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⚠️ Content Warning: This chapter contains emotional trauma, manipulation, psychological scheming, and themes of grief and guilt. Reader discretion is advised.
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The city skyline shimmered in the distance as Liv sat at the edge of her desk, staring down at a printed document with red markings circled in her own handwriting. The office was silent, apart from the soft breathing of Mia, who sat curled on the couch, sketching shapes in a notebook.
They had done it. They had copied every file from Zavian's locked drawer: transaction records, hospital supply requests, the altered nurse report, and an unregistered order for a specific sedative—administered to one patient. Nia.
"Your instincts were right," Liv whispered.
Mia didn't respond right away. She just flipped a page and began drawing a spiral. "It's not over yet," she said quietly. "They're getting nervous."
And nervous they were.
It wasn't long after their infiltration that Liv noticed her access to core systems had been limited—not revoked, just… subtly cut down. Project folders locked. Meeting invitations vanishing. Her own calendar tampered with.
Something was shifting.
She sat across from the board three days later, blindsided by a sudden audit report presented by none other than Zavian. He had compiled months of data, selectively edited and twisted, to frame Liv as someone who was mentally unstable and financially reckless.
"I'm not saying she's dangerous," Zavian said, glancing at the board members. "But she's grieving. She's distracted. We're worried she's letting emotions dictate business. We recommend she take an extended leave."
Some board members nodded sympathetically. Others looked unsure. But the damage was done.
Liv sat there in silence, her expression unreadable.
Zavian had made his move.
And she had just confirmed he knew.
Later that night, Liv leaned against the balcony of her rented townhouse, clutching a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. Behind her, Mia stirred in her sleep, caught once again in a night of silent agony.
Liv rushed in as the whimpering began. "No—don't take her—please—!"
Her small body trembled under the blanket. Liv knelt beside her, pulling her close, wrapping her arms around her daughter—her sister.
"I'm here," she whispered, pressing her lips to Mia's forehead. "I've got you, Nia. I'll never leave you again."
Mia awoke in her arms, gasping, confused. Her eyes met Liv's, full of questions. But she didn't say anything. She just cried silently, her fingers clutching the front of Liv's shirt.
They sat there until the sun rose.
Liv knew those dreams weren't just trauma—they were guilt, loss, a scream from a past life where her own twin died unloved and unheard.
"I should've done more back then," Liv whispered to herself. "You were always the one who watched out for me. Even when I didn't see it."
She stroked Mia's hair, slowly rocking her back to sleep. Now, she was the one protecting Nia. Not just as a sister, but like a mother.
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The next morning, she walked into the office again—smiling, calm, with files in her hands.
Everyone believed her time was coming to an end. Rumors spread that she was handing over her role to Zavian and his close friend—someone who had miraculously returned to the company after years of absence.
What no one knew was that the eldest brother, Ravian, had nothing to do with the company now. He had taken over the family's old-world estate business, a quiet, prestigious venture that required little attention and gave him everything he needed to feel superior.
He hadn't helped Liv. But he hadn't tried to destroy her either.
Zavian, on the other hand, had been exiled from the family business years ago—after a massive financial error that nearly cost them millions. His pride was wounded. He needed a new legacy.
That's when he returned, charming, calm, and patient. And he didn't come alone.
He brought with him an old friend, a man Liv barely remembered but who spoke with silver-coated lies. "You're tired," he told her. "Let us take over what you built. We'll carry your sister's vision. Think about your daughter now. Live for her."
It almost sounded sincere.
But it wasn't.
Mia, always watching silently from the side, leaned into Liv one day and whispered, "They want you to give them the kingdom. And then they'll burn the throne."
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At night, Mia continued to suffer. The nightmares grew more vivid—snippets of her final moments in the hospital, the cold hand of the nurse, the silent room, the fear.
Liv stayed up every night with her, sometimes holding her for hours, sometimes humming soft lullabies neither of them remembered learning.
She began to feel the weight of motherhood—the pain, the sacrifice, the overwhelming urge to protect someone fragile from a world that had already broken them once.
It was a bond built not just on blood, but on repentance.
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Then, two weeks later, it happened.
Liv received an email from a private source—anonymous—containing a video clip.
She opened it.
It was grainy. Time-stamped. But clear enough.
In it, she saw Zavian in a hospital corridor, speaking in hushed tones to a nurse. The same nurse. The same night Nia died.
And in the corner of the frame, a shadow.
His friend. Holding a file.
They weren't just involved.
They orchestrated it.
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Liv leaned back in her chair, pulse racing. Mia sat across from her, silent, her eyes wide.
"This is it," Liv said. "This is our proof."
"But not our end," Mia said quietly.
Liv nodded. "Now we trap them with their own truth."
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Afterword 💬
> Trust may falter, families may fall, but some bonds are reborn through fire.
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