I Chose Silence Not Revenge

That was the last time I ever brought up the subject of our engagement with Rhys Kingston.

The room went silent. Then, a collective snicker turned into a roar of laughter when they caught the look of sheer annoyance on Rhys's face.

Seriously, a childhood promise? What is this, a Jane Austen novel?

"Our Princess Anya is finally feeling the heat, huh? Thought that old family pact kept you safe?"

I ignored the crass, drunken mockery. My eyes were fixed on Rhys, who was draped in a velvet armchair.

His shirt collar was undone, and I could just make out faint, tell-tale markshickeyson the skin above his collarbone.

My heart seized, a sharp, almost surgical kind of pain. The full, brutal realization of what those marks meant hit me a second later than the sting.

"We were naive children, Anya. That kind of ridiculous arrangement only makes sense when you're twelve." Rhys met my gaze, a lazy, utterly dismissive look. His lips curled in subtle mockery. "We're not kids anymore, Anya Wells. Let's be adults and call this whole childhood thing what it is: over."

1

I stared at him, my mind scrambling for a response.

The door to the private penthouse lounge swung open. Holly Quinn came in, wearing the black uniform of the catering staff, holding a tray of champagne flutes.

She flinched visibly when she saw me, her voice dropping to a near-inaudible whisper. "Ethans sister... I mean, Miss Wells."

Then, quick as a flash, she darted a tearful glance at Rhys.

"II'm so sorry. I didn't realize I was interrupting something."

Holly's voice trembled as she rushed to set the tray down and leave.

Rhys's composure broke. He suddenly kicked out, flipping the heavy mahogany coffee table in front of him. Glasses shattered, and the sound of cracking crystal echoed through the sudden silence.

Shards of glass flew. A piece grazed my arma sharp, immediate stingingand I watched the blood bead up, slowly spilling onto my white dress. Rhys didn't even glance my way.

His face was thunderous as he strode toward Holly. He roughly grabbed the frilly apron tied around her waist and yanked it off.

"Holly, did I not make myself clear? You are not to be working here or anywhere."

She nodded immediately, obediently, but then her eyes welled up.

"I just... I don't want to keep leaning on you, Rhys. You and Ethan have done too much already. I can earn my own living..."

"But it makes me sick to see you in this," Rhys growled, tossing the apron aside. "You're coming home with me now. And if I ever see you trying to work again, I swear I will personally shut down the place."

He spun around, his gaze finally snapping back to me.

"And anyoneanyone at allwho tries to use their connections to make your life difficult, they're going to pay. No history, no relationship, will matter to me."

I pressed my hand to my bleeding arm. The room was chaos, but I held his gaze, my face a mask of cold neutrality.

This penthouse lounge is part of the Wells Group portfolio. Rhys thought I had pulled strings, using my family's power to make a point, to make her suffer.

The ridiculous, painful thing was that Holly was already living like a pampered princess, showered in my brother's and Rhys's money. She had no need to "work her way through life."

But I knew that even if I presented the club manager as a witness, Rhys wouldn't believe a word of it. In his mind, I was the malicious antagonist, the entitled heiress using her power to crush the fragile, innocent heroine.

"Anya Wells," Rhys said, his voice flat with finality. He pulled Holly securely into his side. "You're too much, Anya. Too demanding. Too dramatic." He tightened his grip on her shoulder. "The engagement is off, officially. You can stop grasping at that childhood agreement now."

The room went silent again. Holly's face went white, and she trembled, shrinking further into Rhys's embrace. My so-called friends looked at me with a mix of disgust and pity.

A strange feeling, almost like relief, washed over me.

I remembered the months of hysterical arguments and the tears I'd shed, all because my entitled, spoiled existence couldn't handle sharing the unconditional affection that had once been solely mine. I reacted, I threw tantrums, I cried. All I managed was to cement their loyalty to her.

Now, I was simply tired. Exhausted, down to the bone.

"Fine," I heard myself say. It was a single, utterly calm word.

I took a slow step forward.

Rhys instantly moved to shield Holly further. "Anya Wells, you want to start something, start it with me."

I lowered my injured hand and spread my fingers. The white skin of my palm was a mess of spreading crimson. Rhys's eyes flickered, the anger in them softening a fraction, a brief moment of human doubt.

But then Holly pulled away from him.

"Anya, please don't be angry with Rhys. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have intruded..." Her tears began to fall perfectly on cue, running down her porcelain cheeks. "I'll leave right now."

"Holly, I told you. I have you," Rhys whispered, immediately stroking her cheek and wiping her tears away.

Any brief moment of wavering was gone, replaced by a fierce protectivenessand unconcealed revulsion directed at me.

"Anya, why do you have to be so manipulative"

I cut him off. "Ending the engagement is fine. But I want my things back."

Rhys looked confused. "What things?"

I reached behind my neck and unclipped the scarlet cord. Hanging from it was a small, plain silver locketthe heirloom his mother had given me when the pact was made. My mother had given him a heavy, much more valuable signet ring, a family heirloom blessed by some high-ranking archbishop in the past.

