THE BRIDE MY STEPSISTER GAVE AWAY

“You’re nothing but a servant in this house, Emma. Don’t ever forget that!”

The words rang through the mansion with such force that they seemed to shake the crystal chandelier above the dining table.

Emma Hayes stopped in her tracks.

The silver breakfast tray in her trembling hands suddenly felt twice as heavy. She lowered her eyes, refusing to meet the icy glare fixed on her.

“Well?” Vivian Hayes folded her arms across her chest. “Did you suddenly become deaf?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Sorry?” Vivian laughed bitterly. “Your apologies don’t put food on this table, and they certainly don’t make you useful.”

Emma swallowed the lump in her throat and walked toward the dining table.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room. Golden pancakes rested beside fluffy scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and buttered toast. She had spent nearly two hours preparing breakfast, hoping everything would be perfect.

Perfection was the only thing that kept her from punishment.

Even then…

It was never enough.

Vivian picked up the coffee cup with graceful fingers adorned with sparkling diamonds. She took one sip.

Her expression darkened instantly.

Without warning

Crash!

The cup flew across the room and shattered against the marble floor.

Hot coffee splashed across Emma’s faded dress.

She instinctively stepped back, but not quickly enough. Tiny shards of porcelain scattered around her feet.

“What is this?” Vivian demanded.

Emma blinked in confusion.

“The coffee…” she whispered.

“It’s cold.”

Emma’s heart skipped.

“I made it just a minute ago.”

Vivian narrowed her eyes.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“N-No…”

“Then get on your knees.”

Emma slowly knelt.

The cold marble bit into her skin as she reached for the broken pieces.

A sharp fragment sliced into her palm.

She flinched.

A tiny drop of blood landed on the spotless white floor.

Vivian noticed it immediately.

“Don’t stain my floor!”

Emma quickly wiped the blood away with the sleeve of her old sweater before picking up the remaining pieces.

Her hand burned, but she didn’t dare complain.

Complaining only made things worse.

It always had.

Three years ago, this mansion had been filled with laughter.

Her father’s laughter.

He used to sit at the head of this very table every morning, smiling as he praised her cooking, even when she accidentally burned the toast.

“My little Emma,” he would laugh. “Even burnt toast tastes good when you make it.”

Those memories felt like they belonged to someone else now.

Everything changed the day he died.

The funeral had barely ended before Vivian stopped pretending to care.

Emma’s spacious bedroom became Sophia’s walk-in closet.

Her expensive dresses disappeared one by one.

Her bank cards were taken away.

The family chauffeur no longer drove her to college.

Within weeks…

She had become the unpaid maid of the house her father had built.

Every room she cleaned reminded her of the life that had been stolen from her.

Yet she stayed.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she had nowhere else to go.

A loud yawn echoed from upstairs.

Vivian’s face instantly softened.

“My darling Sophia must be awake.”

The warmth in her voice vanished as she turned back to Emma.

“If my daughter comes downstairs and breakfast isn’t perfect, you’ll skip dinner tonight.”

Emma lowered her head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She stood quietly, ignoring the sting in her bleeding hand.

This wasn’t a home anymore.

It was a prison.

And she was serving a life sentence she never deserved.

Emma had barely finished cleaning the broken porcelain when the sound of high heels echoed down the grand staircase.

Click.

Click.

Click.

She didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

Sophia Hayes.

The only daughter Vivian had ever truly loved.

“Mom!” Sophia called cheerfully. “Is breakfast ready? I’m starving.”

The moment Vivian saw her daughter, the harsh expression on her face melted into a warm smile.

“My princess! Of course it is. Sit down.”

Emma watched silently as Vivian hurried to pull out a chair for Sophia.

The same woman who had thrown a cup at Emma only moments ago now fussed over Sophia, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her shoulder.

“You look beautiful today,” Vivian gushed.

Sophia twirled in her designer dress and laughed. “I know.”

Emma lowered her eyes and carried the replacement coffee to the table.

Sophia wrinkled her nose the instant she saw Emma.

“Seriously?” she scoffed. “You’re still wearing that ugly dress?”

Emma glanced at the faded blue dress she had owned since college.

It was clean.

Neatly pressed.

But old.

“I… I don’t have another one.”

Sophia burst into laughter.

“That’s because you don’t deserve one.”

Vivian nodded in agreement.

“Why waste expensive clothes on a servant?”

The word hit Emma harder than she expected.

Servant.

Not stepdaughter.

Not family.

Just…

A servant.

Sophia reached for her orange juice before deliberately tipping the glass over.

The bright liquid spilled across the white tablecloth.

“Oh no,” Sophia said dramatically.

Vivian turned sharply.

“Emma!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’ll clean it.”

“You should be sorry!” Vivian snapped. “Can’t you do anything right?”

Emma stared at the untouched glass.

She had seen exactly what happened.

Sophia had knocked it over herself.

But explaining would only make things worse.

She quietly fetched a cloth and began wiping the table.

Sophia leaned back in her chair, smiling in satisfaction.

“You missed a spot.”

Emma wiped again.

“Still there.”

She wiped once more.

“Hmm…” Sophia tapped her chin. “You’re really slow today.”

Vivian sighed loudly.

“If your father could see what you’ve become, he’d be ashamed.”

Emma’s hands froze.

Her father.

The only person who had ever loved her unconditionally.

Vivian knew exactly which wounds would never heal.

Emma took a slow breath and forced herself to continue cleaning.

She would not cry.

Not in front of them.

Never again.

⸻

An hour later, Emma was on her knees scrubbing the marble hallway.

Her injured palm stung every time the brush rubbed against it.

The mansion sparkled from top to bottom because of her hard work.

Yet no one ever thanked her.

She cleaned.

She cooked.

She washed clothes.

She ironed.

She tended the garden.

She even polished Sophia’s designer shoes.

Still…

She was reminded every single day that she was “worthless.”

As she carried a basket of freshly folded laundry upstairs, she paused outside a familiar door.

Her old bedroom.

The white wooden door was slightly open.

Inside, Sophia was trying on a new evening gown in front of a full-length mirror.

The room had once belonged to Emma.

The walls had once been covered with family photos.

Her books.

Her piano.

Her mother’s portrait.

All gone.

Now it looked like a luxury boutique.

Sophia caught Emma staring.

“What are you looking at?”

Emma quickly looked away.

“Nothing.”

Sophia smirked.

“Jealous?”

Emma said nothing.

“There was never anything here that belonged to you anyway.”

Emma bit the inside of her cheek.

That wasn’t true.

Every corner of that room held a memory of her childhood.

Birthdays with her father.

Late-night movie marathons.

Christmas mornings.

Now…

Those memories were all she had left.

She walked away before Sophia could see the tears gathering in her eyes.

Sometimes surviving wasn’t about fighting back.

Sometimes…

It was simply about making it through another day.

Emma had become very good at surviving.

She just didn’t know that her life was about to change forever.