Chapter 8: The Sister Who Knew Too Much
For a few seconds, I couldn’t speak.
Not because I didn’t believe Daniel.
Because some part of me refused to.
Marisa.
My little sister.
The person I had defended when people called her irresponsible.
The person I had helped write college applications for.
The person whose first apartment deposit I quietly paid when my parents said they couldn’t afford it.
Marisa.
“No,” I whispered.
Daniel didn’t argue.
He didn’t tell me I was wrong.
He simply waited.
Because he knew something I didn’t want to admit.
The hardest betrayals are not the ones that surprise you.
They are the ones you spend years trying to explain away.
“She wouldn’t do that.””
The words came out before I could stop them.
Daniel’s expression softened.
“Sylvie, we’re not saying she stole your research.””
“Then what are you saying?””
“We’re saying she had access.””
I stood up.
“How?””
“We found communication between her and Evan.””
My chest tightened.
“What kind of communication?””
“Emails.””
“About what?””
Daniel opened a folder.
“I didn’t want to show you this before we confirmed the connection.””
He turned the laptop toward me.
There were messages.
Dates.
Names.
My eyes moved to the sender.
*Marisa Prescott.*
My hands went cold.
I read the first message.
*Evan, I found the old files you asked about. I don’t understand why Sylvie keeps everything locked away like it’s some secret project.*
I stopped.
The words hurt more than I expected.
Not because of the files.
Because of how casually she wrote about me.
Like my work was an inconvenience.
Like my dreams were something strange she had to tolerate.
I continued reading.
*You were right. She doesn’t show anyone the complete version.*
Another message.
*I can get access through the family backup account. She won’t know.*
I closed my eyes.
The room felt smaller.
Daniel watched me carefully.
“Sylvie…”
I held up my hand.
“Don’t.””
I didn’t want comfort.
Not yet.
I wanted the truth.
“How long?””
“We don’t know exactly.””
“How long did she have access?””
“We’re still investigating.””
I looked at the messages.
The dates.
The timestamps.
Three years ago.
The same year my grandmother died.
The same year my life began falling apart.
I laughed quietly.
Not because it was funny.
Because I suddenly understood something.
My family didn’t just fail to celebrate me.
They had been standing close enough to watch me fall.
And they never told me.
“Why?””
Daniel stayed silent.
“I need to know why.””
“We don’t know.””
I looked at the screen.
I knew Marisa.
Or at least I thought I did.
She wasn’t cruel.
She wasn’t aggressive.
She wasn’t the kind of person who would openly hurt someone.
But maybe that was what made it worse.
Some people don’t destroy you because they hate you.
They destroy you because they don’t think your pain matters.
I left Wexford Lane an hour later.
I didn’t call Marisa.
Not immediately.
I needed to see her face.
I needed to know whether she could look at me and still lie.
I drove to my parents’ house.
The same house where I spent my childhood.
The same place where I learned that being independent meant nobody noticed when you needed help.
The driveway was empty except for my mother’s car.
I knocked.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Marisa.
She froze.
“Sylvie?””
Her expression changed instantly.
Surprise.
Fear.
Guilt.
That last one was the hardest to see.
“Can I come in?””
She stepped aside.
“Yeah.””
The house looked exactly the same.
Family pictures.
Old furniture.
The same painting in the hallway.
Except now everything felt like a set.
A place where everyone played roles.
Marisa closed the door.
“Are you okay?””
I looked at her.
“Did you help Evan?””
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
“What?””
I didn’t move.
“Did you help Evan access my research files?””
Silence.
The kind that answers before words do.
“Where did you hear that?””
My heart sank.
Not denial.
Not confusion.
Where did you hear that?
“Is that your first question?””
“Sylvie—”
“Answer me.””
She looked away.
“I didn’t do what you think.””
“What do I think?””
“That I stole from you.””
“Didn’t you?””
“No.””
Her voice became desperate.
“No, I didn’t.””
“Then explain.””
She sat down.
I stayed standing.
“I didn’t understand what he was doing.””
I stared.
“What?””
“Evan said he was helping you.””
I almost couldn’t believe it.
“You believed him?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
She looked embarrassed.
“Because he told me you were going to fail.””
My stomach tightened.
“He told you that?””
“Yes.””
“And you believed him.””
She looked down.
“I didn’t know what to believe.””
I laughed softly.
“You didn’t know what to believe, so you gave him my files?””
“I was trying to help.””
