Chapter 7: I Don’t Belong Here

Her hands shook as she crumpled the note, anger mingling with despair as she sank back against the pillows. She felt trapped in a nightmare, one she couldn’t escape, and the cruel reality of it settled heavily upon her.

Outside her window, she could see the expansive estate, manicured lawns stretching out in every direction. It was a scene of idyllic beauty, a stark contrast to the turmoil tearing her apart inside.

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Weeks Later— CYNTHIA...

Cynthia sat up in bed, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows on the pale walls of her small suite. Her hands trembled as they gripped the edge of the quilt, her mind racing with the memories of the past weeks. Every laugh, every touch between Carlos and Megan replayed in her head like a cruel, unending loop. It was suffocating.

She rubbed her temples, willing the headache pounding behind her eyes to subside. "I can't do this," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "This has to end."

"It's either I go or she does..."

The knock on the door startled her. It was soft but insistent. She blinked, her pulse quickening as she pushed herself off the bed. "Who is it?" she called out, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

"It's Lily, ma’am," came the timid reply.

Cynthia frowned, her brows knitting together. She walked to the door, hesitated, and then opened it slightly. The young maid stood there, her posture stiff, eyes downcast.

"What is it?" Cynthia asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Dinner is ready, ma’am," Lily said, her voice low.

Cynthia’s frown deepened. "Dinner is ready? And yet, you didn’t bring my plate?"

Lily bit her lip, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. "The young master... insisted that you join him and Lady Megan at the dining hall tonight."

The words hit Cynthia like a slap to the face. She clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her palms. "He insists, does he?" she said bitterly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lily shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, ma’am. He said you must join them."

Cynthia stared at the girl, her heart racing. "Did he now?" She turned away, pacing back toward the bed. "Well, you can go back and tell your young master that I won’t be joining them. If that means I don’t eat tonight, so be it."

Lily's eyes widened in panic, and she stepped forward, shaking her head. "Please, ma’am," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "If you don’t come... the young master will punish me. He said I must bring you."

Cynthia paused, her anger momentarily replaced by pity for the young girl. She sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. "Fine. I’ll come," she muttered, her voice cold.

Lily's face lit up with relief. "Thank you, ma’am. Should I wait for you?"

"No," Cynthia said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "Go ahead. I’ll be there shortly."

Lily bowed quickly and scurried away, leaving Cynthia alone once more.

Cynthia sank back onto the edge of the bed, her fists clenching in her lap. Her mind raced with what awaited her at the dining hall. She knew Megan would be there, draped all over Carlos, as if flaunting their betrayal was some kind of sport. The thought of her sister’s smug smile made her stomach churn.

“Enough is enough,” she muttered, standing abruptly. She grabbed her silk robe, slipping it over her shoulders and tying it tightly around her waist. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes red-rimmed but still burning with determination. "This ends tonight."

The grand dining hall was bathed in the warm glow of chandeliers, the long mahogany table set with crystal glasses and fine china. Carlos sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, a glass of red wine in hand. Megan was beside him, leaning close, her laughter echoing in the spacious room.

Cynthia stepped into the room, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The sound drew their attention. Carlos glanced up first, his expression unreadable, while Megan’s lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"Ah, there you are," Carlos said, setting his glass down. "We were beginning to think you’d decided not to join us."

Cynthia ignored him, her gaze locking onto Megan, who was pouring herself a glass of wine. "You seem awfully comfortable, Megan," Cynthia said, her voice sharp. "For someone who’s been playing the role of a homewrecker."

Megan’s smile didn’t falter. She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Oh, Cynthia, must we do this every time we see each other? I thought we agreed to keep things civil."

"Civil?" Cynthia snapped, her voice rising. She took a step closer, her hands trembling with rage. "You want me to be civil after what you did? After you stole my husband?"

Carlos sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Cynthia, enough. This behavior is unbecoming."

"Unbecoming?" Cynthia turned on him, her eyes blazing. "You have the audacity to sit there and tell me to behave while you parade my sister around as your new wife? On our wedding day, Carlos? Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"

Carlos’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Megan, however, leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Cynthia, darling," she said sweetly. "It’s not stealing if he wanted me all along."

The room fell silent, the tension so thick it was suffocating. Cynthia stared at her sister, her chest heaving. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Carlos stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "That’s enough, both of you," he said, his voice low and commanding. He turned to Cynthia. "If you can’t control yourself, you’re free to leave the table."

"Leave? After you've dragged me out here?"

Cynthia’s heart pounded in her chest. She looked between Carlos and Megan, her vision blurring with unshed tears. "You’re right," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "I don’t belong here."