Chapter 3: My Sister Sold Me

POV: IVY

Gemma smiled as she handed me the details of my new identity, as though she were giving me a gift instead of selling three years of my life.

I walked into her master bedroom, holding the legal papers from the downstairs desk tightly in my hands. The room was chaotic, filled with open designer luggage, garment bags, and glossy modeling portfolios spread across her king-sized bed. Gemma was sitting in the middle of it all, carefully packing high-end cashmere sweaters into a velvet-lined suitcase, humming a sweet tune as if she didn't have a single care in the world.

She looked up at me, casually tossing a thick, leather-bound folder onto the edge of the bed near my knee.

“Everything you need to survive is right in there,” Gemma said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

I stared at the black binder, unable to comprehend how my own identical twin sister could prepare for a trip to France while forcing me to marry a stranger without showing the slightest trace of remorse.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice tight and raspy.

“A guide on how not to embarrass me,” Gemma replied, turning back to fold another silk blouse. “It has detailed information on Michael Sterling, his company, his primary business holdings, his daily habits, and the public image you must maintain as his wife. If you’re going to play Gemma Sterling for three years, you need to commit to the performance.”

I picked up the folder with cold, numb fingers and opened it. Inside were dozens of printed pages—photos of Michael Sterling at corporate banquets, notes on his favorite restaurants, summaries of his public habits, and bulleted lists of Gemma’s closest social acquaintances.

“Michael expects to marry Gemma, not Ivy,” she explained, holding up two designer coats to compare them in the mirror. “Our families arranged this union to lock down a major commercial development project. Neither side wants the agreement to collapse, which works in your favor. But you have to imitate me perfectly. You must use my usual expressions, wear clothes I would choose, tilt your head the way I do, and walk with absolute confidence. If you slump like a beaten beggar, his family will notice the difference immediately.”

I looked up from the binder, staring at her back with a cold knot tightening in my stomach. “Do you even understand the consequences if Michael discovers the substitution, Gemma? What happens when he realizes the woman living in his house isn't the bride on his marriage certificate?”

Gemma simply shrugged her delicate shoulders, tossing one of the coats into her suitcase with a careless laugh.

“By the time the truth emerges—if it ever does—I will already have established myself with the top modeling agencies in Paris,” she said airily. “Michael is a busy CEO, Ivy. He manages a multi-billion-dollar empire. He won't spend his evenings investigating your identity as long as you keep your mouth shut, act like a proper heiress in public, and avoid drawing attention to any subtle differences between us.”

My fists clenched around the leather binder, my fingernails biting into the cover.

“Grandmother is in the ICU fighting for her next breath!” I snapped, a sharp wave of anger cutting through my exhaustion. “I am making this sacrifice to keep her alive! Do you feel even a tiny shred of guilt leaving her behind like this?”

Gemma stopped packing. She turned around on her bed, her dark eyes narrowing into a cold, condescending glare that mirrored our mother Evelyn’s worst looks.

“Oh, stop exaggerating your importance, Ivy,” Gemma sneered, waving her manicured hand dismissively. “Grandmother’s treatment is a family expense, and you should consider this marriage an opportunity to repay the household for supporting you all these years. You’ve lived in this house doing nothing while Father and Evelyn paid for your life. The least you can do is hold down the fort so our family doesn't go under!”

Her utter hypocrisy filled me with a sudden, burning rage. I took a step toward her bed, my heart pounding heavily against my ribs.

“Would you make the same sacrifice if the situation were reversed?” I demanded, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. “If Grandmother was dying and Evelyn asked you to surrender three years of your life to save her... would you put on that wedding dress?”

Gemma let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed off the high ceiling of her room.

“Never,” she said, looking me up and down with absolute contempt. “I would never allow myself to be trapped in a marriage for someone else’s sake. I have a real future, Ivy. I have ambition, beauty, and a career in Paris You were always the quiet, spineless twin—it’s only fitting that you take the fall.”

Her cruel words sliced through what little respect I had left for my sister. But before I could speak, Gemma slid off the bed, walking slowly toward me until she was standing inches from my face. Her dark eyes narrowed into cold, sinister slits.

“And let me make one thing crystal clear,” Gemma whispered, her voice dropping into a dangerous, poisonous thread. “Don't get any clever ideas about confessing to Michael. If you ever expose this arrangement, I will tell Michael that you deliberately impersonated me from the beginning to steal his family’s money. I’ll make sure the police take you straight from his mansion to a cell.”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

She wasn't merely asking me to help her or save the family. She was making certain that I would have no easy way to escape. If I refused the marriage, Grandmother died. If I accepted and the truth came out, Gemma had already ensured I would be blamed for the crime. She had boxed me into a corner with no way out.

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat, forcing my face to remain completely still. I refused to break down in front of her. I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing my tears.

I pulled the heavy black folder tight against my chest, turned on my heel, and walked out of her bedroom without saying another word.

I walked down the long, carpeted corridor toward the main staircase, my chest tight and my mind reeling with dread. But as my foot touched the top marble step, Gemma’s cold, mocking voice echoed down the hallway behind me.

“Remember, Ivy. If Michael discovers the truth, don’t expect me to save you.”