The sentence hurt.
Because everyone used that sentence.
I was trying to help.
I thought I was helping.
I didn’t mean to.
Intent had become the favorite excuse in my family.
“What exactly did you think would happen?””
Marisa wiped her eyes.
“I thought he would make your work better.””
“Better?””
“Yes.””
“You gave someone my research because you thought he could improve it?””
“He was your partner.””
“No.””
My voice hardened.
“He was my friend.””
She looked at me.
“I didn’t know.””
“Exactly.””
I pointed toward her.
“You didn’t know.””
I felt years of frustration rising.
“You didn’t understand the research. You didn’t understand what I was building. You didn’t understand what he was changing.””
“I know.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“You don’t.””
Marisa started crying.
“I’m sorry.””
I looked away.
Because a part of me wanted to forgive her.
That was the problem.
I had spent my entire life making room for everyone else’s mistakes.
My mother’s.
My father’s.
Marisa’s.
But nobody ever made room for mine.
“I need you to tell me everything.””
She wiped her face.
“I don’t remember everything.””
“Try.””
She nodded.
“Evan contacted me first.””
“When?””
“About three years ago.””
My jaw tightened.
“What did he say?””
“He said you were struggling.””
I looked at her.
“Of course he did.””
“He said you were too stubborn to accept help.””
“And you believed him.””
She looked ashamed.
“I thought he cared about you.””
The words hurt.
Because I knew why.
Evan was good at appearing helpful.
That was what made him dangerous.
“He asked me for access to the family backup.””
“Why did you have access?””
Marisa hesitated.
“Mom gave it to me.””
I froze.
“What?””
“She said if anything happened, I should be able to help with important documents.””
My heartbeat changed.
“Mom knew?””
“I don’t know.””
“Marisa.””
“I don’t know!””
Her voice broke.
“I swear.””
She stood up.
“I didn’t know what he was doing.””
I looked at her.
“Did Mom ever ask about my research?””
Marisa went quiet.
That was all I needed.
“When?””
“She asked me once.””
“What did she ask?””
“She wanted to know if you were still working on that energy project.””
My stomach dropped.
“Why?””
“I don’t know.””
“Marisa.””
She looked terrified.
“I thought she was just curious.””
I stepped back.
Because now the question wasn’t only about Evan.
It wasn’t only about Marisa.
It was about my parents.
How much did they know?
How long had they known?
Before I could ask more, the front door opened.
My mother walked in.
She stopped when she saw me.
Then she saw Marisa’s face.
And immediately understood.
“What happened?””
Nobody answered.
My mother looked between us.
Then she noticed the papers in my hand.
The copies of the messages.
Her expression changed.
“Sylvie.””
I stared at her.
“How much did you know?””
Her face went pale.
“I don’t know what you mean.””
“Don’t do that.””
“Do what?””
“Lie.””
The word hung in the room.
My mother looked hurt.
But not surprised.
That was what terrified me.
She wasn’t shocked by the accusation.
She was shocked that I knew.
“Your sister made a mistake,” my mother said quietly.
I stared.
“You knew.””
“Sylvie—”
“You knew.””
My mother didn’t answer.
Marisa started crying.
“Mom…”
My mother looked at her.
“Go upstairs.””
“No.””
My voice stopped them both.
“Nobody leaves.””
For once, everyone listened.
I looked at my mother.
“You told everyone I failed.””
She swallowed.
“This is not about that.””
“Yes, it is.””
“No.””
Her voice changed.
“Because you’re angry about the wrong thing.””
I froze.
“The wrong thing?””
“Yes.””
She took a breath.
“You’re upset because you think we didn’t believe in you.””
I stared.
“And?””
She looked at me.
“But the truth is, Sylvie…”
She hesitated.
Then said:
“We were trying to protect you.””
I felt my blood run cold.
“Protect me from what?””
My mother looked toward the staircase.
Then back at me.
“From finding out what your grandmother really did before she died.””
I stopped.
Because suddenly, everyone was afraid of the same person.
And it wasn’t Evan.
It wasn’t Marisa.
It wasn’t even my research.
It was the truth.
My mother stepped closer.
“Sylvie, there are things about Opal you don’t know.””
I held my breath.
“What things?””
Her eyes filled with fear.
Then she whispered:
“Your grandmother didn’t just send your research to Wexford Lane.””
May you like
A pause.
“She sent them proof that someone in this family was trying to destroy you.””
