Even Adrian, long wary of me, finally allowed himself a sigh of relief.
Stella no longer stayed in the guest room.
She naturally moved into Adrian’s bedroom, but the very first day she entered, her face went pale.
Inside hung a large framed photograph—
a picture of me and Adrian kissing.
He used to love it, insisting on placing it in the most prominent spot in the bedroom as if to declare his claim.
But now—
when Adrian saw it, his own face turned white. He hurriedly hid the photo away.
“This isn’t real. Even if it was, it’s all in the past,” he said, rushing to soothe the pale-faced girl in his arms.
“Stella, I don’t even remember Lila Lane.”
Stella sobbed pitifully into his chest, murmuring, “I believe you.”
But when she lifted her head, her eyes toward me carried unmistakable resentment.
In the following days, Stella often stroked her pregnant belly and found subtle ways to provoke me.
For instance, she would clasp my hand warmly:
“Sister, the first time I met you, I knew you were kind. I’ve always thought of you as my real sister.”
“In five months, your little niece will be born. Why don’t you sew her a pair of baby shoes?”
I pulled my hand away coolly.