My Sister In Panties Novels & Stories

Jane Jenkins (POV) Two weeks later, I knocked on my sister’s bedroom door. She opened it to find a teary-eyed me. The moment she saw me, I flew into her arms. She stood there and let me cry while rubbing my back, giving me comfort. Once my sobbing slowed down, she led me to the sitting area and sat me down on the couch and she sat next to me. She handed me a Kleenex to wipe my eyes. “Is this about Lucas? What did he do this time? And please don’t tell me he was with another woman because I would kill him if he caused you that kind of pain.” She said, looking at my distraught face.

"Cute? Look at her waist—there's extra flesh. She doesn't hold a candle to you." "Don't say that. She's still your sister." "I only have one sister—that's you, Crystal," he said without hesitation. Their back-and-forth felt rehearsed, and Clement, growing too confident, stumbled and spilled his wine all over my chest. "Sorry! I didn't mean to." He'd been holding a grudge ever since I'd blocked a major order for the Paynes worth millions. I smiled coldly, lifted my rhinestone-studded handbag, and swung it at Clement's face, leaving scratches across his cheek.

"I won't let you slander my sister anymore! Hasn't she suffered enough? You vile, disgusting woman!" "What are you talking about?" Maggie burst into tears, her voice trembling. "When did I ever slander her? I didn't make her jump! She's mentally unstable; how's that my fault—ahh!"

The house had gone still. Even the waves sounded farther away than usual, as if intentionally giving space to the worries stacking quietly in my chest. An open suitcase sat on the bed. Summer dresses folded neatly. A straw hat. Leather sandals. Two bikinis I chose not because I planned to swim, but because I thought—that's just how it’s supposed to look. That’s how a woman should show up on a vacation with her younger sister’s fiancé’s family. Tonight, I wasn’t Maya. I was just… a prop in someone else’s story.

However, everyone knew her rule—no reservations, only fresh sales. Just as Mom was getting ready to close for the day, I saw my sister, Tiffany Ashcroft, walking toward the shop from a distance. Tiffany grinned as she said, "Mom, sold out again, huh? You ask for such a ridiculous price every time, and yet they're always gone. "Could you save me a box next time? I want to bring some to Sean's family." Sean Fernandez was Tiffany's boyfriend. Ever since they started dating, she barely spent any time at home. It was as if Sean's place was her new address.

He still insisted on driving me. “You don’t have to,” I told him as I grabbed my bag. “I want to,” he replied, already tossing me his hoodie like I was going to be cold—even though it was 29 degrees outside. The moment we walked into the café, Macey stood up from her seat and gasped, hands on her hips. “Finally! Mason Carter, back from the dead.” He blinked. “Uh, hi?” She pointed an accusing finger. “You haven’t texted me in a week. A whole week. Do you hate your only sister now or are you just disgustingly whipped?”

she shouted, raising her glass with a radiant smile on her lips. I laughed and clinked glasses with her before bringing my cocktail to my lips. The burn of the alcohol slid down my throat, pulling a shiver of pleasure from me. Isabella always knew how to make me forget my worries. My sister was a star in the darkness, a goddess of the night. With her sculpted body, her long legs showcased by a tight red dress, and her devastating smile, she drew all eyes to her. I had always been the more discreet, wiser, and composed one. She was the fire. I was the shadow of her light.

The priest drones on about the ‘from the sands you came from, to the sands you shall return’ spiel as the casket gets lowered but I’ve gotta say Aunt Bertha takes the grief trophy for the win when she passes out dramatically. Two seconds before she even meets the ground, another aunt from Florida passes out. If I was cynical, if I wanted to make this day about me, I’d weed out all the strait-laced, self-righteous people in here pretending like they knew my sister let alone cared about her death. I’d start with Aunt Bertha; my sister always hated her. She always said Aunt Bertha was as pretentious as those Gucci flip-flops, she wore on the regular. The irony is, she is still wearing said flip

That was the social climb she had sought, even if it meant burning me alive, the 'perfect man' she had convinced herself she needed. "Let's get her into isolation and call in another doctor," I said to the nurse, my voice betraying none of my turmoil. However, then, Silvia clutched at my wrist, her once immaculate nails then broken and bare. "No, you're my sister. You have to cure me!" I let out a harsh laugh and shook off her grip. "And who do you think you are?" "I'm your sister! You have to save me! I don't trust anyone else!" Her eyes were wild, almost monstrous.

“My best friend is no longer the virgin mute! I want my mute back!” I had an inkling of what a stranger might think if they came across such a scene. Why was she crying like she’d been betrayed by her lover?! Quickly, I rushed to the door, peeking to make sure nobody had heard anything before locking it. “This is all my fault…” she whimpered, then snapped her head toward me. “No, it’s yours… even if you wanted to get laid, why him? I mean, I did want you to come out of your shell, but not with the man who chose your sister over you!” She glared angrily.