Chapter 3

Eunia

Kruska charmed my parents just as easily as she had done to me.

She was a beautiful child, and she knew it. She sat before them with her pale golden hair perfectly combed, her sky-blue eyes wide and innocent, her hands folded neatly on her lap. She spoke softly, smiled shyly, and answered every question like an angel who had been dropped into our laps. My mother was enchanted. My father, too, couldn’t help but look impressed.

I should have seen the red flags right there. The way her sweetness seemed rehearsed. The god-tier level of manipulation that she had already perfected at the tender age of twelve. But I didn’t. Just like everyone else, I was blind. Completely enamored with the beauty on the surface, too caught up in the fantasy of finally having the sister I’d always wanted.

It didn’t take long before my parents decided to adopt Kruska. My parents, wealthy and powerful, used their money and influence to speed up the process. In the blink of an eye, Kruska was no longer a girl in an orphanage. She was in our house. Legally a Rosette. My “sister.”

Her entrance into my world marked the beginning of its collapse.

Because Kruska was evil. Absolutely diabolical, for lack of a better word. Behind that perfect smile was a black heart, and once she stepped into our home, she started taking everything away from me.

The first thing she took was my most precious possession: my doll.

I still remember that day like it was playing right in front of my eyes.

Kruska’s fingers had brushed over the hand-stitched dress, her eyes gleaming with greedy fascination.

“I like that doll,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “It’s so pretty.”

I smiled proudly, hugging it closer. “It’s very special. My grandma spent almost a year making it and she gave it to me before she passed away, so I treasure it with all my heart. It reminds me of her and makes me feel like she’s still here with us.”

Her gaze didn’t soften. It sharpened.

“I want it. Give it to me.”

Alarm shot through me, my heart pounding in protest. “What?! No! Ask Daddy for a doll and he’ll buy you a new one. This one’s mine and I’m not giving it away.”

Her lips curled in a strange smile, a flicker of something cold and victorious in her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

That evening, Kruska collapsed. She clutched her stomach, moaned dramatically, and by the time my mother came running, she was burning with fever. She was quickly taken to bed, everything else forgotten.

“You poor dear. Is there anything I can get you to help you feel better?” My mother fretted, dabbing her forehead.

Kruska’s weak, fragile voice whispered, “Yes. I really like Eunia's doll. Can I have it please?”

My mother turned sharply. “Eunia, give your sister the doll.”

I froze. “No! It’s mine! She can get her own. This doll belongs to me.”

“She’ll give it back when she’s better,” my mother insisted, her voice rising with urgency. “Kruska’s sick right now and she needs all the love and support she can get.”

I felt my throat tighten with frustration. “But it’s a doll, not medicine! How is it supposed to make her feel better? She just wants it because it’s mine!”

My mother’s eyes blazed, and then came words I had never heard directed at me before. “Eunia Felicia Rosette! Stop being such a brat! Just give her the doll already.”

The shout struck me like thunder. My mother had never raised her voice at me before. Shaking, trembling, I placed the doll into Kruska’s waiting arms. For the briefest second, I swear I saw her lips twitch upward into an evil little smile but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

She never gave it back.

And it didn’t stop there.

At first, it was small things—my dolls, my clothes, my shoes. One by one, they disappeared into Kruska’s possession. Each time I protested, my parents hushed me, told me not to be selfish, to think of how hard Kruska’s life had been before she came to us.

Then came the day she took my room.

“She’s sickly,” my mother explained. “She needs the warmer room. The guest room will be just fine for you, Eunia.”

I cried, begged, pleaded, but my father cupped my cheek with his calm, steady hand.

“You’ll get your room back, honey. Just let Kruska get better. She’s already suffering as it is. I’ll have the guest room furnished to your liking. How’s that?”

I agreed, grudgingly, not wanting to seem like a monster. But deep down, my heart rebelled. And guess what? I never got my room back!

But then came the day I learned the truth.

I had been walking past my old room, now turned Kruska’s when I noticed the door slightly ajar. Quietly, I peeked inside. My eyes widened in horror.

