The engagent party had ended abruptly, not with a toast, but with the sting of Elder Damon’s hand striking her face. The impact had been hard enough to split her skin, and though the wound needed stitches, her family had insisted it be treated privately. Scandal, after all, could not be tolerated.
Now, Ines sat in her room, the champagne-colored rmaid dress that once shimred with promise now wrinkled and tainted by the night’s events. Her head throbbed as Liza pressed an ice pack gently to her forehead.
The room felt unbearably empty, the pale white walls and lack of decoration amplifying the hollow ache in her chest. Liza had often nagged her to add so color, to make the space feel more alive. But Ines never dared. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what she liked; perhaps she didn’t. Or perhaps she’d simply grown too accustod to asking for nothing. Asking too much had always been t with her mother’s scolding remarks about being spoiled.
She shifted her gaze to Liza. Her sister’s green eyes, wide and glistening with unshed tears, were fixed on her face, and her blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders.
"H- how could this have happened?" Liza’s voice trembled, her grip tightening on the ice pack. "It was your day. How could he h- how could Grandfather hit you like that? The doctor said if you hadn’t moved in ti, it could’ve been worse."
Ines smiled faintly, her lips trembling at the corners. The ache in her chest felt heavier than the throb in her head.
"It’s alright, Liza," she murmured, her voice hollow. "Grandfather... he’s always been hot-tempered."
A lie. A thin veil she threw over the truth she couldn’t bear to confront.
But her sister’s tears... they stirred sothing in her. The pain, the humiliation, it didn’t vanish, but sohow, it softened. In this house where love had always felt conditional, where affection was rationed like a luxury she couldn’t afford, Liza was the one person who’d always been there for her.
She shouldn’t feel this way. She shouldn’t feel comforted by Liza’s concern, not after tonight.
Not after what she overheard.
But how could she resent her? Liza had always been the epito of kindness, gentle and selfless in a way Ines could never seem to be. When she was sick as a child, it was Liza who sat by her bed, whispering stories to keep the loneliness at bay. When their parents scolded her, Liza often stepped in, shielding her from their wrath, even when it ant earning their praise and furthering the endless comparisons.
"Look at Liza. Why can’t you be more like her?"
Even now, staring at her sister’s tear-streaked face, Ines couldn’t summon the bitterness she thought she should feel.
Liza was everything Ines wasn’t, beloved, beautiful, and effortlessly adored. It wasn’t fair. It had never been fair. But more often than not, Ines wasn’t envious of her. She was just... grateful. Grateful to have soone who cared.
"It’s my fault," she whispered, not sure if she was talking about tonight or Henry.
Liza paused, her brow furrowing as she searched Ines’s face. "Don’t say that, Ines. None of this is your fault. None of it."
But wasn’t it? Hadn’t she been the one who is blind?
She’d thought Liza’s worried glances whenever Henry was near were jealousy, a childish reaction to the man who’d stolen her sister’s attention.
But now, the truth seed clear. Liza had been trying to warn her. Trying to shield her in the only way she could.
"Liza..." she murmured, her voice breaking. "Thank you."
"For what?" Liza asked, her voice soft, confused.
For being the only one who ever truly cared. For being my only ally in a house that never saw . For being the sister I didn’t deserve.
But Ines didn’t say any of that. She just shook her head, her smile bittersweet, and let the silence settle between them.
Liza played quietly with her fingernails, picking it apart as it was a bad habit she had done since she was younger. Ines placed her hand on top of her, showing her a smile, "What’s wrong?"
"That.. sister," Liza bite down her red lips, looking back at her brown eyes. "Are you sure with Henry?"
Ines’s eyebrows untied its furrowed knot, "What do you an, Liza?" she pretended to have noticed her sister’s worry as it seems her sister was struggling to find a way where she could convince her to not continue with her relationship with Henry.
So she wasn’t overthinking.
She wanted to know more, wanted to poke. She loves him, she still does. It was hard to make all those feelings to be dispelled in matters of seconds when she had truly loved him so dearly for three years.
