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All Chapters of They Chose My Sister Over My Scars: Chapter 1 - Chapter 9

9 Chapters

Chapter 1

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 wee

Chapter 2

Isla's voice was shocked on the other end."Leave? But I thought you were chosen. By the heir."She paused. Confused. Sad."You've been preparing for this for so long..."A sharp pain shot through my heart.She was right.I perfected my posture.I mastered four languages.I memorized the Rinaldi family history.Everyone thought I did it to marry Matteo.Only I knew the truth.Matteo didn't matter.I just wanted one thing.For my parents to be proud of me.For once.But now... I thought of their cold eyes.I thought of that brutal dream.It was all a joke.I closed my eyes.My voice was calm."Forget it. I'm sure. I'm not marrying him."Isla sighed, but her tone shifted. Firm."Okay. If you've decided, I'm with you. All the way. I'll meet you in Miami."Her voice was a small warmth in my frozen heart.Isla added, her voice full of excitement."And I've got good news. Those paintings you had me send to the top galleries in Miami? They loved them."I glanced at the safe in the corner of m

Chapter 3

Once again, I was locked in the damp wine cellar.Cold and familiar.Growing up, whenever Stella played the victim, I paid the price.But the damp chill still made my body tremble.After a long time, the door opened.The dim yellow light from the hall stung my eyes.My mother was helping Stella, whose eyes were still red from crying.My father followed.Hands behind his back, his face a dark cloud.My mother walked over and sighed.Her eyes glistened with tears, but her voice was full of frustration."Amelia, why do you have to be like this? Just admit it, give Stella back her things, and it will be over."I knew those tears weren't for me.She was just annoyed I was causing trouble.I looked up, meeting her gaze.My voice was hoarse, empty."Isn't kneeling enough?"Seeing me like this, Stella sidled up to our father.She spoke, pretending to be casual."Dad, Amelia doesn't really care about being punished in the cellar."She paused, a vicious smirk on her lips."What she really treasu

Chapter 4

The knife in my father's hand froze mid-air.The tears on Stella's face froze.Even her sobs got stuck in her throat.My mother was the first to recover.She walked over, her eyes red, and reached down to help me up."Amelia, it was all a misunderstanding. See? The necklace is found. It's okay now."A misunderstanding.Two words to erase years of my work, to destroy my only hope of escape.I saw her hand and pulled away.I pushed myself up from the floor.My clothes stained with paint and wine.My knees were numb, but I stood up straight.My father tossed the knife on a table.No guilt on his face.No apology.Just the embarrassment of being exposed by the butler.And the anger of being defied by me.He adjusted his cuffs.His voice was stiff."Since it's found, the matter is closed. Stella didn't mean it. It was an honest mistake."I looked at the shredded canvases on the floor.At the smeared mess of my sunset coast.I turned to face him."Closed? What about my paintings? What about

Chapter 5

The car left New York City behind.A light rain began to fall.The city lights blurred through the wet windows.I leaned back in the seat.The cuts on my back from the broken easel were still bleeding.Sharp pains shot up my spine.But it was nothing.Nothing compared to the feeling of watching my life's work being torn apart.They destroyed my paintings.And in doing so, they killed the Amelia who was always desperate for their love.The driver kept a steady hand on the wheel.He didn't take I-95 South.Instead, he turned, driving through the night to a private airstrip in New Jersey.A Gulfstream jet was waiting at the end of the runway.At the bottom of the stairs, a tall woman stood waiting.Isla.I pushed the car door open and walked into the rain.I always thought Isla was just another rich girl, a southern socialite who loved art shows.But now, seeing her surrounded by Made men in black trench coats.The telltale bulges of holstered guns at their waists.I knew the rumors were

Chapter 6

A week later, the Stewart mansion in New York was lit up, full of life.Smooth jazz filled the grand hall.Stella lounged on the sofa, sipping champagne.Basking in the praise of the city's elite.It was her farewell party, a grand send-off before her trip to Europe."Stella, you're going to be the talk of every circle in Europe."She smiled, her ego soaring.The same people who had whispered about her failure to land the don were now fawning over her.Suddenly, the butler's panicked footsteps cut through the music.He rushed to Mr. Stewart's side and whispered something urgent.Mr. Stewart's eyes lit up.He turned to Stella, glass in hand.His voice trembling with excitement."It's Matteo Rinaldi. He's here in person. He must feel terrible about not choosing you. He's here to make it right."A thrill shot through Stella.She lifted her chin, proud.She was sure that even the coldest king of New York's underworld couldn't bear to see her hurt.The main doors swung open.Matteo, flanked

Chapter 7

"No! Don't touch them!"I shot up in bed, gasping for air.Cold sweat soaked my nightgown.The sound of cracking easels was still ringing in my ears.The sharp smell of wine and paint filled my nose.A glass of warm water was pressed to my lips.Isla sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes calm and understanding."The dream again?"I took the glass, the water soothing my dry, panicked throat.The night breeze from the Miami villa was warm.It blew away the chill of the nightmare.Under the protection of Isla's family, the wounds on my back had healed.But the wounds inside still woke me up screaming.Isla never pushed me.She just waited.I threw off the covers and walked barefoot to the back of my closet.A few paintings were stored there.The only ones I'd managed to save, thanks to Isla.I turned to her.My voice was a little hoarse."I'm ready."She stood up and put an arm around my shoulders."Have you picked a name for the artist?"I ran my fingers along the edge of a canvas."Lina.

Chapter 8

My assistant's voice broke my concentration."Miss Lina, there's an old couple at the gate. They're soaked from the rain and insisting on seeing you."I put down my brush and walked to the front of the gallery.Miami thunderstorms always hit hard and fast.A bolt of lightning lit up the night.In that brief flash, I recognized the two faces in the downpour.Old, miserable, dressed in rags.My parents.It had been five years.In those five years, my gallery and the women's art collective had become famous in Miami.I had a whole new life.The Stewart family, back in New York, had crumbled like a rotten building.Just like in my nightmare, Stella had attached herself to Nolan.The head of the Russian Bratva.To help her, my parents had foolishly betrayed their deals with several New York families.They even sold out the Rinaldi family's shipping routes.But their fatal mistake was earning the full, focused wrath of Matteo Rinaldi.Driven mad by my "death," Matteo's revenge was swift and

Chapter 9

The storm outside faded.Isla leaned against the doorframe, watching their retreating figures.She turned to me."Are you really going to let them die on the street?"I picked up a glass of red wine from the table and swirled it.I met her gaze, my voice flat."Yes.""If I hadn't left that mansion, the one dying in a cold Russian ditch would have been me."I stared at the crimson liquid in my glass.The nightmare that haunted me for years was crystal clear."Thrown in a dungeon. My face slashed. Utterly destroyed. They wouldn't have shed a single tear for me. So why should I feel sorry for them?"Two months later, news of their fate reached Miami.My father's weak heart finally gave out in a cheap motel room.He died in the middle of a cold night, without even a blanket to keep him warm.My mother was begging on the street when she ran into some local thugs.She was beaten savagely while trying to protect the five thousand dollars.Her old injuries flared up.She held my father's body

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