Kruska was dabbing herself with a steaming compress, pressing it against her skin until it turned red. She shoved slices of onion into her armpits, wrinkling her nose, then flopped back onto the bed, waiting for the fever to build.

My stomach dropped. My knees nearly gave out. She had been faking. All this time, she had been pretending to be sick. Pretending to be fragile. Pretending to be a victim.

Tears blurred my vision as I pushed open the door. “Kruska!” My voice cracked with betrayal. “You’ve been lying! All this time… you weren’t sick at all!”

She didn’t even flinch. She glanced at me, then rolled her eyes as if I were nothing more than an annoyance.

“How could you do this?” I sobbed, my chest heaving. “Why would you lie to me? To them? To everyone? I trusted you, Kruska! I thought you were my sister, my friend—”

“Stop being so dramatic.” Her tone was flat, bored.

“No!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “You used me! You made me fight for you, beg my parents for you! You let me think you were hurt, that you were suffering—why?! Why would you do that?!”

She smirked, finally looking at me with cold, calculating eyes.

I trembled, my fists clenched. “I’ll tell them. I’ll tell Mom and Dad what you’ve been doing, how you’ve been faking everything.”

She leaned back against the pillows, completely unfazed. “Go ahead. Let’s see who they believe.”

I did tell them.

I ran to my parents, words tumbling out in desperate sobs. “She’s lying! She’s been faking it all—the fevers, the sickness, everything! I saw her! She was putting hot towels on her skin, onions under her arms—”

My father’s face darkened, not with concern, but with anger. “Eunia, enough.”

“It’s true!” I cried. “She’s been manipulating all of us! You have to believe me—”

But Kruska stepped into the room, tears glistening on her cheeks, her small voice trembling with perfect timing. “I don’t know what I did to make her hate me so much.” She sniffled, clutching her chest. “I just wanted to be her sister. I never wanted to take her place. I'm really sorry, Eunia, for making you think you had to resort to this. I swear I'm not trying to take your parents from you. I just want to experience having a family.”

I was so appalled I couldn't even speak. Was she seriously making it seem like I was making everything up because I was jealous?!

“What are you—?”

My mother’s sharp voice caught me off. “Eunia, enough of this nonsense. I’m ashamed of you.”

Shock rooted me to the spot. I couldn’t even breathe. How could Kruska lie so easily, so cleanly? Could that be what she’d been doing all along? Those bruises she used to show me in the orphanage—were they even real?

“Apologize to your sister,” my father demanded.

“I won’t!” I screamed. “Because I did nothing wrong!”

Kruska’s voice broke in, soft and trembling. “It’s okay. I forgive her.”

The audacity. The mockery. My rage boiled over. I lunged at her, shoving, clawing, screaming, “Say the truth!”

She let herself fall, her body crumpling to the floor with theatrical grace. Her knee scraped against the tiles, blood beading instantly. She wailed in pain.

And that was all it took.

My parents dragged me away, their fury unrelenting. For the first time in my life, I was punished. Locked in the dark storeroom until morning. No matter how hard I screamed and begged, they refused to open the door, knowing fully well how terrified of the dark I was. I cried until my voice was raw, until my small fists ached from pounding on the door.

That night broke something inside me. I was so traumatized, I never confronted Kruska again.

As the years passed, I realized too late that she had succeeded. She had turned my parents against me. She took everything. She made herself better at everything. And the things she couldn’t master, she made sure I never had the chance to try. I became a shadow, the forgotten daughter, an afterthought.

By the time we graduated high school, she had a bright future ahead of her, accolades and recommendations from every corner. I, meanwhile, sank deeper into depression.

I wanted to leave. I wanted to escape, to go abroad for college and finally live without her shadow looming over me. But my parents refused.

“You’ll both go to the same university,” they said. “Kruska is older, she can guide you. She can help you with your studies.”

It was laughable. Kruska had never been book-smart. She didn’t need to be. She knew how to manipulate, how to charm, how to make the world bend to her.

I thought I would remain a side character in my own life forever, always overshadowed by Kruska.

But then…my childhood sweetheart, Logan, returned to the country.

And that was the turning point.