eyes fell on the floor next to the closet. A pile of shredded white fabric lay there, scattered with delicate beads. My breath caught in my throat.

Her wedding dress. Slashed to ribbons.

My stomach dropped. This wasn't Kattie's style. Kattie was quiet. Kattie was understanding. Kattie would never do this.

Then a sudden, chilling memory surfaced. Krystle, when we'd left for the gala, had paused by the open closet door, her eyes lingering on the dress. There was a strange, almost malicious glint in her eyes. I dismissed it at the time as my own paranoia. But now...

The image of Krystle' s triumphant smirk on the highway flashed before my eyes. Her fake tears. Her manipulative whispers. Her "my hero" caption.

A wave of nausea washed over me. It wasn't Kattie. It was Krystle. She had done this.

And I, like a blind fool, had enabled her. I had driven away, leaving Kattie to the mercy of Krystle's vindictive nature.

This was more than just a fight. This was an ending.

I sank onto the couch, the shredded dress still a horrifying tableau on the floor. My phone, which had been buzzing incessantly from my parents and Krystle, was ignored.

I ran a hand through my hair, grappling with the brutal reality. Kattie was gone. And I was the one who drove her away.

The memories came rushing back, a flood of repressed guilt and missed signals.

Kattie as a child, when she was first returned to the Knowles family after being kidnapped. Ten years old, a quiet, watchful girl with deep, sad eyes. She was a ghost in her own home, overshadowed by Krystle, who had effortlessly slid into the role of the cherished "princess."

"She' s so quiet," Flonnie, Kattie's mother, would lament to Kenneth, her father. "So… rough around the edges. Not like our sweet Krystle."

Krystle, who was always perfectly coiffed, perfectly polite, perfectly manipulative. She' d smile sweetly at Kattie, then, when no one was looking, pinch her arm hard enough to leave a bruise.

"You took my place," Krystle had whispered, her voice like venom, when Kattie first arrived. "They don't want you. They want me."

Kattie, who always tried to earn their love. She' d bring home perfect grades, help with chores, never complain. But it was never enough. Krystle would accidentally-on-purpose "break" Kattie's drawings, then burst into tears, claiming Kattie pushed her. And Kattie, always the understanding one, always the "rough outsider," would be blamed.

"Kattie, why would you do that to your sister?" Flonnie's disappointed voice. Kenneth's cold, judgmental stare. Kamren, Kattie's younger brother, instantly siding with Krystle, who he adored.

Krystle was a master. A master of deception, a master of playing the victim. And I, Colton, had fallen for it every single time. Just like everyone else.

I had watched endless versions of this play out over the years. Krystle, the delicate flower, constantly in need of protection. Kattie, the resilient weed, always expected to bounce back.

My mind went back to the highway. Krystle's "broken down" car. Her white dress, pristine and intentionally upstaging. Her tears. Lily's sad eyes. My own instant, unthinking reaction to "fix" it for Krystle.

And Kattie. Standing there, accepting it. Her face calm, almost serene. Her eyes, however, had held a flicker of something I hadn't recognized then. Something beyond anger. Something broken.

She hadn't fought back. She hadn't even argued. She had just… accepted her fate. Accepted my betrayal.

And then she had simply vanished.

The shredded wedding dress was definitive. It was a declaration. Not just of an end to our engagement, but an end to everything. A burning of bridges.

The weight of my mistake crashed down on me, heavy and suffocating. I had been so blind, so stupid. I had taken Kattie's kindness for weakness, her patience for indifference. I had weaponized her understanding against her.

And now, she was gone. Truly gone. Not just from the penthouse, but from my life. From the Knowles family.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. I had lost her. And it was entirely my fault.

I had to find her. I had to make this right. But how? She had blocked me. She had disappeared.

My gaze fell back on the ruined wedding dress. A cold, hard certainty formed in my mind. Krystle had done this. And Krystle was still here. Still in their lives. Still in my family's lives.

I stood up, a surge of adrenaline pushing through my grief. I had to confront her. I had to expose her.

But first, I needed to find Kattie. Before it was too late.