001

Skylar's POV

The argument with my mother is still ringing in my ears as I storm down the hallway.

I’m pissed.

Dinner is unbearable. It’s always like this with her, every time we end up in the same room together.

I would blame Greg, my fiancé, but he’s only just trying to settle the dispute between his fiancée and mother-in-law, which at this point feels impossible.

I only agree to these dinners because of my stepdad, who’s much more reasonable and loving.

My mother’s constant criticisms, her disapproving glances, they’ve become her language of control. “I told you, you wouldn’t be able to earn a proper living if you keep staying with that best friend of yours that would suck you dry.”

Her words echo in my head like a curse.

She hates Carrie, my best friend. Carrie hates her, too. I hate her.

All because Carrie agreed to let me stay with her when my mother blocked my credit card.

She wants me under her thumb so badly.

I knew from the very start that dinner wasn’t going to end well. In fact, I’m so done. I’ll see her at the wedding which is infact one week away.

Greg excuses himself to the restroom, and I tell myself I’ll wait until he comes back so I can tell him we won’t be returning here anymore, probably not until after the wedding.

I can’t keep defending my need for independence every fucking time.

I swallow my anger, forcing a smile as I excuse myself from the table. I need a drink.

My stepdad’s eyes follow me with quiet concern. He can tell I’m pissed, he always can. And so can the witch.

And my sister?

She isn’t even at the table to witness any of it.

With the maids nowhere in sight, I decide to grab the wine myself. If no one’s going to make this night easier for me, I’ll do it myself.

I push open the heavy wooden door to the winery, stepping inside. The cool air wraps around me like an old friend, brushing over my skin and calming me just slightly.

The dim lighting casts long shadows against the racks of expensive bottles my family has collected over the years. I trail my fingertips along the dusty glass as I walk, trying to steady my breathing.

I reach for a bottle on the nearest shelf...

And then I hear it.

A quiet gasp.

A muffled moan.

A soft sound.

I freeze.

At first, I think it’s my mind playing tricks, old pipes, maybe, or the hum of the cooling system. But then it comes again, louder this time. A breathy, desperate sound. Followed by a low groan.

My stomach twists. Someone’s fucking hard in here.

I move silently, my heels pressing into the rug. The sounds are coming from behind the second rack, near the tasting table.

I could feel the sexual tension and the heat already.

I take one more step. Slowly.

My fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle.

And I see them.

My fiancé. My sister.

Greg. Sybil.

Her legs wrapped around him, his lips on her throat biting hard.

His shirt half undone, but his pant and brief's are down on his feet while her hands are gripping his solid butt guiding him deeper inside her and his hands gripping her bare waist like he’s losing control.

She's completely naked. He just had only his shirt on.

He thrusts deeper into her and the deep moan he lets out is the same deep moan he lets out when he's truly enjoying the sex and I'll beg him not to stop and wrap my legs around him tighter.

My world blurs.

Stumbling on a quickie is fun but not when it involves your fiancé and your sister.

For a moment, my brain refuses to accept what I’m seeing, like it’s trying to protect me from the pain about to come.

But the moment passes too quickly.

And when the realization hits me, it hits.

The two people I’ve trusted most, together, skin against skin, moaning like animals in my parents’ winery like it’s been their secret spot.

Like it's been the reason he'd fix dinners with my family.

My heart beats hard. A wave of nausea rises up my chest. Before I can stop myself, I let out a broken, breathless laugh that slices through the room.

They both freeze.

Greg turns first. His eyes go wide, horror flashing across his face. "Shit!" He stumbles back, reaching for his pants.

Sybil pulls away, crossing her arms to cover her bare silicon breasts. Her hair in a rough sex mess. She just stares at me, eyes wide, filled with something unreadable. Guilt? Satisfaction?

The rage inside me builds like a tidal wave, a force so strong it leaves no room for rational thought. My fingers curl tighter around the bottle in my hand, glass biting into my palm.

“Wow,” I breathe, stepping closer. “My own sister?” My voice is calm. My hands tremble, but I don’t care.

Sybil opens her mouth, probably to come up with some pathetic excuse, "You weren't supposed to see this." Her face twists into something cruel.

For a second, everything inside me snaps.

I don't bother to say another word, I swing my hand, crashing the bottle on the side of her head.

The sound of glass shattering fills the air as she let's out a bloody scream, stumbling backward, her hands flying to the side of her face.

A sharp, wet crack, followed by the spray of deep red, wine or blood, I can’t tell.

Greg lurches forward, grabbing my arm, his grip rough. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I yank free, my chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. My breath comes out shaky, uneven. “Me?” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh, my voice trembling. “You’re asking me what’s wrong with me?”

He turns immediately toward her, panic clouding his features as he checks the wound. “Jesus, you’re bleeding,” he mutters, brushing her hair aside to see the cut.

That’s it.

That’s the moment my heart breaks all over again.

Not because of the betrayal. Not because of the lies.

But because at that moment, when the damage is done, when everything lies in ruins, he chooses her.

He doesn’t even look at me.

He doesn’t even try to explain.

And I realize, right there, with blood and wine staining the floor beneath us...

It’s over.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

I just proved it.