Chapter One

Marguerite

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” I heard an umistakable groan just as I stepped into my boyfriend’s house, and I froze in my tracks. My legs felt like lead, and I was about to hyperventilate. I took robotic steps, swallowing hard and fighting the tears which were about to spill down my cheeks. It wasn’t possible. My boyfriend would never cheat on me on Christmas Eve.

I turned the doorknob and walked into the dimly lit bedroom knowing fully well that I was fooling myself. I know that voice. My heart thudded in my chest, and I hoped I was mistaken. An icy cold wrapped around my heart.

“Jacob!” I gasped as I made out the figures on the bed, the girl bent in a position I assumed to be uncomfortable, and my boyfriend of four years behind her, thrusting with an intensity he never exhibited with me. They didn’t hear me at first, above the slaps of flesh and moans of pleasure. I stood in place, watching my boyfriend fuck my sister. My stepsister. My voice cracked as I raised my voice this time. “Jacob! What are you doing?” I growled out, drawing their attention to me.

I waited for remorse to wash over him, for him to come over and apologize to me. None of that happened.

“And if it isn’t your ugly little girlfriend,” Clara sneered as she coyly adjusted herself, and Jacob pulled away from her. They didn’t even bother to cover their nude bodies, and I spotted semen running down her legs, as she winked at me. It’d be gross if I wasn’t in so much pain. If my heart wasn’t feeling like it had been shattered into a million pieces. I clutched at the nearby wall, my knees threatening to give way.

“You’re so beautiful, Marguerite. We are going to be together forever.” He’d said.

All. Lies.

“You’re having sex with my sister?” I whispered in a voice that barely qualified as a whisper, my pain radiating through. The last time I felt so much pain was the day my mother died. The day I saw her—Clara’s mother—unplug life support that gave my mother life. The day I watched my father let her kill his own wife. I screamed so much that my father and his new wife called me a lunatic and locked me up for seven days.

“Stepsister,” Clara corrected, pushing off the bed, and advancing towards me in a taunting manner. I tried to move back, to avoid her. “And I hate it that I am associated with an ugly girl like you.” She spat, and I simply stared. I was used to being bullied. What I wasn’t used to, was watching the man I love laugh at her words. Like he was currently doing. He pulled on some shorts.

“You’re so delusional. Have you seen yourself in a mirror?” Jacob scoffed. He sounded drunk. I spotted bottles of alcohol lying in the corner. He was drunk. “Who’d ever want to be with you? You’re my girlfriend, but you aren’t pretty enough. I want to puke whenever I look at you. Did you think I would ever have sex with you, let alone marry you?” He mocked, and my heart clenched painfully. My chest heaved, and I swayed on my feet slowly.

He actually called me ugly! To my face too. Last night, he held me so affectionately and called my freckles sexy!

I held my chest, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“But I’m your girlfriend, Jacob. You promised–” my voice broke. I grabbed at my chest again, as if doing so would numb the pain in my heart. “You said you loved me. You kissed me under that maple tree. Jacob, you–”

“Stop it!” He growled, his voice laced with irritation and disgust. I was startled by how much venom filled his voice, at how he was looking at me like I wasn’t fit to clean his shoes. Beside him, Clara sneered, and wrinkled her pretty nose.

“Send her away, baby,” she said, moving close to him and wrapping her slender hands round his arm. “She disgusts me.” The action made a bitter taste rise up my throat. I was the one who should be doing that. He leaned in and placed a brief kiss on her lips.

“Soon, darling. First of all, I need to put her where she belongs.” He promised, and turned back to me.

“Leave, Marguerite.” He ordered.

“Jacob, you–” I hiccuped, and grabbed a fistful of my dress. “You actually had sex with her, on the bedsheets I saved up some money to buy as a gift for you? And now, you’re telling me—your girlfriend—to leave?” I choked out, feeling so hurt. I wanted something else to distract me from the pain.

I thought I saw a brief look of embarrassment cross his face, and hope lit up in my heart. He regretted it. He was going to apologize.

“I–”

“Don’t be fooled by her words, Jacob. I’m the one my mother favors. Our father is no longer with us, so she has no birthright. My mother is just putting up with her,” she said. She was lying. I had been the one taking care of my stepmother; a coping mechanism which I adapted until I was strong enough to end her life, to avenge my mother’s death.

The door opened and someone came in.

“Jacob, I got the condoms,” a familiar voice said, and blood rushed to my head. No way. I turned around slowly.

“Beckie?” I called out in disbelief. She paled.

“You said she wasn’t coming,” my best friend accused, fixing my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend a glare. I sucked in a breath.

“So, this was supposed to be a threesome?” I whispered. I would never have imagined that my best friend would also betray me in such a manner!

“Supposed?” My stepsister laughed. “Oh, girl. We just ran out of condoms and Beckie went to get some. He already fucked her real good.” Clara taunted. The world seemed to sway.

“Have fun, Jacob.” I said, and turned to leave without sparing them another glance.

“Merry Christmas in advance!” Clara called out from behind me.

“Marguerite–.” Jacob began saying. I turned, my expression icy.

Something in me snapped. “I’m going to make you pay for this, Jacob. For using me. And you’re going to beg me on your knees. You’re going to pay a thousandfold. I swear on my soul.” I promised.

“There’s nothing you can do, bitch!” Clara taunted. I gave them a smile that didn’t meet my eyes.

“Really? You can have him, Clara. I don’t like used toys anyway.” I remarked trying to sound cruel, but my heart was broken into many pieces.

Her face turned pale. I headed for the door.

I had been a naive girl. Never. Again.

“Marguerite! Don’t you dare walk out on me, you ugly pig!” I heard Jacob calling out from behind me.

I didn’t look back.