Chapter 9

The scent of lilies still clung to the air, a ghostly reminder of the funeral that had swallowed my world just a week ago. My father's absence was a gaping wound, and every breath felt like dragging myself through treacle. So, when the doorbell rang, announcing another unwelcome visitor, I braced myself for more emotional manipulation disguised as sympathy.

It was Mr. Harrison, a man I'd known my whole life, a friend of my father's. He'd attended the funeral, his face a mask of somber respect, but I knew what lurked beneath. He hadn't come to pay his respects, not really. He'd come with a proposition, a hand proffered in the guise of kindness, but dripping with the scent of an arranged marriage. He'd wanted to marry me off just because my father asked him to find a man for me before his death, then, a week ago when I was still reeling, and the thought of seeing him again made my stomach churn.

My stepmother, Grace, flitted around like a hummingbird, her grief a performance. She'd conveniently forgotten her teary-eyed mourning for my father, now focusing instead on marrying off her precious Belle to another one of dad's "successful" acquaintances. The man she had directed Mr. Harrison to, in the first place, was a doctor whom Mr. Harrison said was a good match for me. I'd overheard Grace on the phone, a smug tone laced in her voice as she discussed a "blind date" arranged by Mr. Harrison for Belle. It wasn't my concern, not anymore.

College was my sanctuary, a place where the weight of my grief could be momentarily forgotten in the mundane rhythm of lectures and note-taking. But when I returned home that evening, the peace was shattered. A strange scene greeted me in the living room. A woman with a bouffant hairdo and a predatory smile, the kind one would expect of a marriage broker, sat with a man. This one was average, balding slightly, with a kind of blandness that was completely antithetical to my taste.He was in his 30s but I felt something not right. He was examining the lace detailing on a decorative pillow as if it held the secrets of the universe, and I knew, in that instant, that he was here for the purpose of marriage. He was the so called a doctor whom Belle is going to marry. I wasn't even given a chance to process my disgust before I found myself retreating to my room.

Belle, usually draped in casual designer-wear, was a vision in white lace. It was a dress so exquisite, it made her look like an angel descended from heaven. She had never looked more beautiful. I knew her better than that. Underneath the veneer of angelic grace was a heart as black as coal, a manipulative strategist who always got what she wanted. She was a veritable Lucifer in disguise. The contrast between her stunning exterior and her true nature was jarring. But still she is my sister. Right? I should be the one who should forgive her right?

Then the pieces clicked into place like the tumblers of a cruel lock. The balding man, the marriage broker, the exquisite Belle - it all converged. Belle was going to marry him, the doctor. The one Grace had been so keen on. I watched as she sailed out of her room, a carefully cultivated smile gracing her face as she went to greet her future husband.

I took a deep breath, my gut churning with a sickening feeling. Something about the way the doctor looked at Belle wasn't right, the lascivious gleam in his eyes, made my skin crawl. He wasn't admiring her beauty; he was undressing her with his gaze, seeing her as a possession. I felt like he is using her for some purpose. A shiver went down my spine, a cold dread settling in my stomach. This wasn't a match, it was a transaction, and Belle, for all her beauty, was walking straight into a disaster.

Despite my deep dislike of her, I was still a human and couldn't shake off this feeling of dread. The world felt like it had turned upside down and I was lost in the middle of a sick game. What am I going to do? I should uncover the truth for my stepsister shouldn't I?