Chapter 4 — The Pretty Best Friend

The childhood bedroom was exactly as Sheba had left it years ago . Pale walls, dark mahogany furniture, and a full-length mirror standing in the corner near the window . Sheba sat on the edge of the twin bed, her eyes fixed on that mirror .

She had spent countless hours in front of that glass as a teenager, trying to figure out how to be invisible . But tonight, her eyes kept drifting to the small silver picture frame on her nightstand .

In the photograph, a nineteen-year-old Sheba stood beside Mira on a sunlit beach . Mira was wearing a tiny white bikini, her long legs effortless, her collarbones sharp, and her smile glowing for the camera . Sheba stood half a step behind her, draped in an oversized black cover-up, her smile forced and stiff .

Sheba reached out and picked up the frame .

For fifteen years, Mira had been the "pretty one" . Everywhere they went, heads turned for Mira . Waiters gave her free drinks, strangers opened doors for her, and men tripped over themselves just to get her attention . Sheba had never resented it . In fact, she had celebrated it . She had spent years genuinely complimenting Mira, taking photos of her for her social media, and listening to her endlessly recount her romantic conquests .

Sheba had genuinely loved her . She had considered Mira her safest harbor in a world that constantly made her feel large and unwanted .

Now, looking at the photograph through cold, clear eyes, a sickening realization began to settle in her chest . Every memory she had of Mira began to reframe itself like poison dripping into a clear well .

She remembered their sophomore year of college . Sheba had bought a bright emerald-green dress for an end-of-term gala . It was form-fitting, accentuating her waist and the lush curves of her hips . When Sheba had stepped out of the fitting room, feeling a rare, fragile spark of beauty, Mira had gasped, her hands coming up to cover her mouth .

"Oh, Sheba..." Mira had said, her tone dripping with gentle, worried concern . "Are you sure about that cut ? Emerald green is so bright on a larger frame . It kind of... draws attention to your stomach . A black A-line dress would make you look so much slimmer and less aggressive ."

Sheba had immediately taken the dress off, feeling deeply embarrassed, and bought a shapeless black sack instead . Mira had smiled sweetly, patted her shoulder, and said, "I just want you to look your best, sweetie . You know I'm the only one who gives you real advice ."

Sheba remembered another afternoon two years ago, when a handsome client from her father's firm had lingered near Sheba's desk, asking her about her favorite restaurants and laughing at her jokes . Mira had walked up, casually draped her arm around Sheba’s neck, and leaned in to whisper loudly enough for the man to hear, "Isn't Sheba the sweetest ? She’s like a giant teddy bear . Everyone in the office just adores her !"

The client’s smile had faltered, his tone shifting from flirtatious to polite within seconds . Afterward, when Sheba asked Mira why she had said that, Mira had laughed softly, rolling her eyes . "I was helping you, Sheba ! Guys like that are players . A guy like him would just use a girl like you and dump you . You need a quiet, practical man, not a handsome shark ."

A quiet, practical man . Like Adrian .

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Sheba’s fingers tightened around the silver picture frame until the metal dug into her palm .

Mira had never been her protector . Sheba had never been her friend .

Mira had needed Sheba . She needed a large, quiet, deeply insecure woman by her side to make her own beauty feel absolute . Sheba was the contrast that made Mira shine . As long as Sheba wore shapeless black clothes, stayed in the background, and doubted her own worth, Mira felt like a goddess .

And the second Sheba got something that Mira wanted—the moment Sheba found a handsome, successful man who claimed to love her—Mira couldn't tolerate it . Sheba wasn't allowed to have what the "pretty girl" deserved .

A harsh, bitter sound escaped Sheba’s throat—half a laugh, half a sob .

She popped the back off the silver frame, pulled the photograph out, and slowly, deliberately, ripped Mira’s face out of the picture . She crumbled the scrap of paper into a tight ball and tossed it into the trash can beside the desk .

Sheba set the remaining piece of the photograph—just herself, standing on the beach—back on the nightstand .

She stood up and unzipped her leather shoulder bag to pull out her personal laptop . As she reached into the side pocket, her fingers brushed against a thick, sealed Manila envelope she had grabbed from Adrian's home office desk earlier that afternoon, meant to be archived with his firm's tax schedules .

She pulled the envelope out and slid the thick paper document onto her lap under the dim light of the nightstand lamp .

She unfolded the contract, her eyes scanning down to the official seal at the bottom .

Her breath hitched in her throat . Her heart stopped beating entirely .

It wasn't just a corporate audit summary . It was a secret joint-venture agreement and asset assignment clause—signed three days ago by Adrian, her brother Marcus, and her mother Eleanor .

They hadn't just relied on her accounting skills . Under the contract, the full intellectual property rights to the proprietary logistics algorithms and high-yield tax structures Sheba had personally developed were quietly assigned directly to Adrian’s firm as his capital contribution to her family’s new company deal . In exchange, Adrian was granted a fifteen percent equity stake in her family's firm .

They hadn't just thrown her away tonight . Her mother, her brother, and her fiancé had conspired behind her back to steal her mind, strip her of her creations, and lock her out of her own life's work before she even knew what happened .