From Broken Sister To Beloved Wife

AtengKadiwa

Modern | Completed

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After our parents died in a plane crash, my brothers were my whole world. That ended the day they brought Francis home-a manipulative liar they treated like a saint while he systematically turned them against me. He framed me for everything, from fake injuries to sabotaging the neuro-linker compound that was my life's work. My brothers always chose his crocodile tears over my truth. "He's in the hospital, Jenna. Thanks to you," Bryan snarled over the phone. They even offered him my childhood bedroom right in front of me, as if I was already a ghost. They had no idea I was about to become one. I had a one-way ticket to Zurich and a contract with their biggest rival, a man who saw my value when my own blood saw a problem. I wasn't just running away-I was taking all of their secrets with me.

Betrayal Revenge Rebirth/Reborn Revenge Personal growth

Chapter 10

01-06 22:35

Chapter 1

He framed me for everything, from fake injuries to sabotaging the neuro-linker compound that was my life's work.

My brothers always chose his crocodile tears over my truth.

"He's in the hospital, Jenna. Thanks to you," Bryan snarled over the phone.

They even offered him my childhood bedroom right in front of me, as if I was already a ghost.

They had no idea I was about to become one.

I had a one-way ticket to Zurich and a contract with their biggest rival, a man who saw my value when my own blood saw a problem.

I wasn't just running away-I was taking all of their secrets with me.

Chapter 1

Jenna POV:

The contract lay on the table, crisp and unforgiving, much like the realization that my family had become strangers, their eyes reflecting an enemy, not a sister. My hand didn't shake when I picked up the pen.

The words blurred, a legal dance of clauses and commitments. It wasn't just a job offer. It was an escape, a promise of invisibility, and a final, brutal severance. The silence in my office was heavy, broken only by my own shaky breath. My heart hammered against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate for flight. This was it. The real ending.

Cesar Witt, founder of Aegis Collective, watched me from across the desk. His gaze was sharp, intelligent, yet surprisingly gentle. He had seen the raw edges of my talent, the way my mind worked in patterns no one else seemed to grasp. He saw my potential when my own blood saw only a problem.

"Are you certain, Jenna?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Once you sign, there's no looking back. We erase the past. Completely."

I met his gaze, my throat tight. "More certain than I've ever been about anything," I whispered, the words scratching against my raw vocal cords.

He nodded, a subtle satisfaction in the slight curve of his lips, a flicker in his eyes that I couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't predatory, not exactly, but it held a possessiveness I recognized. It was the look of a man who knew he was getting something invaluable. The unease that flickered through me was quickly extinguished by the cold resolve hardening in my chest. He was offering a lifeline, and I was drowning.

With a deep breath, I scrawled my name across the dotted line, a definitive stroke that felt like cutting a cord. This wasn' t just a signature; it was a burial. The old Jenna Salazar was gone.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, booking a one-way flight. Zurich. The name felt foreign on my tongue, a new beginning tasting of crisp mountain air and anonymity. I had exactly one week to dismantle my life, to erase every digital trace, to become a ghost in the machine I had once helped build.

One week to say goodbye.

I tried Howard first. My eldest brother, the public face of Salazar Analytics. My calls went straight to voicemail, each missed ring a tiny hammer blow to my already shattered hope. I left a message, a stilted invitation for a holiday dinner, knowing it was probably pointless. He wouldn't pick up. He never did anymore.

Then Bryan. My middle brother. After what felt like an eternity of ringing, his voice, sharp and impatient, cut through the silence. "What do you want, Jenna? I'm busy."

"It's almost the holidays, Bryan," I said, my voice thin, almost pleading. "I thought... maybe we could all have dinner. Just us. Like old times."

A beat of silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken accusations. I knew he was already committed to Francis, to the "long-lost" son of our father' s partner. Francis, with his manufactured charm and his manufactured victimhood. Francis, who had systematically poisoned my brothers against me.

"Is Francis not invited?" Bryan's voice dripped with disdain, a familiar, painful tone. "Still jealous, are we?"

My chest tightened. "I made his favorite spiced cider, Bryan," I blurted out, a desperate, childish attempt at manipulation, even as I hated myself for it. "You know how much he loves it. I was going to bring it to the house."

There was a sharp intake of breath on his end, followed by a low murmur I couldn't quite catch. Then, his voice, colder than before, hit me. "He's in the hospital, Jenna. Thanks to you."

The accusation, raw and unfounded, made my stomach clench. Again. The last time, it was a conveniently placed bruise, a whispered lie about me pushing him. Before that, a feigned allergic reaction to a dish I' d meticulously prepared, painting me as careless, even malicious. It was always something, always my fault.

"I can bring the cider there," I offered, ignoring the barb, my resolve hardening. This was my last chance, my final, futile bid for peace. After this, there would be nothing left to salvage.

