Never Steal From The Good Sister

The night before the holiday, I worked overtime until two in the morning. I sent my boyfriend seventeen messages. He only replied with one word: "Busy." The next morning, while scrolling through Instagram, I saw a photo posted by my stepsister. On a sun-drenched Miami beach, a man's hands rested intimately on her waist. On his wrist was the custom watch I had given my boyfriend for his birthday last year. I stared at that photo for three whole minutes before dialing my sister’s number. "Chloe, are you on vacation? I saw your Instagram post." The line went silent for two seconds. Then came her sweet, airy giggle: "No way, Avery! That’s an old picture from last year. I’m just binge-watching shows at home today." "Really? Should I come over? I just bought that cheesecake you love." "Oh, actually, I’m out grabbing lunch with some friends right now. Rain check!" The panic in her voice was impossible to hide. I smiled and said okay. The second I hung up, I called an Uber straight to the airport. Some things, I had to see with my own eyes. On the way to the airport, I called Ethan. The phone rang six times before he finally picked up. I could hear the faint sound of ocean waves in the background. He kept his voice deliberately low: "What’s up?" "Nothing much. Just checking if you ate lunch yet." "Yeah, I did. I’m in a meeting right now, let’s talk later." He was eager to hang up. "Wait," I took a deep breath. "Ethan, do you still have that watch I gave you last year?" The other end went completely still for a second. "Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?" "Nothing. I was just organizing some drawers today and noticed the warranty card is about to expire. Thought I could take it in for a tune-up for you." "No need, it works perfectly." His voice sounded completely natural, showing no flaws. "Gotta run, my client is waiting." The call disconnected. I leaned back against the headrest of the cab, watching the street trees blur past the window. I first met Chloe when I was fourteen. She snatched my brand-new hair clip, and I told Mom it was fine. When I was eighteen, on the morning of the SATs, she ripped up my admission ticket. I had to scramble at the test center desk to get a replacement and almost missed the exam. My parents simply said she was just young and didn’t know any better. At twenty-two, I used my very first paycheck to buy her a birthday gift. She called it cheap and tossed it straight into the trash right in front of me. At twenty-four, I brought Ethan home for Thanksgiving. She sat right next to him, flashing him her sweetest smiles. I should have seen it back then. Yet, I didn't. Because she was Chloe. She was my sister. Everyone always told me to be the bigger person and let her have her way. After yielding for so many years, I had completely forgotten what it felt like to stand up for myself. I booked the earliest flight available. It departed at three in the afternoon, a four-and-a-half-hour trip down to Miami. While waiting at the gate, I pulled up Chloe’s Instagram and zoomed in on the photo. The man’s timepiece was an IWC Portugieser. Last year for Ethan’s birthday, I had a personal shopper friend track down this exact model, with "E&A" engraved on the side of the case. I had sent nearly ten grand for it—literally all my savings at the time. When Ethan put it on, his eyes were red with emotion. He held my hand and said, "Avery, I promise I’ll give you the life you deserve." Chloe was there when he said that. She watched us with a glowing smile, holding up her phone, saying, "Let me take a picture of you guys!" Looking back now, she wasn't capturing our happiness. She was memorizing the details of that watch. To go buy a knockoff? No. Knowing Chloe, she would never settle for a fake. She would simply demand it with entitlement, and Ethan would gladly hand it over. I opened Snapchat and messaged Ethan’s college roommate, Logan: "Hey, is Ethan on a business trip in Miami right now?" Logan replied instantly: "Are you kidding, Avery? He told me last week he was taking his girlfriend on a Miami getaway. Wait, you didn’t know?" My thumbs froze above the glass screen. "Taking his girlfriend?" "Yeah, that’s what he said! Booked a five-star luxury resort and everything. I even teased him about when he suddenly got so generous." Logan sent a face-palm emoji. "Shoot... did I say something I shouldn’t have?" "No. Thanks for telling me, Logan." I locked my phone and buried my face in my hands. The Atlantis. Last year, I mentioned to Ethan that I wanted to go there. He told me it was too expensive, that we should wait until his startup got its next round of funding. I told him sure, no rush, I could wait. And I had always been waiting. Waiting for him to finish work, waiting for the company to stabilize, waiting for him to finally have free time. I waited four long years, only for him to take my sister to the one place I dreamed of going.By the time the plane touched down, it was already seven-thirty in the evening. The Miami air was thick, humid, and warm, nothing like the freezing gusts I felt walking out of the office at two in the morning back home. On the Uber ride to the hotel, my mind raced. What was I supposed to do when I got there? Storm in and yell? Throw a massive scene? Or pretend none of this ever happened? In all my twenty-eight years, Avery Reed had never been the kind of girl to cause a scene. When Chloe stole my things growing up, I stayed quiet, because if I fought back, my parents would brand me as "difficult." When kids picked on me in school, I kept to myself, because complaining only made things worse. When my boss tore into me at work, I swallowed it, because making waves meant getting fired. I had become an expert at swallowing down every ounce of hurt, masking it behind an agreeable, composed smile. But tonight was different. What was choking in my throat wasn’t just hurt. It was four years of my wholehearted devotion. The cab pulled up in front of the grand resort entrance. I paid the fare, stepped out, and walked into the lavish lobby. A young woman behind the front desk greeted me with a polite smile, asking for my reservation. "Hi, I’m trying to check which room Ethan Hayes is staying in," I offered a warm, steady smile. "I’m his fiancée. I flew in to surprise him." The receptionist hesitated for a moment. Perhaps my calm, confident demeanor