Stepsister Stole My Life I Took Her World

My father was stunned when I agreed to take my stepsister’s place.

“Odessa, do you have any idea what kind of monster Jude Moretti is? They call him the Butcher of New York's underworld. They say when he loses it, he skins traitors with his own hands. You think you’ll come back in one piece?”

Before I could answer, my stepmother cut in, her eyes darting nervously.

“If Odessa doesn’t go, Sandra dies. Our Sandra, who already sacrificed her reputation by marrying Marco just to escape that monster. The Morettis are savages, but even savages have rules. They won’t touch a married woman…”

Conflict flickered in my father's eyes. He slowly let go of my hand and slumped back into his chair.

My heart turned to ice.

This house stopped being a home the day my mother died.

Sandra stole my father's love. She stole my designs.

Now she wanted me to jump into this man-eating pit for her.

And my right hand… useless.

All because they stuck me with some quack doctor after the accident.

And now, to protect Sandra, they were throwing me to the wolves without a second thought.

I let out a cold laugh, my eyes hard. “Fine, I’ll marry him. But on one condition. The day I get married, Sandra has to admit it, in public. Tears of Medusa was my design.”

“Are you crazy?! You want to ruin your sister’s future?!” my father roared, slamming his hands on the desk.

My stepmother looked heartbroken. “Odessa, how could you be so cruel? Sandra is the future of this family!”

My face was a mask of scorn, my voice like ice. “The Moretti Godfather specifically asked for the ‘genius designer.’ You can’t have it all. She can have her reputation, or she can have her life. Pick one.”

In the end, they agreed, to save Sandra’s life.

I turned and left the study, only to run right into Marco in the hall. He’d just come from Sandra’s room.

He was shirtless. The scratches on his chest were still fresh.

The air was thick with Sandra’s rose perfume—a cloying, sweet rot.

The scent of sex. A desperate, frantic fuck to escape the Godfather's grasp.

I covered my nose in disgust and tried to walk away, but Marco blocked my path, his face twisted with a sick sense of righteousness.

“Odessa, I know you’re jealous. But I had to marry Sandra. It was the only way to save her. Making her a married woman was the only way to get that monster to back off. Sandra is so innocent. She’d die in the Godfather’s hands.”

A bitter laugh escaped me.

I raised my right hand, showing him how it shook uncontrollably.

“She’s innocent? She’s scared to die? What about me, Marco? Should I just die?”

We were engaged for three years.

Ever since I came back from Switzerland with this hand, all I got from him was coldness and suspicion.

The wedding, postponed again and again.

Now, to save a thief, he had no problem throwing me away.

A flash of guilt crossed his face, but it was gone in a second, replaced by irritation. He grabbed my wrist.

“Odessa! If you’re a good girl, I can arrange a ‘private support agreement.’ I’ll set you up in the west wing of the Bianchi estate. I'll give you money, I'll protect you. You won't have to marry that monster.”

He leaned in. “Don’t worry. You won’t have the title, but I’ll treat you just as good as Sandra.”

I laughed, my stomach churning.

A “support agreement.” Mafia-speak for a mistress contract. The lowest of the low.

I would be his property. His toy.

No dignity, no freedom. Forced to watch him and my sister play house while he used my body for his release.

I snatched my hand back like he was something filthy. “Marco, I’d rather die than be a toy for you two sick fucks!”

His face darkened, the mask of kindness shattered. He’d lost face.

“Odessa! Who are you trying to fool with that high-and-mighty act? Is your reputation more important than being with me? You think I don’t know about the filthy things you did during that year in Switzerland?”

I shot back, “Oh yeah? Then why not make Sandra sign a mistress contract? That would have saved her too. The Morettis would never take a mistress as a wife.”

“How could she be a mistress?!” he blurted out. “She’s the champion designer, a pure angel! She’s meant to be cherished, she can’t handle any hardship!”

Years of hurt welled up, burning in my eyes.

Just because she could cry and play the victim.

I took a bomb blast for him. Ruined my right hand. Went through four agonizing nerve-stripping surgeries in Switzerland. So I’m supposed to be the strong one? The one to be sacrificed?

I blinked back the tears, my mocking gaze like a knife. “Marco, you keep your angel. I just hope you don’t cry too hard when you find out the truth.”

His face flushed with anger, scalded by my look. “Don’t be a fool! Who else would want you, a cripple and a whore? When that monster is done with you in three days, don't come crying to me to scrape your body off the floor!”

After Marco left, I stumbled back to my empty room.

On the bed, a black velvet box from the Moretti family.

My hands trembled as I opened it. My breath caught in my throat.

Lying inside was a necklace.

A perfect replica of the Tears of Medusa from my original sketches.

Every detail, every stone, was perfect.

He even fixed a tiny imperfection from my original draft, a place where my hand had trembled.

And next to the necklace, a thin slip of paper.

An expedited appointment confirmation from the University Hospital of Zurich.

Attending physician: Dr. Weber.

He’s the world’s top neurosurgeon. The most difficult to book. The only one who can fix irreversible nerve damage.

My hand started to shake violently.

The so-called monster, the demon who kills without blinking… cared more about my hand than the fiancé whose life I saved.

Maybe marrying Jude was my only way out.