All Chapters of My Sister's Fiance: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

When I woke up, the world had changed color.The sky beyond the big glass wall of the family room was dark and heavy, not night, but a low-hanging overcast, like a wet gray blanket. The rain still hadn’t fully come down, just tiny dots clinging to the glass. The house felt quieter, but not empty. There was the sound of a pot from the kitchen. Bianna humming softly. Theo’s voice from the foyer, low and lazy, saying something about how “downtown Portland has a gift for sucking the soul out of rich people.”I opened my eyes fully.Issa wasn’t beside me.Neither was Max.A small panic rose.“Bibi, if this soup has a lot of carrots, I cannot support it,” Issa’s voice came from the kitchen.“I support carrots if there’s bread,” Max followed.Okay.Still alive. Still arrogant. Still mine.I sat up slowly, my hair almost certainly looking like a woman who had lost a duel with a pillow. The throw blanket slid down to my waist. On the table, my phone lay facedown. There were notifications, but

At one in the afternoon, we found the real owner of the account.An old vendor.Or more accurately: an old vendor integration that should have been shut down two acquisitions ago, then left sleeping in the corner of a server like a ghost with an admin badge.“The account is being used by a service broker,” Arun said, his eyes red from staring at the terminal for too long. “But last night’s activity wasn’t an automated job. There’s a manual pattern. The command timing is human.”“Source IP?” I asked.“VPN exit. Internal.”Ethan went pale in an expensive way.Zach looked at the screen. “Someone inside.”I did not like the way the room immediately got colder.Claire closed her tablet. “Then this escalates.”“Yes,” I said. “Finally, we all agree the house is on fire.”We worked again.No lunch. Not in any human sense. Tania threw a protein bar onto my desk. I bit into it while reading logs. It tasted like cardboard with gym ambitions. Zach disappeared for seven minutes and came back with

The two little heads turned.Still, neither of them let go of Zach.“Mommy!” Max shouted, far too happy for a child who, fifteen minutes ago, had nearly sued Barbie for emotional pollution. “It’s Mr. Shiny Sweater!”Issa nodded quickly. “He used to be Mr. Shiny Suit, but now he’s more casual. Still shiny, just more down-to-earth.”“Shiny earth,” Max added, pleased with his contribution.I walked closer with the cart in front of me, one hand still holding the butcher counter number that now had no spiritual meaning whatsoever.Zach looked up.And that was the problem.Because while he was crouching, I could pretend he was just a disturbance at bottom-shelf height. But when he looked up at me with those thin round glasses, black sweater stretched over broad shoulders, hair falling slightly over his forehead, and blue eyes far too calm for someone who had just appeared in my supermarket like a curse with a rewards card, my body remembered something before my brain could slap it.I hated

Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in a Italian restaurant far too expensive for this town pretending to be casual, with the grocery receipt still folded inside my bag like a declaration of war.How did we get here?Simple.Two small children announced they were hungry at a volume that made the supermarket’s automatic doors open by themselves three times.Max pressed both hands to his stomach in the parking lot and said, “I’m starving. Like dinosaur with no chicken.”Issa hugged her two Barbies to her chest. “Me too. Princess needs lunch.”I, as a sane mother who had already bought ground beef, chicken thighs, eggs, berries, and enough yogurt to rescue a small preschool, said, “We’re eating at home.”Zach, as a man who had clearly woken up that morning and chosen emotional violence as a hobby, opened the back door of his expensive black car. “There’s a restaurant five minutes from here.”I stared at him.He stared back at me from behind his round glasses, his black sweater falling pe

After dinner, which was supposed to end the day politely, my house turned into a military training facility for humans under the age of five.I didn’t know who started it.Maybe Max, because that boy had a natural talent for finding trouble like a tiny radar dipped in sugar. Maybe Issa, because she had a spiritual belief that every room was a stage and every stage needed a victim.What I did know was that ten minutes after the last plate went into the dishwasher, those two adorable, chubby creatures were rolling around on the family room rug like two little bears raised with no fear of the law.“Tap out!” Issa shrieked.“No!” Max shot back, his voice muffled because his face was pressed into a couch pillow. “I’m just resting!”Issa sat on his back in a position that, if I showed their preschool teacher, might make the woman proud and also send me an additional invoice.Issa’s hair, which I had already brushed after her bath, was now tilted to one side again. Her pink pajamas had ridde