Ring Poisom

We all turned to see who had opened the door without knocking, and there he stood.

Karl.

He was dressed in a black t-shirt and black denim trousers. His hair had that arrogant, messy look that made his features look sharper and more attractive—the old me would have melted on the spot.

But instead, I was burning with pure rage inside.

He held a red-wrapped present in his hand, a smile tucked on his lips as he glanced at me. My parents' faces instantly lit up as he walked in. Karl's parents were wealthy and influential, and knowing that I had feelings for him before Claire came into the picture was always an opportunity for them to let him walk in like he owned the place.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair," he nodded in polite greeting. His eyes then flicked to Claire, who was sniffling and biting her lip while staring at him. I caught a faint flush on her cheek, and I noticed Karl's ears turn red.

It was what happened whenever he was shy or drawn in by something. But still, my heart didn't even skip a beat. The cold voice from my first life replayed loudly in my head—his voice claiming I had always been just a pawn in his game.

His toy, discarded without a second thought.

Now he was back again, but this time, I, Stella, would never fall for his crap.

"Karl, I didn't know you would be here," my father said, clearing his throat as the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed out.

"Sir, it's Stella's birthday. Of course I would be here for her," Karl smiled softly, his eyes warming as he stared at me.

My stomach twisted in disgust. My mother held onto Claire, watching my expressionless face and sighing.

"Stella, Karl is here for you. Why the long face?"

Claire shook her head in response, her eyes never leaving him. She whimpered softly, "Stella, maybe I... I should go upstairs now. I'm sure I'm the reason why you're mad at us."

I rolled my eyes in annoyance and watched him take a few more steps forward. Karl stepped further into the room, his eyes locked on mine. That soft, gentle look—the one that used to make me feel like the only girl in the world—felt like a layer of ice sliding over my skin.

"Happy birthday, Stella," he said, stepping toward me. He held out the red present, his fingers brushing against mine as I took it.

His touch sent a jolt through me, but it wasn't warmth. It was a warning. Don't forget, my mind hissed. Don't forget how he looked at you when you were dying.

"Thank you, Karl," I said. My voice was polite and controlled, like I was speaking to a complete stranger at a bus stop.

Claire's grip on Mom tightened. Her eyes were wide, brimming with tears that looked too perfect to be real. "Stella, don't be mean to him too. He came all this way just for you."

I shot her a cold glance. Can she just stop? She was driving me insane. I unwrapped the box without any of the excitement I used to have whenever he gave me a gift.

Inside, there it was. A ring.

I looked back at him. His dark gaze pierced mine, and that smile—wild enough to melt hearts—made me feel nauseous. I took out the ring and raised it under the lights.

It was a diamond. A real one.

My father chipped in and stood beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder with a small smile on his face. I knew what it was, and I knew what was coming.

"Stella, I know right now you're not in the mood and probably mad that we brought Claire home, but Karl gifted you this because..." My father glanced at him again and inhaled deeply. The room fell into another tense silence.

"...he's choosing you. To be his girlfriend. It's wonderful, right?" He pressed his palm onto my shoulder, massaging it firmly. My gaze refused to leave the ring.

"Stella, I know," Karl said smoothly. "I read that letter you left at my desk at school yesterday about how you love me. And I want to say, I love you too, and I choose you to be my girlfriend—and my future wife."

I smiled, examining the ring once more before looking back at him. Karl smiled in return, as did my parents, except for Claire, who continued glaring at me. The old me would have said yes without a second thought, and I knew Karl was confident in my answer.

He adjusted his t-shirt and ruffled his messy brown hair, waiting for my response. I maintained the smile on my face until my mother walked over to me with a sweet, cheeky grin.

She cupped my cheek, her eyes softening enough to melt me. She whispered, "Oh Stella, isn't this amazing? I know how much you're into Karl. You're growing up."

I tilted my head back, leaving her hand framing the empty air. The smile on her face disappeared instantly. Karl noticed, and so did Dad and Claire. Claire remained the brat she was, fuming with anger.

"Stella..." Mom gasped, "what's the matter? You've been all cranky today. Stella, we thought you were old enough to understand."

I scoffed.

I knew it was always about Claire. Every little thing I did, Claire somehow found a way to be involved.

Then, Claire instantly slumped to the floor, her arms flailing lifelessly. I stared at her blankly, watching my parents rush toward her.

"Claire!" they shouted.

Karl, who had been waiting earlier for my answer, was suddenly carrying Claire in his arms. I furrowed my brow with irritation. Didn't he just meet her today? How was he already playing the savior?

In my first life, this didn't happen. Somehow, Claire had managed to divert the attention back to herself by claiming her feet hurt, and they had escorted her back to the room designed for her, leaving me alone, wishing into the empty air.

"Take her to her room now."

"Don't just stand there!" Dad barked, his voice cracking with panic as he ushered Karl toward the stairs. "Get her upstairs, Karl. She needs rest."

