When His First Love Returned, My Husband and Son Joined Forces to Kill My Sister
Hannah Air · Completed · 6.2k Words
Introduction
And Lucas—the son I'd raised for fifteen years—stood on their side and called me a "crazy woman."
At Mia's funeral, Chloe curled up in Daniel's arms and posted on Instagram: "Survived the storm—thank God I had you."
Lucas liked it and commented: "Aunt Chloe, get well soon! You're the one who deserves to stand besides Dad."
That was when I finally woke up.
I signed the divorce papers, walked away with nothing, and disappeared to Paris.
After I vanished for good, Daniel finally realized every "truth" was a lie. He went mad looking for me and chased me all the way to Paris.
And I gave him just one sentence:
"I don't hate you. I just don't love you anymore."
Chapter 1
The day after Chloe accused me of ruining Morning Light, Daniel and Lucas tied Mia to a chair in the middle of the studio.
"Do you admit you were wrong?" Daniel's voice was cold as ice.
I stared at Mia bound to the chair. Duct tape sealed her mouth, terror filling her eyes. "I didn't do it! Let her go!"
"The security cameras caught it." Fifteen-year-old Lucas stood beside Daniel, his tone just as cold. "Yesterday at five p.m., you went into the restoration room. You left at six. That's when the painting got damaged."
I looked at the child I'd raised for fifteen years. Ever since Chloe came back three months ago, claiming her family had "fallen on hard times," everything had changed.
"Elena, I was only checking on the exhibition prep!" Mia said.
"A coincidence?" Daniel lifted a thick rope and a few brass buckles, holding them up by Mia's wrist. "Then today is a coincidence too. I soaked this rope and these buckles in a nickel solution on purpose. You know Mia is allergic to nickel, right?"
Cold flooded my body. "Daniel! Are you out of your mind?! Let her go!" I tried to rush forward, but his assistant pinned me back.
"Now you're scared?" He tossed the rope aside. "Relax. I lied. It's just an ordinary rope and buckles." His eyes were full of mockery. "But if you touch Chloe's things again, next time it won't be just a 'joke.'"
They left.
I lunged to untie Mia and ripped off the tape. "It's okay. He said he was just trying to scare us..." I checked her wrists—only red welts from the bindings.
She clutched me, trembling. I helped her to her feet. "Let's get out of here—"
Before I could finish, Mia suddenly clamped her hands around her own throat. Her face turned an instant shade of purple-red. "Ho... Elena..." A horrible sound tore out of her throat as her other hand clawed at her skin—hives blooming across her body at a terrifying speed!
"Mia!" My soul left my body.
Was it the rope? The buckles? He said he was lying...
But Mia's swollen throat and her dying, ragged breaths gave me no time to think. "Hang on!" I dragged her to the car and drove like a madwoman to New York-Presbyterian Hospital.
In the ER, I ran in with her limp body in my arms. "Doctor! Please! My sister's having a severe allergic reaction—save her!"
Doctors and nurses swarmed. "What's the allergen? What did she touch?"
"I-I don't know... She was fine, and then the second I untied her, she just—" I was babbling. "She's severely allergic to nickel, but those things..."
The doctor's face changed. "High suspicion of a severe nickel allergy. Epinephrine, now. Call ICU!"
But one nurse looked conflicted. "But... all the relevant specialists are upstairs, in the VIP ward, consulting on Miss Chloe. She was frightened this afternoon and her condition is unstable..."
"What?!" I practically screamed. "My sister is dying and every doctor is upstairs for someone who got 'frightened’?"
"That was Mr. Daniel's arrangement."
My hands shook as I called Daniel. It rang forever before he finally picked up.
"Daniel, please—save Mia!" I sobbed. "She's at the hospital. She's not going to make it!"
A few seconds of silence. Then his voice came through, cold as steel. "Elena, the game is over. I told you, it was an ordinary rope."
"It's real! Tell the nurse to—"
I shoved the phone at the nurse. She had just begun, "Mr. Daniel, the patient is in critical condition—"
Lucas's impatient voice cut in from the receiver. "Dad, don't listen to her. Mom's always like this."
Then Daniel's final verdict: "You heard him? Even our son sees through you. Take care of Chloe."
The call ended. I called again and again—his phone was off.
I collapsed on the floor, watching Mia's breaths get weaker and weaker... until they stopped.
"Mia... Mia..."
I held her body tight, still warm in my arms, and got nothing back.
For the next three days I wandered like a ghost. The hospital called to confirm the death certificate and asked for next of kin. I said, "There is no other family." The funeral home asked about a memorial. I said, "There will be no memorial."
I handled everything alone: cremation, choosing a plot, burial.
I took out my phone and opened Instagram. The very first post was Chloe's latest update.
In the photo, she looked "fragile," leaning into Daniel's arms as he held her close. The caption read:
[Survived the storm—thank God I have you. Thank you for protecting me, my Knight.]
The first comment was from Lucas:
[Aunt Chloe, get well soon! You're the one who deserves to stand besides Dad!]
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