Another long silence. Then, a faint, almost imperceptible voice in the background, weak but clear. "Cider... Jenna's cider?"

Bryan' s sigh was heavy, laced with a familiar exasperation. "Yes, Francis. It's Jenna. She's asking if the cider is for you."

"Oh," Francis's voice, still faint, sounded almost wistful. "She always makes the best. Better than anyone else."

A fragile sliver of warmth, quickly turning to ash. He complimented my work, even as he systematically destroyed my life.

"I could bring it myself," I offered, my voice barely a whisper, a last flicker of hope.

The silence that followed was my answer, a reluctant permission. The unspoken word hung in the air: Fine. But don't expect a welcome.

I hung up, my hands trembling, and immediately began preparing. This was the final act.

The hospital suite was ostentatious, a gilded cage for their golden boy. Plush armchairs, expensive flowers, a sprawling view of the city lights. I stood in the doorway, a simple thermos clutched in my hand, feeling like an alien. There were only three seats at the small table, all occupied. Howard, Bryan, and Francis. No space for me. I was, as always, an afterthought.

Francis's eyes lit up when he saw the thermos. "Jenna, you came!" His voice was weak, but his smile was wide, almost innocent. He reached out a pale hand.

"It's your favorite," I said, my voice flat. I poured a small cup, the warm, spiced scent filling the sterile air.

He took a tiny sip, his eyes closing in exaggerated pleasure. "Perfect," he murmured, his gaze resting on me, a mixture of gratitude and something else I couldn't quite place. "Just perfect. No one makes it like you."

I forced a faint smile, poured a small portion for myself, and retreated to the corner, leaning against the wall.

"I'll eat over here," I mumbled, not looking at anyone.

Bryan shot me a sharp, critical glare, his jaw tight. Howard, briefly startled, quickly averted his gaze, turning his attention back to Francis. My existence was, at best, an inconvenience.

"Jenna," Francis began, his voice surprisingly strong, "when I get out, we should all go to Paris. Or maybe the Alps! It's been too long since we traveled together." He looked at my brothers, then back at me, his smile beaming. "You too, Jenna. You're coming with us."

My grip tightened on the paper cup, my hand shaking so violently I almost dropped it. Paris. The Alps. Empty promises, designed to pacify, to keep me within reach.

"I can't," I said, my voice barely audible. "I'm leaving for Zurich soon. For work."

Bryan scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound. "Work? You mean avoiding your responsibilities, as usual." His eyes were cold, filled with contempt. "Always running away."

"I'm not running," I started, but Howard cut me off, his voice sharper than I'd expected.

"It's probably for the best, Jenna," he said, his eyes avoiding mine. "Given... everything. Francis needs peace and quiet to recover. Your presence clearly isn't helping." He paused, then added, "After what you did, it's probably better if you're not around."

The accusation hung heavy in the air, thick and suffocating. My throat was dry, my heart a lead weight in my chest. They still believed Francis's lies. They still blamed me.

The air in the room grew thin, heavy with a cold silence. They had no idea this wasn't just another one of my "flights." This was permanent.

"Francis," Howard said, his voice softer, "when you're well enough, would you like to move into Jenna's old room? It's bigger, and closer to the main wing." His eyes, when they finally glanced at me, were devoid of any warmth, any pity. Just a cold, calculating assessment.

Bryan chimed in, a cruel edge to his voice. "Yes, Francis. It's not like she uses it anymore. Always locked herself away, never shared anything."

I just nodded, a dull ache spreading through my chest. "Of course," I said, my voice flat, hollow. "I'll clear everything out. What little remains."

All three of them looked at me, surprised. Their faces, usually so quick to anger or dismiss, were etched with genuine confusion. They remembered my past refusals, my fierce protectiveness over my space, their accusations of me being selfish. Now, I was just... surrendering. It made them suspicious.

"Don't you dare change your mind later, Jenna," Bryan warned, his eyes narrowed. "Don't play your games."

"I won't," I said, my voice calm, almost detached. "I've accepted things. It's for the best. Easier for you all to take care of Francis without me around."

Howard snorted softly, Bryan rolled his eyes, and Francis remained silent, sipping his cider, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

The rest of the evening blurred into a tasteless, quiet affair. Francis eventually declared himself tired, a clear signal for me to leave. I stood, picked up my bag, and took one last look.

A wave of grief, years of suppressed pain, washed over me. I remembered them, my brothers, as children. Howard, stern but protective. Bryan, mischievous but loyal. Laughter, shared secrets, a sense of belonging that was now a faded dream. I was an unwelcome guest, an intruder in the remnants of my own family.

"Goodbye," I said, the word a fragile whisper caught in the suffocating silence.

No one answered.