"The locket for the scarlet wristlet," I stated, referring to the ornate silver cuff he'd received.

Rhys's face hardened. He knew how much that locket meant to me. I hadn't taken it off since I was fifteen.

"You think everyone is as obsessively sentimental as you are, clinging to sentimental trash?" Rhys scoffed, snatching the locket from my hand. He held my scarlet wristlet, the piece that had been mine since childhood, and sneered. "What a pathetic thing. Carrying it around like some lovesick puppy."

He gave me one last cold look. "I'll find your wristlet and have it delivered to your house. We'll be done."

* * *

Ethan was waiting for me in the living room when I got home.

"Anya, listen, there's something I need to tell you." He handed me a thick folder of documents. "I'm planning to sign over the title of the Commerce Building to Holly so she can manage the leases and have an income stream."

I looked at the documents. That building was part of Mom's estatea massive asset she brought into the Wells family from her side.

I snatched the stack of papers and tore them, cleanly and deliberately, right down the middle.

"Anya! What is the meaning of this?" Ethan pushed his glasses up, looking severely disappointed. "I covered for you when you shoved Holly down the stairs last month. You owe her this, if not more."

He lowered his voice. "Did you forget Mom's final request?"

Ethan fell silent. On her deathbed, Mom had made him swear to protect me, to look after me, and to never let anyone steal what was mine.

"I didn't forget," he said slowly. "But Anya, she's my sister now too. Is it really too much to ask for me to split my affection? To share the love I have for you with her?" He sighed, a patronizing sound. "You're being stubborn and spoiled. Why can't you be more like Holly?"

The urge to laugh died in my throat, replaced by a sudden, choking well of tears.

"Ethan Wells," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "Mom's legacy. Nobody takes it." I dropped the shredded papers into the bin. "You want to give Holly a gift? Give her one of Dad's properties."

"What good things has the Wells family ever had?" he muttered, instantly recoiling.

I had the answer already: From people to property, nothing good remained.

I turned and headed for the stairs. "Mom's death anniversary is next week. Don't forget."

"How could I forget?" Ethan gave a weak, shifty smile. "You go rest. I'm heading to the study to catch up on some work."

I didn't reply, nor did I look back.

I didn't sleep that night. I walked through the house, collecting every single item that held a memory of the three of usEthan, Rhys, and me.

The photos I burned in the fireplace. Anything that could be smashed, I smashed. Whatever was salvageableexpensive clothes, jewelry, bookswent into boxes destined for a local charity.

Only the house remainedthe small villa that was the only place Mom had ever felt happy in. I sat out on the balcony, holding Mom's framed photograph, and cried until I finally drifted off to sleep.

The day after my birthday was Moms anniversary. She had held on just long enough for me to celebrate one last time. For eight years since, Rhys had never failed to spend the entire day with me, making sure I got through it.

This was the first time he'd bail. It didn't matter.

But while Rhys was absent, Holly's influence was not. Her Instagram feed was a continuous stream of celebration all night, which my frenemy, Chelsea, helpfully live-streamed to me.

"Couldn't think of a reason for a party, so Rhys suggested we celebrate my new tablet! Just kiddingit's really just an excuse for cake and champange! Look at my new tiara!"

I quit Instagram, flipped my phone face-down on the nightstand, closed my eyes, and made a wish over the flickering candle.

"Mom, please bless me with a clean break. Mom, please help me finally be free of these rotten people."

On Mom's anniversary, I waited. Dad sent flowers and a few expensive items for the memorial. Ethan never showed.

I called three times. No answer.

The fourth call was answered by Brenda Quinn, Holly's mother. "Anya, honey, is that you? Are you looking for Ethan?"

"Today is my mother's death anniversary."

"Oh, your mother's anniversary? Bless her heart. You know, our little terrier just had a litter of puppies this morning, and Ethan and Holly have been so utterly distracted. They completely lost track of time." She spoke with faux pity. "It's probably too late to head over now, don't you think?"

"Auntie, who is it?" Holly's sweet, muffled voice in the background.

"It's Anya. She sounds upset. What should I tell her, Ethan?"

Ethan's voice came on the line. "Anya, hello?"

I hung up the phone and blocked his number immediately.

Mom's photo smiled back at me from the granite tombstone. It was a beautiful spring day, but kneeling there, I felt like I'd fallen into a cold, bottomless void.

I hugged the stone marker and kissed the smooth surface. It's okay, Mom. At least I'll never forget.

* * *

I returned from the lawyer's office to the house, only to find Rhys, Ethan, and Holly standing by the door.

Holly was flanked by both of them, clutching a massive bouquet.

Ethan spoke first. "Anya, look! Holly's design just won the International Young Designers Award. I'm so proud of her."

"I was only trying to follow in Anya's footsteps," Holly said, a perfect picture of demure humility.

Rhys took the portfolio and gave a dismissive laugh. "Follow her? Anya had the best tutors money could buy and never made it past the preliminary round. This takes real talent, baby. Don't downplay it."

I ignored them and reached for the design pages. My breath caught. Sheet after sheet, the sketches were almost identical to my abandoned portfolio.

