I Gifted My Groom To Her

The engagement gala was exactly three days away.

I was mindlessly scrolling through a forumthe kind of toxic corner of the internet where men trade stories like trophieswhen I saw the thread. The title was a slur I wont repeat, but the photo attached stopped my heart.

It was a private photo of me.

Even though the face was partially blurred, the heart-shaped birthmark just above my breast gave everything away. I remembered that photo. Parker had taken it on my last birthday, whispering that it was for his eyes only.

The comments underneath were a feeding floor for bottom-feeders. They dissected my body, noted the vintage imperial jade necklace around my neck, and swapped theories about how much I was worth.

Then, a username I knew by heart replied.

He wrote that a week ago, he still found me "enthralling," but everything had changed. He said his "North Star"his one true musehad returned to the city. Beside her, I was just "a gold-plated placeholder."

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I actually laugheda cold, sharp sound that startled even me.

I picked up the phone and called the event coordinator for the gala. I told him there was a change to the program.

"Oh, a change of groom, Miss Everett?" he asked, his voice trembling with the weight of the scandal he smelled.

"No," I said, my voice steady as a surgeons. "Keep the groom. Were changing the bride."

...

Under my photo, the flies were buzzing.

Look at those curves. I bet the guy is exhausted every night.

Id worship those legs for a year.

Saved. I know what Im doing tonight.

Parkers ID chimed in with the final word:

Shes my soon-to-be fiance, so keep it respectful in front of me, but I dont mind if you guys save it for a rainy day. Its a work of art, after all.

Someone asked why he wasnt marrying his "true love" instead. He replied with a sighing emoji.

My muse has a complicated history. She cant help my career the way the Everett name can. But as long as Im the one taking care of her, does a piece of paper really matter? Im bringing her home tonight. Im done letting her drift.

The basement-dwellers cheered him on.

King move. Let the fiance pay the bills while the muse keeps the bed warm.

A true legend!

A few people called him out for being heartless, but he played the martyr:

If her mother hadnt kicked them out years ago, Monica wouldnt have suffered so much. This is just the world balancing the scales.

The crowd egged him on, demanding a photo of this "muse" who was supposedly so much better than a "gold-plated placeholder."

Parker shut them down instantly:

Monica is my soul. Im not letting you animals look at her.

I turned the phone face down on the table. My throat felt like it was being constricted by invisible wire. I was the one who could be looked at, commented on, and consumed like a commodity. But Monicathe daughter of our former housekeeperwas the one who had to be protected, whose name was too sacred to be uttered in a digital gutter.

When night fell, Parker came home.

The lights flickered on, and he jumped when he saw me sitting on the sofa in the dark. He instinctively moved his arm, detaching himself from the woman at his side. The guilt on his face was a fleeting shadow.

"Charlotte? Why are you sitting here in the dark? You scared me."

I didnt look at him. I looked at the woman.

It had been five years. Monica looked more polished, but she still wore that same fragile, "poor-me" expression her mother used to perfect. When she realized I was staring, her eyes welled up instantly. Her lip trembled.

"Sister..." she whispered.

Slap.

The sound cracked through the living room like a gunshot. Monicas head snapped to the side, and the tears began to flow in earnest.

Parkers face twisted into something unrecognizable. He grabbed my wrist as I raised it again.

"Charlotte! What the hell is wrong with you?"

He stepped in front of Monica, shielding her as if she were made of glass. "Whatever happened in the past wasn't her fault. Why are you taking it out on her?"

Monica sobbed, clutching his sleeve with tiny, pale hands. "Parker, don't... it's okay. Its my fault. I shouldn't have come back. She has every right to be angry..."

Then, she did something truly theatrical. She sank to her knees.

"Sister, I know you hate us. But Ive always thought of you as family. I just wanted to be here for your engagement..."

Parker tried to pull her up, his eyes full of a righteous, burning disappointment. "Charlotte, I used to think you were kind. But youre just like every other spoiled heiress, aren't you? Using your money to kick people who have nothing."

"After everything," he added, "weren't the three of us good together once?"

We were. When she first came to our house as the housekeepers daughtertimid, wearing hand-me-downsI felt for her. I took her everywhere. Parker used to complain that she was a third wheel, and shed cry until he apologized. Eventually, he got used to it. Hed buy her gifts when he bought mine. Hed tell me not to be "petty" when I felt a twinge of jealousy.

Look at how little she has, hed say. Don't be cruel.

