A Christmas Melody

My fiancé, Jake, and my sister, Brittany, stole the song I had poured my soul into for three years. It was my masterpiece, the one that was supposed to define our careers together.

I heard their entire plan through the half-open door of the recording studio.

"It' s the only way you' ll win the Vanguard Award, Brit," Jake insisted. "This is your one shot."

My own family was in on it. "She' s the talent, I know, but she can' t handle the pressure," Brittany said, quoting our parents. "It' s better this way, for the family."

They saw me as an engine, a tool, not a daughter or the woman Jake was supposed to marry in three months.

The truth was a slow, freezing poison. The man I loved, the family who raised me-they had been feeding on my talent since the day I was born. And the baby I was carrying? It wasn't a symbol of our future; it was just the final lock on the cage they'd built around me.

Later, Jake found me trembling on our apartment floor, feigning concern. He pulled me into an embrace, murmuring into my hair, "We have so much to look forward to. We have to think about the baby."

That's when I knew exactly what I had to do. The next day, I made a call. As Jake listened in on another line, his voice cracking with a panic that was finally real, I calmly spoke into the phone.

"Yes, hello. I' d like to confirm my appointment for tomorrow."

"The one for the… procedure."

Chapter 1

Juliette Edwards POV:

The melody I' d poured my soul into for three years became the soundtrack to my life' s greatest betrayal, and I heard it all through the half-open door of the recording studio I practically lived in.

"Are you absolutely sure she won' t suspect anything?" Brittany' s voice was a nervous whisper, thin and reedy, so different from the powerful, emotive tone she was supposed to project when singing.

A beat of silence. I imagined Jake, my fiancé, running a hand through his perfectly styled dark hair, his brow furrowed with that look of thoughtful concern he reserved for managing her anxieties.

"I' m sure," he said, his voice a low, confident rumble that used to make my heart feel safe. "Juliette trusts me. And she trusts you."

"But it' s her masterpiece, Jake. Everyone knows it. What if someone at the label questions it?"

"They won' t," he insisted, a hard edge to his tone now. "We just need the final master track. Once we have it, I' ll handle the rest. I' ll make sure the right people know this song came from you. It' s the only way you' ll win the Vanguard Award, Brit. This is your one shot."

My best friend, Alaina, the sound engineer, had texted me an hour ago. "Jake and Brittany are here. Acting weird. He keeps asking for the final mix of 'Echoes of Us.' Said you approved it. Did you?"

I hadn' t.

I' d told her I was on my way. I wanted to see for myself what was so urgent.

"She' s just… so fragile," Brittany murmured, her voice laced with a strange, cloying pity. "She' s the talent, I know, but she can' t handle the pressure. It' s better this way, for the family. Mom and Dad think so."

"Exactly," Jake agreed, his voice softening again, coaxing. "She' s the engine, but you' re the star, Brittany. You have the beauty, the charm. She was never meant for the spotlight. This song will be launched by you, and she' ll have the satisfaction of knowing she helped her little sister. She' ll get over it."

He made my sound a stepping stone. A tool. Not a sister, not a partner, not the woman he was supposed to marry in three months.

The truth of their conspiracy didn' t crash over me like a wave. It seeped in, a slow, freezing poison that started in my gut and spread through my veins until my entire body felt like a block of ice.

I was standing in the dimly lit hallway, my hand still resting on the cool metal of the doorframe. My knuckles were white. The sharp edge of the frame was digging into my palm, a small, grounding pain in a world that had just shattered into a million pieces.

My chest didn't hurt. It was just… empty. A hollowed-out space where my heart was supposed to be.

I had come here to surprise him. I'd bought his favorite coffee and a pastry from the little bakery near our apartment, a small gesture to celebrate the near-completion of the song I thought would define our careers together. The coffee was now growing cold in my hand.

The autumn air outside had been crisp. But now, the chill I felt had nothing to do with the weather.

I should have been worried about Brittany catching a cold in this drafty building. I should have been thinking about the final bridge of the song, the one I' d stayed up all night perfecting.

Instead, a single, brutal understanding sliced through the numbness.