Karl nodded, his face a mask of concern as he lifted Claire. He glanced back at me for a split second—a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—before disappearing around the corner with her tucked against his chest.

Mom was right behind them, her voice frantic. "Poor thing. She's probably just overwhelmed by everything. It's too much for her, being here on your birthday, Stella."

The house went quiet again. The servants moved in to clean up the mess on the table, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

I stood there alone in the center of the living room. The diamond ring sat in my palm, cold and heavy. I looked at it for a long moment before sliding it into my pocket without a second thought.

Future wife.

I chuckled at the irony and dropped the ring beside the cake. While Karl and my parents ran around like headless chickens attending to Claire, I stood there, staring at the cake, blew out the candles, and cut a slice.

Claire.

She was such a good actress, but too bad my parents were too stupid to see who she really was. And as for Karl, I had no comments.

I stood up and walked upstairs to my room, shutting the door to block out every unnecessary noise in the house. I stared at my ceiling, memories flooding back like broken fragments—how they tortured me, beat me with no pity, took turns... I closed my eyes, shutting the gore out of my mind. I stood up and walked to the library to read something that would distract me from the chaos.

"Oh Claire, my baby," I heard my mother's voice crack. The old me would have felt bad that they were attending to Claire while knowing the fainting was an act, but now, I felt nothing.

I scrolled through the novels, sitting there for hours and reading whatever could keep my brain occupied. I had two years left—two years to finally leave this hellhole. Two years to cut off the family name.

Soon, it was midnight.

"Finally," I gasped, standing up and striding out of the library. The decorations in the living room downstairs had already been removed, and so was the cake, I assumed. I didn't bother to check, heading straight toward my room instead.

But something felt wrong. That scent wasn't mine.

I opened the door gently, ignoring the creaking sound. There was my room—my things had been removed, the bedsheets changed, and lying on the bed was Claire, scrolling on her phone with a bandage on her forehead.

"What are you doing here in my room?" I folded my arms across my chest, taking another look around my own space.

Claire's head snapped up from her phone. For a fraction of a second—a heartbeat—her eyes widened in genuine shock. Then, like a light switch being flipped, the mask slid back on. Her eyes welled up instantly.

"Stella! You scared me," she whispered, her voice trembling. She clutched the phone to her chest and sat up slowly, wincing as if the movement hurt her head. "Mommy said my room was too far away from everyone... she said I should stay close in case I fainted again."

She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on my desk, my posters, my life. A small, satisfied curve touched the corner of her mouth before she caught herself.

"I'm so sorry, Stella. I didn't mean to take your bed," she said, her voice dropping to a pathetic whimper.

"Drop the act, Claire. Stop acting like you wouldn't hurt a fly," I said, slamming the door shut behind me. "You faked fainting because you were deprived of attention, acting all sweet."

She blinked, shaking her head in confusion. Then the mask suddenly fell. Her innocent, wide eyes narrowed, and the pout on her lips turned into a thin, crooked line.

"Oh yes," she smirked. "You're smart, I know that. I am just here to take back what belongs to me," she whispered, stretching like a cat.

I nodded. Now this was what I wanted to see—the mask falling off. I stormed to the bed. "Get out. Go to your room, Claire. I don't care who you are or where you came from, but I'm not falling for your bullshit."

Claire let out a sharp, jagged laugh that cut through the quiet of the room. She didn't move. Instead, she sat back against my pillows, crossing her legs with a casual arrogance that made my skin crawl.

"Your room?" she repeated, her voice dripping with mock curiosity. "Stella, honey, you really haven't been paying attention, have you? This is my room now."

She tapped the bandage on her forehead with one manicured nail. "Mom and Dad decided it was better if I stayed here. They said you're so independent, so strong, you don't need the extra care. But I? I'm fragile. I'm the one who needs protection."

She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming in the dim light of the bedside lamp. "And besides, if you try to kick me out, who are you going to tell? The parents who already think you're a monster? Or Karl?"

I watched silently, digging my nails into my skin. She smirked, seeing the unmistakable glint in my eyes. She thought my parents saw me as a monster just because I refused to let her turn the most important day of my life into hers.

I sighed and walked to the opposite side of the bed. "I don't know what you're on, but leave my room."

I took another look at everything. The antique vanity desk and chair I once had—the one my father had gifted to me on my thirteenth birthday—had been replaced with a modern pink set, and the same went for the mirror. It was as if all my belongings were being erased little by little.

Claire watched me with that smirk still plastered on her face, her legs crossed on my bed, loving how distressed I looked trying to figure out where all my things went. I sighed. I could take my things back and kick her out. I didn’t care what they thought.

In my last life, they made me give her this room, claiming she wanted it because of her asthma—an illness she never actually had—and that the extra room was too dusty.

