The Discarded Fiancée Makes Her Comeback

Aubree walked up the long, crushed-gravel driveway of the Hopkins Manor.

The massive Tudor-style mansion loomed against the setting sun like a gloomy, oppressive fortress. The head butler stood at the top of the marble steps. He saw Aubree walking on foot. His upper lip curled in a visible sneer.

He didn't signal any of the staff to help her with her dusty canvas bag.

Aubree ignored him. She climbed the heavy marble stairs and pushed open the front doors.

The grand foyer was blindingly bright, lit by a massive crystal chandelier. Kennedy stood in the center of the room. She wore a pristine, white haute couture dress. She was arranging white lilies in a crystal vase.

Kennedy heard the footsteps. She turned around. Her face instantly stretched into a wide, flawless smile.

"Aubree! You're home!" Kennedy shrieked. Her voice was dripping with artificial sweetness, loud enough to echo into the hallways where the maids were listening.

Kennedy dropped her shears. She ran forward, throwing her arms wide open to pull Aubree into a tight embrace.

Aubree stopped walking. She shifted her weight and stepped smoothly to the right.

Kennedy stumbled forward, her arms wrapping around empty air. She caught her balance, her smile freezing. A flash of pure, venomous hatred sparked in her eyes.

Kennedy instantly recovered. Her hand moved up, her fingertips lightly touching her own collarbone-her tell when she was playing the victim.

"Oh, look at you," Kennedy said, her voice dropping into a tone of deep pity. She looked at Aubree's worn jacket. "Carl was supposed to bring you to the door. Why did he make you walk? That is so unacceptable."

The maids dusting the banisters stopped moving. They stared at Aubree, waiting for the wild, violent reaction they had all been warned about.

Kennedy took a step closer. She reached out to grab Aubree's hand.

Aubree looked down at Kennedy's perfectly manicured fingers.

"Your green tea perfume is giving me a migraine," Aubree said. Her voice was low, meant only for Kennedy. "Back up."

Kennedy's face turned bright crimson. The flawless mask cracked. She bit her lower lip, and tears instantly welled up in her eyes.

The butler stepped forward, his chest puffed out. He glared at Aubree. "Miss Aubree, there is no need for such hostility. Miss Kennedy has been nothing but gracious."

Aubree completely ignored the butler. She didn't even look at him.

She adjusted the strap of her canvas bag and walked past them. Her heavy boots thudded against the polished hardwood floors.

"I had the best guest room prepared for you!" Kennedy called out behind her, her voice trembling with fake sorrow.

Aubree didn't break her stride. She walked down the dark, narrow hallway to the back of the house. She pushed open the door to the small, neglected bedroom she used to occupy.

The air inside was stale. A thick layer of dust coated the bare mattress. The staff hadn't touched this room in years.

Aubree tossed her bag onto the springs. She turned around and locked the heavy wooden door until it clicked. From downstairs, she could faintly hear Kennedy's saccharine voice complaining to the maids about how her sister's personality was still so peculiar.