My Sister's Dark Design

The day I got fired, I went home to my grandma’s and learned how to play gin rummy.

Meanwhile, my entire family was tearing the city apart looking for me.

Why? Because my sister, the family’s golden child and a so-called genius jewelry designer, hadn't been able to sketch a single decent design since I’d left.

In my last life, it all came crashing down at the National Jewelry Design Competition.

Somehow, my sister, Sophie, always managed to debut designs that were identical to mine, just a heartbeat before I could.

Everyone assumed I was the copycat. My own family stood up and testified against me. The company I worked for, citing moral turpitude and damage to their reputation, fired me on the spot and slapped me with a lawsuit for a staggering amount in damages. My family, seeing me as nothing but a liability, threw me out.

Crushed by the weight of it all—the public shaming, the loss of my family—I fell into a deep depression. I was killed in a hit-and-run, struck by a car driven by one of my sister’s obsessed fans.

Even as my consciousness faded, the question haunted me: How did Sophie always know? How did she always manage to create my exact designs, just one step ahead of me?

Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. The day before the National Jewelry Design Competition.

1

"Sadie, you feeling confident about the competition?"

The chatter in the office pulled me back from the dizzying vortex of memory. I looked around, my heart hammering against my ribs. It was real. I was back.

"Are you kidding? Sadie's snagged the 'Designer of the Year' award three times running," a colleague, Maria, said, giving me a playful nudge. "She’s got this in the bag."

I managed a weak smile, unable to form words. Because only I knew what was coming.

In my last life, I submitted a design I had poured my soul into for days. Onstage, in front of everyone, I was branded a fraud.

They displayed two sketches on the main screen. They were identical, down to the last delicate line of filigree on the setting. But the timestamp on the other submission was a full day before mine.

And the artist? My dear sister, Sophie Walker.

She stood in the audience, her eyes wide and red-rimmed, staring at me with a look of shattered betrayal. She brought a microphone to her lips, her voice trembling as it echoed through the auditorium.

"Sadie, how could you? If you were blocked, I would have helped you find inspiration… but to steal my work? Why?"

I was frozen. That was my design. It had lived on my encrypted laptop, unseen by any other human eye. Before I could even begin to explain, the crowd erupted.

"Get the plagiarist off the stage!"

"The nerve of her, showing up with a stolen design!"

"She doesn't deserve to be a designer! Fraud!"

I grabbed a microphone to defend myself, but my voice was drowned out by the jeers. A few scattered voices of support were quickly silenced when my own parents took the stage. They held up photos of Sophie, supposedly working through the night at her drafting table at home. They spoke of their profound regret, of how they were ashamed to have a daughter like me, and announced their intention to sever all ties.

After that, it was over. No one believed me.

Security escorted me out of the building. The moment I turned on my phone, it was a firestorm of hatred.

Back at my apartment, I checked my laptop. No viruses, no spyware, no remote access logs. The computer and my physical sketchbooks had been with me at all times. There was no conceivable way the design could have leaked.

But Sophie’s was identical. Every idea, every spark of inspiration, every line I drew—it was all mine. I could not have copied her. It was impossible.

"Hey, Sadie," Maria's voice cut through my thoughts again. "I heard your sister is competing this year too. Any friendly family rivalry? Who do you think will take home the top prize?"

Not long after I’d started at this firm, Sophie, by some mysterious coincidence, had gotten hired too.

The mention of her name sent a jolt of pure terror through me. My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms, drawing blood.

My sister. Sophie.

When she was born, she didn't cry. While all the other newborns in the nursery were wailing, she was silent. My mother, convinced it was a bad omen, brought in a spiritualist, a so-called "seer" from the mountains.

The moment the old woman entered our house, she didn't look at the baby. She looked at me.

She said our fates were crossed, that my life force was a shadow cast over my sister's, making her weak. She said my presence would slowly drain the vitality from Sophie. The solution, she claimed, was for me to be sent away. Otherwise, Sophie wouldn't live to see her twenty-fifth birthday.

From that day on, my parents’ only goal was to get rid of me.