Out of pity and pressure, I had given it up, ending up not even in the extra rooms or the guest rooms, but in the storage room near the attic. They had lied and told me the other rooms were under renovation, while Claire converted the room that was supposed to be hers into her personal fashion studio.

But this time, I was never falling into that trap again.

"Can you leave?" she snapped.

I ignored her and opened the closet. Behold, my clothes were gone. All my trousers, my dresses, my shoes—they were all replaced by her garish pink wardrobe.

I bit my lip and turned to her. "Where are my clothes?"

Claire shrugged casually. "Where they belong. In the dumpster."

I looked back at the closet, staring at the empty spaces where I normally kept all my accessories. Not a trace of them remained. Claire stood up from the bed and walked over to me, her arms crossed over her chest.

She looked into the closet and held her nose in disgust. "I just didn’t want my things stinking next to yours, so I ordered them to be thrown away."

Anger surged within me. I grabbed her by the arm, my face surprisingly calm even though rage was boiling inside me. "Where are my clothes? Who gave you the right to throw them out?"

She didn’t flinch. I wasn’t expecting her to. This was her plan all along: to drive me crazy and provoke a fight until my parents and Karl walked in to see me attacking her.

Then she feigned innocence. "Sister... you... you are hurting me."

Sister.

The word felt like a slap from her lips. I immediately let go of her hand—not because I wanted to, but because pure disgust burned through me. I stepped closer, my face inches from hers. "Wherever you put those clothes, go bring them back."

She pouted, shaking her head as her lower lip quivered. In an instant, her eyes brimmed with tears.

I scoffed in disbelief. "Why the waterworks? I'm not buying it."

"I'm not doing this to you, Stella," she sniffled, wiping her eyes. Then, before I could say another word, she screamed and began tearing her own clothes out of the closet, throwing every single one of them onto the marble floor.

I stepped back, confused and enraged.

She screamed louder. "Stella, please stop! Stop pulling my clothes out of the closet! Mom and Dad gave me this room, I'm sorry!"

I shook my head, keeping my face completely blank. I didn’t blink. I didn’t budge. She had pulled this stunt before, playing the victim while framing the old me. Back then, I would have cried and taken the blame just to keep my parents from hating me.

"Please!" then she began to inhale and exhale heavily, feigning an asthma attack.

I rolled my eyes. "Claire, stop this act. I'm not buying it."

She grabbed my hand and shook her head with a sickly sweet smile. Down the hallway, I heard approaching footsteps before the door burst open.

"Claire, honey?" I heard Mom’s voice, thick with terror. "Are you okay?"

The door swung open completely, and before I could even blink, Claire dragged my hand harder against her chest and threw herself onto the floor with a heavy thud. My hands shook in response, but I didn’t react, nor did I bother trying to defend myself.

"Stella!"

Mom's voice was a whipcrack of fury. She rushed past me, dropping to her knees beside Claire, her hands hovering over the girl's pale face.

"Stella! What did you do to her?" Mom screamed, her eyes wild with a mother's protective rage. "She was fine! She was just sitting there, and then you—"

"I didn't touch her," I said. My voice was quiet and flat. It didn't match the storm brewing in my chest, but I kept it locked down.

Dad was right behind her, his face dark with disappointment. He looked at Claire crumpled on the floor, then up at me, and I saw it—that exact look from my first life. The look of someone who had already declared me guilty.

"How could you be so cruel?" Dad's voice was low, trembling with anger. "She's your sister, Stella. Your own blood."

"My own blood?" I darted my gaze from him to Mom, and then to Claire. I didn’t even bother acknowledging Karl's presence; he held no value to me anymore.

The word blood tasted like copper in my mouth. I used to believe that blood was thicker than water when it comes to family, but not anymore.

"She’s not my blood, and she’s acting," I stated, stomping my foot on the floor. "She threw my clothes and my accessories out of my room! She did all of this herself! I am the victim here."

Claire panted harder, clutching her chest tightly as her eyes began to roll into the back of her head. Mom was terrified. I had never seen her that frightened in my life—not even when I had a bike accident and sprained my ankle. Back then, she just smiled and told me I was silly and careless.

"Get her inhaler, now!" she barked.

Karl, who had been standing there looking useless, sprinted to my mother's side. I had never seen him panic like this in my previous life either. Whenever I was in pain or sick, he would laugh and tell me I was being dramatic.

But when it came to Claire, he ran like a madman, forgetting everything else around him. If I ever confronted him about it, he would yell at me and tell me to stop being jealous of him being a good future brother-in-law.

"Here it is! The inhaler!" Karl shoved it into my mother’s shaking hands.

My mother pressed it to Claire's mouth, and within minutes, Claire miraculously recovered and burst into tears.

I paced back and forth, restless and furious. I wanted my room back—my own little sanctuary—and I was not giving it up for her. "She’s faking it! She doesn't have asthma!"

Before I could utter another word, my father marched over and slapped me hard across the face.