You were always the shadow—braces, acne, oversized uniforms—while Clarisse shined. She was the daughter they praised, you were the one they mocked. On graduation day, your father called you ugly in front of the crowd, then disowned you before dessert. Clarisse laughed. No one stopped her.

But you vanished—and built yourself in silence.

Nine years later, you returned.

Clarisse’s wedding was grand, laced in gold and pride. You stepped in wearing a silk burgundy dress that hugged your waist, heels clicking like a slow warning. Heads turned. Gasps. A few whispered guesses. Even the chandeliers seemed to pause.

You walked straight to the center—calm, glowing.

“Clarisse,” you greeted with a smile. “It’s been a while.”

Her eyes widened. “You—”

“I’m her sister,”" you said, turning to Froi.

He stared, taken aback. “She never mentioned you,” he said, eyes scanning your face like it held secrets.