That love was nurtured by her, sothing she had cared for, and it couldn’t just blink away and disappear into the thin air.
But that love wasn’t blind anymore. She wasn’t the girl who had once been willing to give her heart away so freely, so thoughtlessly. Not now. Not after the things she’d learned.
She wanted to know more, needed to know more. The pain in her chest was matched only by the quiet anger simring beneath it. Anger not just at Henry, but at herself for having clung to him so desperately.
No, she wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t willingly enslave her love for a man who had insulted her, betrayed her trust, and cherished soone else more than her.
Not him.
She drew a slow breath, forcing herself to et Liza’s gaze once more. "What are you trying to say, Liza?" Her voice was steady now, her smile gone, replaced by sothing far heavier.
If her sister had sothing to tell her, Ines would hear it. No matter how much it hurt.
"He’s... He’s not a good man," Liza finally spewed out with her eyes closed.
Ines studied her face, seeing that Liza was truly trying to put her words mildly because Henry wasn’t only a bad man but sothing worse, soone who can pretend to love her for three years while devoting his love for her sister.
"I don’t understand, can you explain more to ? I have been... brushing your words aside because I thought you were jealous of his presence, but why do you feel that he isn’t a good man, Liza?" Ines asked, her tone light, almost teasing. But the calm exterior was a lie, a carefully constructed mask. She pretended not to notice the worry in Liza’s voice, the way her sister seed to struggle to say the words.
Liza’s trembling voice faltered as she spoke, her words spilling out in uneven bursts, each one chipping away at the fragile wall Ines had been holding up around her heart.
"He— he is a liar," Liza said, her voice catching in her throat. "Trust , sister, I know he is a liar. He would use people like... like they’re nothing more than objects to him. He would pretend that he cares about them, but he doesn’t."
Her sister’s green eyes shimred with unshed tears, and she clenched them shut as though trying to block out the mories she was dredging up. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, betraying how much this confession was costing her.
"He..." Liza hesitated, her breath quickening as her lips quivered. "He once said that he lo.. loves—"
The words broke off, caught in her throat like a splinter too painful to push through. She couldn’t finish, and yet she didn’t need to.
Ines felt the rest of the sentence like a weight dropped into her chest, an unspoken truth that carried a sharper sting than any verbalized confession. He once said he loved you.
Or rather, he once pretended to love her.
Her mind flashed back to the exchange she’d witnessed earlierthe stolen glances, the quiet tension between Liza and Henry that had felt far too intimate, too charged to be anything but a betrayal. The realization clawed at her, the raw edges of it scraping against wounds that were already bleeding.
Ines clenched her hands in her lap, her nails biting into the delicate fabric of her champagne-colored dress. For a mont, she could only stare at Liza, her vision blurring at the edges.
She didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, that Liza was mistaken or confused. But deep down, she knew. She had known for hours, maybe even for days, though she had refused to na it.
"Liza..." Ines’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Her sister flinched as if bracing herself for anger or accusation.
But there was no anger, only an unbearable ache.
"That he loves soone else!" yelled Liza. Even now her younger sister struggled to tell the truth, wishing not to hurt her heart.
It was endearing but also... it made her feel ashad of herself. She felt smaller, her heart chipping away.
"Are you... sure?" Ines asked, the words trembling with the weight of her heartbreak. "Henry... did you heard him say that?"
Liza’s face crumpled, and she covered her mouth with her hand, a choked sob escaping before she could stifle it. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. The silence was answer enough.
Ines felt her chest constrict, the pain rising like a tide, threatening to drown her. But she refused to cry, not now. Instead, she drew in a shaky breath and lifted her chin, forcing herself to et Liza’s tearful gaze.
"I’m sorry sister, I should have told you earlier but I just didn’t have the courage to see you hurting and I couldn’t be sure until I have the evidence... now I do, I can’t show you but I wish you will believe ."
"I believe you," she said firmly, her hands reached out to hold Liza’s hands. "I don’t bla you, Liza," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "This isn’t your fault."
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