I didnt know then that the reason she had so little was because my father had been keeping her mother in a separate apartment for years. I didn't know Monica was the half-sister I never asked for until the day my grandfather died, and my mother walked in on my father and the housekeeper in her own bed.

I swallowed the bile in my throat. "I told you. She is not allowed in this house."

The front door swung open again. My father was home. Hed clearly heard me. He marched over and hauled Monica to her feet.

"This isn't your house to decide who enters, Charlotte."

"Ive made my decision," he continued, his voice booming. "Monica stays here starting today. Your mothers health is failing; she needs someone to look after her."

"Look after her?" I spat. "Her mother 'looked after' you right into your bed. Is the daughter here to do the same for Parker?"

His hand connected with my cheek. Hard.

My father pointed a shaking finger at me. "I bring whoever I want into this house. Your mother is a drain on my resources, a sick woman who costs me a fortune every month. And you? You live off my dime. Dont you dare talk back to me."

Monica threw herself at him, sobbing. "Dad... I mean, Mr. Everett... please don't be mad at her. Its my fault. Ill stay in the servant's quarters. I don't want to be in her way."

"Servant's quarters?" My father grabbed her suitcase. "Youre my daughter. You aren't staying in a closet."

He looked at me, his tone a cold command. "You spend all your time in your mother's wing anyway. Your bedroom is empty most of the time. Monica will take it."

Parker took my hand, his voice dropping to that manipulative, soft register. "Charlotte, she just got back. She needs a sense of belonging. Can't you just give her this one thing?"

I wrenched my hand away. "Is there anything of mine she doesn't get?"

The coldness in my eyes made Parker flinch, but he doubled down. "Be reasonable. You have everything. You have me, a family, a legacy. Monica has nothing. What is it going to cost you to be graceful for once?"

I looked at the three of thema united front, standing across a chasm I didn't care to cross anymore.

Before I could speak, a weak voice drifted down from the top of the stairs.

"Charlotte? Whats happening down there?"

My heart stuttered. I looked up and called out, "Nothing, Mom! Im coming right up."

I turned to Monica, my voice a jagged blade. "Listen to me. Do not go upstairs. Do not let her see you. If you even breathe in her direction, I will ruin you."

My mothers room smelled of antiseptic and lavender. She was propped up on pillows, her skin the color of parchment.

"Were you fighting with your father again?"

I sat by her bed, forcing a smile that felt like it was cracking my face. "No, Mom. Dont worry about it."

She was silent for a long time. Then, she reached under her pillow and pulled out a small USB drive.

"Charlotte, I dont think I have much time left. This is for you. Only you."

After I tucked her in and waited for her to drift into a medicated sleep, I opened my phone. The thread had been updated.

She finally showed her true colors. Arrogant, bitter, a total NPC. If it weren't for her family's pharmaceutical patents, Id never marry her.

My father-in-law and I have a plan. Were going to give Monica her rightful place.

I listened to the soft whir of my laptop as I accessed the drive. My fingers drummed against the mahogany desk. I picked up the phone and called the coordinator again.

"The gala on Thursday," I said. "The bride needs to be replaced. Formally."

Every morning, I brewed my mothers medicine myself. For years, my specialized blends had kept her stable. But as I was pouring the liquid, a deafening crash echoed from upstairs.

My hand jerked. Scalding tea splashed across my leg, but I didn't feel it. I ran.

It was the sound of shattering porcelain coming from my mothers room.

The door was ajar. My mothers hair was wild, her eyes bloodshot with terror. She was hysterically throwing everything within reach. Monica was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, watching with a sickeningly bored expression.

When she saw me, a small, cruel smirk touched her lips.

"Sister, tell her to calm down. She might pop a blood vessel."

The blood rushed to my head. I swung for her, but someone shoved me from behind. I stumbled, my bare foot landing on a shard of a broken vase. The pain was sharp and hot.

Parker held Monica tightly in his arms. Behind them, my father was screaming.

"Charlotte, enough!"

Monica tucked her head into Parkers chest, her voice a trembling whimper. "I just wanted to apologize to her for everything... I didn't think shed react like this..."

I limped toward her, my voice low and dangerous. "I told you. I warned you to stay away from her"

"Shut up!" my father barked. "Monica was trying to be the bigger person. She wanted to heal the rift. If your mother wasnt so small-minded, she wouldn't have made herself sick all these years."

On the bed, my mother let out a jagged, guttural cry. She threw her alarm clock at my father. It hit the floor and rolled, pathetic and weak.

My father stepped back, his face contorted with disgust. "Shes a lunatic. A total madwoman."

