Marrying my Sister's Billionaire Boyfriend

Hannah.

I woke up to the sound of Loretta’s voice echoing down the hall. It was soft, sweet, the way honey might sound if it could talk. Mom was laughing, that high-pitched laugh she only ever used when talking to Loretta.

I didn’t get up right away. There wasn’t much to look forward to.

My room was the smallest one in the house. It wasn’t small by normal standards, I mean, we lived in a three-story mansion tucked inside the estate of Brookley Hills, where lawns were trimmed by hired gardeners and luxury cars were delivered like pizza but it felt small. The walls were pale gray, stripped of any decorations. I used to have framed pages from my first short stories on the wall, but I took them down after… well, after Loretta’s “debut.”

I forced myself out of bed and headed downstairs. The smell of eggs and coffee hit me first.

“Good morning,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

Mom looked up from her seat at the long dining table. She didn’t say anything, just gave me that look. That look that said, Why are you even here?

Loretta, dressed in a cream silk robe, turned and smiled like she was posing for a magazine shoot. “Morning, little sis.”

I didn’t respond.

Dad was reading the newspaper, a steaming cup of black coffee in front of him. He didn’t look up.

“You’re late,” Mom said finally, wiping her mouth delicately with a napkin. “Again. Why can’t you be more like Loretta? She’s already done her morning workout, had her smoothie, and answered emails from her publisher.”

Loretta shot me a smile, all teeth. “You really should try waking up earlier, Hannah. Mornings are magical. The most productive time of the day.”

I clenched my fingers at my sides. “I didn’t sleep well.”

Dad turned a page. “Excuses are a dime a dozen. If you want to achieve anything in life, you’ve got to push through discomfort. Look at Loretta. She’s a national bestseller at twenty-two.”

I wanted to scream. Because she stole my manuscript. But what would be the point? They already knew it and they didn’t care.

Loretta had taken my story from my laptop a few months ago. The same story I’d poured my heart into. She’d changed a few names, added some scenes, and pitched it as her own. Mom had helped her get an agent. Dad called her a genius. I had tried to say something once but all I got was silence and a warning not to spread lies.

I poured myself a cup of tea and sat at the far end of the table.

“Try not to spill anything,” Mom said, her eyes flicking to the white linen tablecloth.

I drank my tea in silence, wishing I could disappear.

After breakfast, I slipped away to my room. No one noticed. They never did. I stared at my laptop for a long time. I hadn’t written anything in months. The words used to flow like a river, but now they were clogged somewhere deep in my chest, blocked by doubt and fear.

I opened a blank document. Typed a sentence. Deleted it. Tried again. Deleted it again.

Then I heard footsteps. Loretta.

She didn’t knock. Just barged in like she owned the place. “Hey,” she said, dropping herself onto my bed without asking. “So, I have a book signing in Paris next week. Mom and Dad said they’ll come. You’re not invited, by the way. There’s only room for three in the private jet.”

I didn’t answer.

She glanced at my laptop. “Still trying to write?” Her voice was light, condescending. “You should give it up for good. Not everyone’s meant to be a writer, Hannah. Maybe try pottery or something.”

My throat burned. “Leave me.”

She raised a brow. “Wow. Touchy. Relax, I was just trying to help.”

“Leave my room, Loretta. Just…please.”

She left, but not before flashing me one of her perfect, fake smiles.

I slammed my laptop shut. My heart was racing, hands shaking. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was.

Later that day, I sat by myself in the garden. The fountain trickled behind me, and the roses smelled sweet, but it felt hollow. Like everything else here.

A group of girls from the neighborhood strolled by the gate. I recognized them Emma, Sandra, and Vivian. I used to go to school with them, before I dropped out to be homeschooled.

They didn’t wave. Didn’t even glance my way. They never did. I was invisible.

Dinner was worse. Dad kept talking about Loretta’s next book. Mom brought out a wine bottle she’d been saving for a special occasion. Loretta soaked it all in, beaming.

When I cleared my throat and tried to mention something, anythingabout maybe applying to college again, Mom cut me off.

“Why would you waste money on that? You don’t even know what you’re doing with your life.”

