They Chose My Sister Over My Scars

My mother stroked Stella's back.

Like her world had just ended.

"Stop crying, Stella. You can find a great husband without Matteo Rinaldi."

They didn't even look at me.

They just assumed I wasn’t chosen.

Stella wouldn't stop crying.

Finally, my father glanced at me in the corner.

His voice was casual.

"Look at Amelia. The heir didn't even glance at her all night. She's fine, isn't she? You need to be more like her. Tougher."

I leaned against the wall.

The ring, the symbol of the Rinaldi's future Donna, dug into my palm. Hard.

Stella heard my father.

She wiped her tears and shot me a cold look.

"Her? How can she compare to me?"

I met her scornful gaze.

For a second, I wanted to fight back.

I was the Ivy League grad.

Fluent in four languages.

A classically trained ballerina.

An award-winning painter.

I'm not less than her in any way.

But the dream flashed in my mind so real.

I swallowed the bitter words.

My mother was already planning Stella's comeback.

"We'll send you to Europe next week for a break. When you get back, you can have your pick of any family's heir. Besides Matteo… there isn't a family in New York you don't deserve."

My father glanced at me, then smiled at Stella.

"And that marriage we arranged for Amelia, with the Robinson family? If you're interested, you can have it."

My head snapped up.

I couldn't believe it.

The Robinsons control the East Coast docks.

That was meant for me.

Now that Stella didn't get the don, they were giving her my fiancé as a consolation prize?

My eyes burned.

"What about me?"

My voice trembled.

My father’s brow furrowed.

He was annoyed.

"Think of the family, Amelia! Your sister is hurting right now. You're not in a rush to get married. We can find someone else for you later. You can't possibly think I'm playing favorites, can you?"

Favorites?

Yeah, right.

Growing up, the designer dresses from Fifth Avenue?

Always went to her room first.

The summer parties in the Hamptons?

Always for her.

Even the jewels our grandmother left me were locked in her safe.

In this house, I was just her backup plan.

Her stepping stone.

Her personal ATM.

But I couldn't say anything.

It was useless.

I looked at his entitled face and took a deep breath.

"I don't care. I'm just tired from the dinner. I'm going to my room."

I didn't wait for a reply.

I just turned and walked up the stairs.

But I had barely changed out of my dress when there was a knock.

It was my mother.

The family's financial advisor was right behind her.

She placed a stack of papers on my desk.

"Amelia. I need you to sign a few things."

I scanned the documents.

Transfer half the money from my bank accounts.

Sign over my three Long Island properties to Stella Stewart.

My voice shook.

"Why? Just because she wasn't picked by Matteo?"

My mother's voice was still gentle.

But her words were like stone.

"You know Stella. She's not happy."

"She needs assets. For her trip to Europe, for networking, for her future marriage. She needs to look strong."

I stared at her face.

Not a trace of guilt.

I finally got it.

The last few assets I had left were just an ATM for them.

That was it.

I was done hoping.

I grabbed the pen, flipped through the documents, and signed my name at the bottom of each page.

Maybe I was too cooperative.

My mother watched the advisor gather the papers and asked me cautiously.

"You understand, don't you? You don't think I'm playing favorites?"

I paused.

Last Christmas, Stella got a limited-edition Porsche just because she said "I want it."

I stood outside the garage looking at it for a long time.

My mother walked by and said.

"Your future husband will buy you one."

Stella knew how to charm them.

How to get what she wanted.

She was always first.

I met her eyes.

"No. I understand completely."

My mother relaxed, smiling.

"Good girl. Get some sleep."

She left with the advisor.

The door closed.

Their footsteps faded down the hall.

I went to my vanity, pulled out my encrypted phone, and dialed a number.

"Isla. I need you to get me a new identity."

"As fast as you can."

If they think I'm worthless...

Then in three days, I'm leaving New York for good.