disarmed her, because she looked it up on her screen: "Mr. Hayes is in the Oceanview Suite, Room 1712. Would you like me to give him a call first?" "No need, I’d love to catch him completely off guard. Thank you so much." I walked toward the elevators and pressed the button for the seventeenth floor. As the polished doors slid shut, I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls. My hair was a messy knot, and dark purple circles hung heavy under my eyes. I was wearing jeans from last season, paired with an oversized t-shirt whose neckline had lost its shape from too many washes. Meanwhile, on Chloe’s Instagram, she was glowing in a delicate white floral sundress, her styled beach waves tumbling effortlessly over her bare shoulders, radiating youth and charm. A bitter laugh escaped my throat. No matter what went down tonight, I wasn't going to face them looking like a defeated wreck. I went back down to the lobby and asked the receptionist if there was a private hospitality lounge I could freshen up in. I washed my face thoroughly and applied a sharp, flawless face of makeup. Slowly, the woman in the mirror began to transform. The look in my eyes was far calmer, far sharper than I had anticipated. I let my hair down, borrowing a curling iron to style it into soft, glamorous waves, and changed into a brand-new, sleek dress I had packed. Looking into the mirror, I smiled. Compared to the girl in Chloe’s Instagram post, what did I lack? Nothing at all. My only mistake was being "too sensible" for too long. The hallway outside Room 1712 was lined with plush carpeting that muffled the click of my high heels. Standing right outside the door, I could clearly hear laughter drifting from inside. Chloe’s voice came through, dripping with her signature playful pout: "Ethan, come zip this up for me! This swimsuit is impossible to put on." Then came Ethan’s low, affectionate voice: "Why even bother with a swimsuit? Let's just stay in tonight. I ordered that truffle pasta you love." "No way! I need cute photos by the infinity pool. You have to take good ones of me." "You look stunning in whatever you wear." I raised my hand, my knuckles hovering right above the doorbell. I paused for three silent seconds. Then, I pressed it down firmly. The chime echoed brightly through the suite. From inside came a hurried rustle, followed by the sound of Ethan’s footsteps drawing closer, step by step. The door opened. He was wearing a hotel bathrobe, his hair still dripping wet, obviously fresh out of the shower. The moment his eyes met mine, his hand froze on the doorknob. It was like someone had hit pause on him. "Avery?" There was a mix of emotions in his voice that I couldn't quite decipher—was it pure shock, guilty panic, or something else entirely? "Surprised?" I asked with an easy smile. His face drained of color. He instinctively glanced back into the room, then lowered his voice into a sharp whisper: "What are you doing here?" "You said you were in meetings, so I decided to fly out and see you." I tilted my head, looking past his shoulder. "Weren't you supposed to be with a client? Mind if I come in?" "Avery, just let me explain—" "Explain what?" Chloe's voice floated out from the bedroom: "Ethan, babe, who’s at the door?" She walked out into the living area, wearing that tiny white bikini with a plush hotel towel draped loosely over her bare shoulders. The moment she saw me standing there, she froze dead in her tracks. Even her perfectly applied makeup couldn't mask the flash of panic that washed over her face. But barely half a second later, a smile broke across her lips. It was that familiar, smug look she had worn since we were kids—the look of someone who knew she already had the upper hand. "Avery? What are you doing here?" She strutted over, casually looping her arm through Ethan’s, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. "Ethan said he wanted to bring me along. He told me you were way too swamped with work to keep him company, so he asked me to come help him unwind." She brushed it off like it was nothing. As if she were just being a helpful little sister doing me a favor. I locked eyes with her—those eyes that looked seventy percent like mine. Growing up, she had looked at me with those exact same eyes every single time she snatched away something that belonged to me, never showing an ounce of guilt. "Chloe," I said evenly. "Didn't you just have an abortion last week? Didn't the doctor tell you that you can't go into pools or the ocean for a month?" Chloe’s face turned paper-white. Ethan whipped his head around to stare at her, his expression completely warping. The air in the hallway felt instantly sucked dry. I stood there, watching their reactions, and suddenly, so many pieces clicked into place. I remembered last month when Chloe was suddenly hospitalized. My parents claimed it was an acute case of appendicitis. When I rushed to visit her, she looked pale, but smiled sweetly the second she saw me: "Avery, you're always so busy with work, but you still made time to see me. I'm so touched." I remembered how Ethan started "working late" around that exact same time, coming back to crash on the bed the second he walked through the door. I thought his startup was just swamped, so I spent my evenings cooking him homemade soup and dropping it off at his office. I remembered two weeks ago when Chloe posted an ultrasound photo on Instagram with the caption: My little angel, thank you for finding me. When I commented asking what was going on, she left me on read and deleted the post shortly after. Now, everything made sickening sense. Chloe’s breathing grew ragged. She pulled her arm away from Ethan, stumbling a step back: "How... how did you find out?" "Chloe, you put my name down on the hospital intake form," I said softly. "The day of your procedure, the clinic tried calling the emergency contact for 'Chloe Reed.' The call went straight to my cell. The nurse told me, 'Ms. Reed is out of surgery, could family please come to the recovery room?'" I paused for a second. "I thought something had happened to me on paper, so I took immediate time off work and bolted to the clinic. It wasn't until I pushed open the door that I saw you lying in that hospital bed." "I didn't call you out back then because I wanted to save you some dignity." "But looking at you today, it seems you couldn't care less about having any."