5

Elena’s POV

At 7:00, I walked downstairs wearing a simple black dress.

Adrian was in the living room with Celeste. When he saw me, he frowned.

"You're wearing black?"

"I have no reason to celebrate," I said quietly.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue.

Celeste, meanwhile, was wearing a flowing pink dress that made her look radiant and glowing.

"You look beautiful," Adrian told her softly.

She beamed. "Thank you."

He didn't even glance at me.

The doorbell rang.

"That'll be your parents," Adrian said, heading to the door.

I watched him greet my mother and father with warm hugs and handshakes.

My mother spotted me and frowned. "Elena, why are you wearing black? This is a celebration."

"I cannot celebrate when Clara is still fighting for her life," I said simply.

"Oh." My mother's expression didn't change. "Well, that's unfortunate. But tonight is about Celeste and her good news."

Of course it was. They didn’t care about anything else.

We moved to the dining room.

I sat at the far end of the table. Adrian sat at the head, with Celeste on his right and my parents on his left.

They chatted and laughed amongst themselves, completely ignoring me, almost like I was invisible.

Halfway through the meal, Celeste stood up.

"I have an announcement," she said, her voice shaking with excitement.

Everyone turned to look at her. Adrian was beaming.

"I'm pregnant," Celeste said softly.

My mother gasped, jumping up to hug her. "Oh, sweetheart! That's wonderful!"

My father grinned. "Congratulations, Celeste."

"Who's the father?" I asked quietly.

The room went silent.

Celeste's eyes widened. "What?"

"I asked who the father is," I repeated. "You're not married. You don't have a boyfriend that I know of. So who got you pregnant?"

"Elena!" my mother snapped. "How dare you—"

"It's a reasonable question," I said calmly.

Celeste's eyes filled with tears. "I... I was seeing someone. He died a few months ago. This baby is all I have left of him."

The lie rolled off her tongue so easily.

I glanced between my father and my mother. They looked very uncomfortable, avoiding my eyes.

And that's when it clicked.

They knew.

They all knew whose baby it was.

My own parents knew my husband was having an affair with my sister, and they were celebrating it.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said flatly. "Congratulations on the baby."

Adrian cleared his throat. "As I mentioned earlier, I'm throwing a celebration party this Saturday. A big one. All my business partners, investors, and friends will be there to celebrate this wonderful news."

My mother clapped her hands together. "How exciting! Celeste, you'll need a new dress—"

"Already ordered," Adrian said with a smile. "Only the best for my... for Celeste."

He had almost said something else. I saw him catch himself.

"Elena, you'll need something appropriate too," my mother said, eyeing my black dress with distaste.

"I have plenty of dresses," I said quietly.

"Nothing suitable for a celebration," she countered. "Tomorrow, you and I will go shopping."

"I would rather spend tomorrow at the hospital with Clara."

My mother's expression hardened. "Elena, that woman is dying. There's nothing you can do for her. But you can support your sister during this happy time."

That woman. Not even your foster mother. Just that woman.

"If you'll excuse me," I said, standing to my feet. "I'm not feeling well. I'm going to bed."

"Elena, sit down," Adrian said sharply.

"No."

"I said sit down!"

"And I said no." I looked at him coldly. "I came to dinner like you asked. I heard the announcement. Now I'm leaving."

I turned and walked out of the dining room.

Behind me, Celeste’s voice wobbled with fake tears. “She hates me, Mom.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” my mother soothed. “At least, thanks to her, you’re now…” Her voice dropped, too low for me to hear.

My breath caught.

They knew. My parents knew what Adrian had done—and they supported it.

I went upstairs and shut the bedroom door. I lay there, staring at the ceiling while laughter, clinking glasses, and music drifted up the stairs. They were celebrating my pain.

Soon, they would have nothing left to celebrate.