Chapter 19

The word wife hung in the air like a blade, and I saw Andrew flinch as though it had physically struck him. His eyes darted toward me wild, desperate, almost pleading but I didn't look his way. I kept my gaze fixed on Taylor, my anchor, my shield, my everything.

"No! No, no, we're fine!" Arthur stammered frantically, his face draining of colour as he practically tripped over his own feet scurrying backwards to his original standing position. "We... we won't disturb you and Sophia while you finish."

Taylor's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "What did you just call her?"

Arthur blinked, terrified. "S-Sophia..."

"Hell no. You do not have the right to speak her given name so casually," Taylor snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. "Address her properly as Mrs White or Ms Sophia."

"O-Okay... Ms Sophia," Arthur corrected himself hurriedly, bowing his head in submission. The sight of it my proud, arrogant father bowing like a servant sent a strange, bittersweet pang through my chest. I had waited my whole life for him to show me care but he never did.

For the next five minutes, the room remained dead silent except for the faint clinking of silverware against porcelain. We finished our meal in complete peace while my family stood frozen, watching our every move like statues trapped in a museum of their own making. Taylor would occasionally lean over to whisper something in my ear small, affectionate things, nothing important or feed me another bite of pastry, her fingers lingering against my skin just a moment longer than necessary. And through it all, my family watched, their eyes burning with a toxic mixture of humiliation, rage, and the slow, creeping realisation that they had lost.

Finally, Taylor picked up a linen napkin, dabbing delicately at the corners of her mouth before tossing it onto the table. The gesture was casual, but it signalled a shift in the air a change in the tide. The reckoning was about to begin.

"Alright," Taylor announced, her voice ringing out clearly. She crossed one leg over the other, levelling a cold stare at the group. "Show me how genuine your remorse is. Speak up."

My mother, Eleanor, stepped forward first, wringing her hands together with a pathetic, forced smile. Her blonde hair, usually perfectly coiffed, was coming loose from its pins, and her makeup had creased into fine lines around her eyes. She looked old, I realized old and tired and utterly defeated.

"Ms... Ms Sophia, I am so sorry," Eleanor babbled, her voice trembling. "It was entirely our fault for indulging Kate and spoiling her. I promise you, we will discipline her properly from now on, and we will never let her hurt you again." She grabbed Kate by the arm, shoving her forward with a desperation that bordered on comical. "Go on, apologise to your sister."

Kate rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful, her lip curling in a bitter sneer. Even now, even after everything, she couldn't hide her contempt. "I'm sorry," she muttered flatly, staring at the floor. The words were bitter and reluctant, dragged out of her like teeth being pulled. "I shouldn't have pushed you into the pool. Happy now?"

Taylor let out a dry, humourless laugh a sound with no warmth in it at all. "An apology delivered with attitude and insincerity is far worse than staying silent," she remarked, turning her dark gaze toward me. Her expression softened, the ice melting just enough to let me know she was there, that she would always be there. "Don't you agree, love?"

A strange, burning heat surged through my veins. I had swallowed every insult, every cruel word, and every physical blow. I had taken the high road until it led me off a cliff. I had been the bigger person, the forgiving one, the one who always turned the other cheek and where had that gotten me? Humiliated in front of society. Drowned in a pool while my family watched. Replaced by a sister who had spent years making my life a living hell.

"Taylor..." I whispered, looking down at my hands before lifting my head. My fingers were trembling slightly, but not from fear. From anticipation. From the slow, building pressure of two decades of rage finally finding an outlet. "I want to get even with her myself."

Taylor's expression softened into an encouraging, proud smile. There was no judgment in her eyes, no hesitation just unwavering support and a fierce, almost maternal protectiveness. "Be my guest," she said, gesturing toward Kate with a slight tilt of her head.

I pushed my chair back, my legs scraping loudly against the marble floor. The sound was harsh and jarring, but I didn't flinch. I stood up and walked steadily across the room, my heels clicking against the polished stone, until I was standing right in front of them. My eyes didn't look at my parents, nor did they look at Andrew. They locked entirely onto Kate.

She looked up at me with a defiant, hateful glare, as if she still expected me to cower. As if she still believed, deep down, that I was the weak, pathetic sister who would always back down, always forgive, always turn the other cheek.

She was wrong.

Without a single second of hesitation, using every ounce of bottled-up fury, humiliation, and pain I had carried for half a decade, I raised my hand and brought it across Kate's cheek.

CRACK!