Holly had stolen my work.

"You stole my designs! Holly, you're despicable!" I was trembling with fury, and my hand instinctively shot out to strike her.

Rhys's grip clamped down hard on my wrist, stopping me mid-air. He shoved me backward with a violent force that sent me sprawling onto the ground.

"Anya Wells, your spoiled tantrums have gone too far." He stood over me, livid. "Holly won that award fair and square. Where is your proof? If you can't produce it, you're making a slanderous accusation."

"I would never steal your work, Anya," Holly cried, tears already streaming. "You hate me so muchI've never been near your computer!" She collapsed into Rhys's arms.

I looked desperately at Ethan. My computer had been in his study. Only he had access.

Ethan immediately broke eye contact.

I didn't need any more answers.

"Anya Wells, look at yourself." Rhys looked down, radiating contempt. He threw the scarlet wristlet onto the ground near my hand. "I truly don't know what I ever saw in you."

I looked up, ready to meet his mockery, but my eyes locked onto the delicate diamond tulip pendant around Holly's neckthe necklace my mother had left to me.

"Ethan! How could you give her Mom's necklace?" I pointed at Holly, my vision swimming red.

Ethan pressed his lips together, shifting nervously. "Anya..."

Holly immediately reached for the clasp, tears falling faster. "Anya, I didn't know this was your mother's. I'll take it off right away."

Ethan, instantly heartbroken by her distress, grabbed her hand. "Don't, Holly. It's my gift to you." He turned back to me. "It's just jewelry, Anya. A trinket. Holly loves it, and she deserves something nice. I'll buy you a better one."

"I'd rather throw this thing into the ocean than let the daughter of the woman who destroyed Mom's life wear it!" I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat.

Ethan's face flushed with shame. "Anya, stop with the hostility! That's between the adults! What does any of that have to do with Holly?"

Holly was sobbing hysterically, burying her face in Rhys's chest.

Rhys was incandescent. "Anya Wells, enough is enough!" He yanked the necklace off Holly's neck and threw it at the ground with force. "Here! Take your damn trinket! Let's go, Holly. I'll buy you a piece ten times better and ten times more expensive right now."

Ethan sighed, then looked at me with pity. "Anya, why do you have to be so difficult? Why can't you be a little kinder? Holly is going through so much." He lowered his voice. "She needs this win to establish herself in the design world. It's her first step toward having a real life here... and to eventually be accepted by the Kingston family."

He reached out to help me up. "Anya, please..."

"Get your hand off me," I hissed, pushing his arm away. I looked at him, and then I smileda cold, genuine smile.

"Brother," I said. It was the last time I would ever use that title. "You will get what you deserve."

Ethan frowned, unwilling to meet my eyes. "Anya, I promise, I'll fix this. I'll make it up to you."

He rushed to catch up with Rhys and Holly, his back turning on me.

I sank down, picked up the diamond tulip, and clutched it to my chest. I didn't cry. I couldn't. It was the strange, numb calm that comes when human pain finally exceeds the capacity for tears.

The sun finally sank below the horizon, painting the sky in a bloody, dramatic wash of orange and red.

The weather forecast had warned about high temperatures and dry air.

Late that night, I began to feed the thick stack of yellowed letters into the fireplace, followed by the photos. Rhys and Ethan and me, their faces all bright, beautiful, and happy. The smiles disappeared into the smoke, turning into nothing but fine gray dust.

My eyes were hot from the flames. I leaned close, catching a glimpse of the old handwriting.

Ethan wrote: "I will always love my little sister and protect her. Anya will be my princess forever."

Rhys wrote: "I'm going to marry Anya when we grow up, and we'll have two kidsa boy and a girl."

They had meant every word. They had both sworn that I mattered more than their own lives.

But the promises, like the faded ink on the page, always drift away on the wind.

The heat scorched my fingertips, and I dropped the last piece. It drifted down onto a forgotten silk garment bag. The small flames caught, licking up the side of the curtains and then onto an old storage trunk. Thick smoke began to pour out of the window.

Rhys's number flashed on my phone. I didn't answer. Ethan called next. I hung up.

As I was about to block them both, a text from Rhys came through.

"Anya, look, Holly is still your sister. I wish you could just be happy for her. She really hoped you'd call. I'm going to buy you that set of diamond studs you liked tomorrow. Don't be difficult."

Ethan's text followed immediately.

"Anya, I'll pay for a custom replica of Mom's necklace. I'll make it up to you. Can you just forgive me?"

I wanted to laugh, and finally, the tears camechoked, silent, and bitter.

My reply to Rhys: "I hope she gets disqualified, and I hope you both burn for what you did to my mother."

My reply to Ethan: "Go ask Mom for forgiveness. Oh, wait. You can't."

I blocked and deleted their numbers. I dragged my single suitcase out, taking one last look at the house saturated with memories, and walked away without looking back.

Soon after I left, a draft caught the candle Id left burning by the fireplace. The small flicker became a hungry lick of fire. The dry air and the old wooden structure devoured the flame. The home, the archive of our life, was a ruin.

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