He signaled for the driver. "Lock the door. Let her 'calm down' in there."

The door was locked for twenty-four hours. I stayed outside it, listening to my mothers transition from screaming to sobbing, to scratching at the wood. I whispered to her through the door, trying to bring her back.

By midnight, it went quiet.

A primal panic seized me. I pounded on the door. I grabbed a heavy chair to break the lock. I swung once, but then a sharp pain exploded at the back of my skull.

As the world faded to black, I saw Monica pointing at me, talking to the driver.

"Drag her to the basement. Its the middle of the night; shes being too loud."

When I woke up, the basement door was open. Parker was standing in the light, his face a blur.

"Charlotte... your mother is gone."

My mind went white. I shoved past him and ran upstairs.

My mothers room had been stripped bare. It was as if she had never existed. Down in the living room, workers were hanging red silk banners. "Double Happiness" symbols were being taped to the windows.

My father was directing the florist.

"My mother just died," I said, my voice sounding like it was coming from a mile away. "And youre decorating for a party?"

He didnt even look at me. "The gala is tomorrow. Ive decided to use the platform to announce that Monica is officially an Everett. Life goes on, Charlotte. We can't stop everything for the dead. Monica has waited long enough."

He paused, then added, "And honestly, your mother... choosing this timing? Its bad luck."

I lunged for him, but Parker caught me, dragging me back.

"Where is she? Where is my mother?"

I clawed at Parkers arms, leaving bloody tracks. He growled in frustration. "Charlotte, stop it! After the gala, Ill take you to see her. Just pull yourself together!"

The entrance to the ballroom was a sea of pink balloons and peonies.

Where the giant LED screen should have shown our engagement photos, a loop of Monicas solo portraits played. Every table featured her face. It was a party for me and Parker, yet I was invisible.

The guests were already whispering.

"Everett isn't even hiding it anymore. I guess the wife finally kicked it."

"Thirty years as a son-in-law, and hes finally the king."

"Did you hear? The illegitimate one is only a year younger than Charlotte. Hes been hiding her this whole time."

"I guess those Everett family formulas are going to the 'new' daughter now."

My father took the stage, tapping the mic. The screech of feedback made everyone wince.

"Thank you all for coming. But before we celebrate the union of two great families, I want to introduce someone. My youngest daughter, Monica Everett."

Monica, draped in a gown I recognized instantly, floated onto the stage on Parkers arm.

It was my dress.

A custom couture piece Id spent eighty days designing. I had dreamed of wearing it down the aisle. This morning, Parker had handed it to her. She doesn't have anything nice to wear yet, Charlotte. Just let her borrow it.

Under the stage lights, the diamonds on the bodice shimmered like a galaxy.

"Im so happy to finally be home," Monica said, her voice trembling with rehearsed emotion. "But the person I want to thank most is my mother."

The former housekeeper stepped onto the stage in a shimmering gold dress, wearing a victor's smile.

Monica took her hand. "When she was forced out of the Everett house years ago, she had nothing. She worked in factories, she scrubbed floors until her hands bled, just to raise me. She never complained, but I saw her crying over my father's photo every night."

The subtext was clear: My mother was the villain who had torn a "loving" family apart with her wealth.

My father pulled the woman into his arms and kissed her forehead. "No more suffering. We are finally one family."

Parker took the mic. "To a future of happiness for all of us."

They stood therethe four of themthe perfect, golden family.

The applause was thin. People glanced at me in the corner. I was wearing a stark, high-collared black suit. A funeral shroud in a room full of pink.

Monica suddenly smiled into the mic. "Oh! I almost forgot. Its also my sisters engagement night!"

She craned her neck, looking for me. "Sister? Where are you?"

I walked out of the shadows. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. My fathers face turned a bruised purple.

"What the hell are you wearing?" he hissed.

Parker stepped forward. "Its fine, Richard. If Charlotte wants to be dramatic, let her."

"You spoil her," my father grunted. "Charlotte, go pour some tea for your new mother. Show some respect."

Monica reached out to grab my arm, her manicured nails digging into my skin. "Sister, it's a big day. Ill have a server find you a red dress. You look so... grim."

I brushed her hand off and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Why are you so worried about my clothes? Its not my engagement."

Parker froze. "Charlotte, don't."

I waved at the coordinator. "Proceed with the program."

The poor man looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floor. He took a breath and announced to the room:

"And now, we begin the formal engagement ceremony for Mr. Parker Owens and Miss Monica Everett."