She gave a soft laugh. “Pretending to be fragile and pitiful? Zayn would never fall for that kind of act.”
Hearing that, Zayn’s face darkened. “You really know how to act. I almost believed you.”
I was speechless, unable to defend myself.
All these years, it looked like Natalie was just using me to test her medicine—but in truth, she was finding new ways to torment me.
Even when my body was covered in blood and bruises—every wound laid bare before his eyes—Zayn never spared me a single glance.
Instead, he believed every word Natalie said, thinking I had hurt myself on purpose just to get his attention.
After Zayn left with his arm around Natalie, all hope in me died. I took my sister’s body to the crematorium.
Later, numb and hollow, I carried her urn home—only to find Natalie waiting for me at the corner of the stairs.
She was wearing my silk nightgown, standing there with the calm arrogance of someone who already saw herself as the lady of the house.
“Yvonne, you really are something,” Natalie sneered. “I’ve already made you lose three children and yet you still managed to get pregnant again.”
I froze, clutching the urn in my arms tighter, my hand instinctively moving to my flat stomach.