I must have sensed it. I tried desperately to win them over, to show my affection for my new sister. I brought my favorite stuffed bear into her nursery, a peace offering. Her room was already overflowing with brand-new dolls and toys.

As I got closer, she looked up at me with a wide, innocent smile. For a second, I thought she liked me. I was wrong.

She shoved over a tower of blocks and immediately burst into tears. My parents rushed in. They saw the toppled blocks, their crying infant, and me standing there. The first thing I felt was the sharp sting of my mother's palm across my face.

My ears rang, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood. In that moment, I understood. Sophie and I could never coexist.

Soon after, I was sent to live with my grandmother in the countryside. She raised me, a tough but loving woman who did it all on her own.

Two years ago, my parents suddenly reappeared, asking me to come back home. I was starved for their affection, so I foolishly agreed.

Now, sitting at my desk, I stared at my computer, at the portfolio of my life's work. Sophie had been a dancer her whole life. When did she ever find the time to study art, let alone jewelry design?

I asked a colleague to send me Sophie’s portfolio, the one she’d submitted to the company. He emailed a file.

I clicked through it, my blood running cold. Design after design… they were all mine. Identical. Some of them were private sketches, passion projects I had never shown anyone, ideas I was saving for the day I could open my own studio. And they had all been released commercially under her name.

How? It was impossible. No one had ever seen those files.

My hands shaking, I dragged every single design file on my computer into the trash and permanently deleted them. I had to calm down. I had died once already. There had to be a blind spot, something I was missing.

I had dedicated my life to this. I started studying art in high school, earned a full scholarship to the Rhode Island School of Design, and specialized in gemology and jewelry fabrication. My skills were real. My foundation was solid.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. Whatever trick she was using, I would beat her. I would simply create something new.

I shut down my computer. I couldn't risk it again. I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a pencil.

An idea began to form. I sketched, letting my hand move, channeling the panic and fury into the lines on the page. Hours melted away.

Finally, I leaned back, looking at the finished piece. It was a ring. The band was woven from delicate threads of rose gold, culminating in a white gold violet, its petals cradling a rare, deep purple sapphire. It was elegant, mysterious, and noble. I would call it "Violet's Kiss."

Suddenly, a gasp came from across the office.

"Oh my god! You guys, Sophie Walker just posted a new design. It's… wow. It's stunning."

I frowned. A new design?

"That's gorgeous! The detail is insane."

"Sadie, your sister is a prodigy! You must be so proud."

Praise echoed through the room. Everyone was huddled around their phones. I pulled out mine, my thumb trembling as I opened Instagram. There it was. A new post from Sophie.

The caption read: Working hard to bring more beauty into the world for all of you. Here's a little something I'm calling 'Violet's Kiss.'

The image was a perfect, digitally rendered version of the exact design I had just finished sketching on paper. My vision, flawlessly executed. My breath caught in my throat.

Someone walked past my desk and stopped, snatching the paper from my drafting table.

"Hey, everyone, get a load of this! It's the same design Sophie just posted! Identical!"

The office crowded around my desk, murmuring.

"She's right! It's exactly the same!"

A cold dread washed over me. I stood up to grab my sketch back, but someone shoved me.

"Sadie Walker. Don't tell me you were planning to plagiarize your own sister."

The whispers turned accusatory.

"Wow. She looks so prim and proper, but she's just a common thief."

Then, a voice cut through the noise. "Wait a minute… haven't you guys noticed? A lot of Sadie's older designs look suspiciously similar to Sophie's."

As people started pulling up our online portfolios to compare, I seized the moment and snatched my drawing back.

"This is mine," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "Sophie is the one who has been stealing from me. All this time, it's been her!"

As if on cue, the office door opened, and Sophie walked in. She was wearing a pristine white dress, the picture of innocence.

Her eyes welled up instantly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Sadie, why are you doing this?" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I know you don't like me, but those designs are my life's work. They're all I have."

She turned her tear-streaked face to the others. "Ever since she came back home, she's resented me. Is this about Mom and Dad? