BOUND BY BLOOD AND CLAWS

The chandelier above the Vescari family dining table sparkled like a crown, casting a golden glow over the porcelain plates and silver cutlery arranged to perfection. The aroma of roasted veal and garlic butter filled the room, but Aria barely tasted any of it. Her fork toyed with the steamed vegetables on her plate as laughter erupted again from across the table.

Bella was mid-story, gesturing animatedly with her manicured hands, her wine glass dangerously close to tipping with each dramatic flourish.

"And then I told him," she continued with a smirk, "If you're going to wear velvet loafers, at least make sure they're not burgundy. Honestly, who still wears burgundy?"

Their mother laughed, eyes crinkling with joy, her hands clasped under her chin. "Oh, darling, you always say exactly what people are too afraid to say. That's what makes you special."

"Right?" Bella beamed, flipping her glossy curls over her shoulder. "You have to set standards. People look up to me, you know?"

Their father chuckled, his voice warm. "You're a natural leader, Bella. Always have been. Men must be lining up just to speak to you."

Aria pressed her lips together and stared down at her plate. She reached for her water, fingers trembling slightly. She had tried to talk about her internship at a local gallery earlier in the meal-just one comment, one attempt to be seen-but Bella had talked over her, and the moment vanished like smoke.

She tried again, quieter this time. "The curator said they might extend the program-"

"Ugh, Aria," Bella sighed, without even turning her head. "Can you pass the salt? Thanks."

Aria passed it. Their mother didn't look her way. Neither did their father.

"The gallery is small," Aria added, voice soft. "But they're hosting a private showing next month, and I might-"

"You know who I ran into today?" Bella cut in, bright-eyed. "Alessandro Volpe's mother. She said he's back from Milan. You remember him, right, Papa? The one with the lake house and that German shepherd?"

"Of course!" Their father smiled wide. "Handsome boy. Very sharp."

Aria blinked slowly and stopped speaking.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur of Bella's anecdotes and praise. When dessert was served, their parents were still lost in the world of their youngest daughter-their star. Aria excused herself quietly and slipped away to her room, the sound of Bella's laughter echoing behind her like an old wound.

The next day, Aria walked two steps behind Bella through the cobbled streets of the upscale shopping district. Sunlight filtered through the sycamore trees lining the walkway, dappling her face in golden flecks. Bella, of course, was in full bloom-dressed in a silk mini dress, designer heels clicking confidently, sunglasses perched like a crown.

They had just left a boutique where Bella had bought three dresses and two handbags without blinking. Aria hadn't touched a thing.

"Why do you always look like a ghost at a party?" Bella asked suddenly, pulling off her sunglasses as they neared the café. "Seriously. Could you try smiling? Just once?"

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to perform," Aria replied, keeping her tone level.

Bella scoffed. "Oh, please. You act like you're above it all. Like you're too deep for anyone to understand you."

"I never said that," Aria said quietly.

"You don't have to. It's written all over your face." Bella turned, halting their walk in the middle of the sidewalk. "You always make things about you, Aria. Always the victim. Always invisible. Maybe if you weren't so miserable all the time, people would actually want to be around you."

Aria's shoulders stiffened. "You mean like you?"