Loretta giggled. “Maybe she’ll write another story no one will read.”

“Loretta,” Dad chided, but he was smiling.

I left the table without finishing my meal.

Later that night, I sat by the fireplace in the library. It was the only place in the house that felt remotely like mine. Books surrounded me, old ones, new ones, stories by people I once admired.

I pulled out a notebook from behind one of the shelves. It was leather-bound, worn around the edges. Inside were my original story notes. The real ones. The ones I’d written long before Loretta got her hands on my laptop.

I traced the pages with my fingers, anger swelling in my chest like a storm.

Maybe it was time to stop being silent. Maybe it was time to fight back. Maybe.

But that day wasn’t today, or anytime soon…

Or so I thought.

——

I don’t remember what exactly pushed me over the edge that day. Maybe it was the way Mom sneered at the toast I made for breakfast or the way Dad asked Loretta how her interviews were going and didn’t even look at me. Maybe it was the way they all laughed at the table like I wasn’t there like I was some shadow they couldn’t get rid of.

But what I do remember is the way Loretta barged into my room that afternoon, her heels clacking against the marble like war drums.

“There you are,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You left a mess in the downstairs bathroom again. Seriously, do you not know how to wipe a counter?”

“I didn’t use the downstairs bathroom,” I said, not even bothering to look at her. I had an en-suite bathroom for Gods sake. But she was just reaching for anything at this point.

“Oh, so now you’re saying it was me?” she said, voice sharp. “You know what, Hannah? You always act like a victim. Like the world’s out to get you. But maybe you’re just… pitiful.”

I looked up from my book slowly. My chest was tight. My hands were trembling. “Get out, Loretta.”

She laughed. “This is my house too. And you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“You don’t get to waltz into my room and throw your bitterness around like confetti,” I snapped.

Her smile dropped and she blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said, get. Out.”

She took a step closer. “Why are you suddenly growing a spine? Has one of your pity parties finally paid off?”

I stood. My voice cracked. “You stole from me. And I stayed quiet. I watched Mom and Dad worship you like you hung the stars, and I swallowed every insult they threw at me just to keep the peace. But you’ve pushed too far this time.”

Loretta scoffed. “That story? Are you still hung up on that stupid story?”

“It wasn’t stupid to me,” I hissed. “It was mine. You had no right.”

“What are you gonna do, cry about it?”

Then she shoved me. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough. Enough to snap something inside me. I pushed her back, and this time it was harder.

She gasped. “You touched me? You bitch!”

Before I could even think, she lunged. Her nails scratched at my arm, her fingers twisted in my hair. I screamed, grabbing at her wrist, pulling, pushing, flailing. We crashed into my desk, knocking over a lamp.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs.

“What the hell is going on?” Dad’s voice boomed as he entered the room, Mom right behind him.

“She hit me!” Loretta wailed, clutching her arm like she’d been stabbed.

I was breathing hard, hair wild, tears stinging my eyes. “She started it!”

Mom marched over to Loretta, pulling her into her arms. “My poor baby, are you okay?”

“I told you she’s unstable,” Loretta whispered dramatically. “She’s jealous of me.”

Dad turned to me. His jaw was clenched, eyes cold. “Go to your room.”

“I am in my room,” I said bitterly.

He took a step closer. “Then stay there. And pray we don’t decide to have you sent away somewhere. Honestly, Hannah, you’ve embarrassed this family enough.”

“I was defending myself,” I whispered, voice trembling.

Mom turned to me. “You laid your hands on your sister. There is no excuse for that.”

“I’m your daughter too,” I said, the words choking me.

But neither of them looked at me.

Loretta sniffled, her eyes gleaming with victory.

Something fierce sparked within me, that small ember of resent I’d lived with for years, suddenly flared into something more furious. My body trembled with my charged emotions. Mom and Dad still hadn’t even looked my way. 

I met Loretta’s eyes silently, my glassy eyes filled with so much rage and emotions. Loretta’s smile slightly faltered at whatever she saw in my eyes and I thought I saw a spark of wariness before I turned around and fled the room before they could see me cry.

I just knew one thing. I was so done with this shit.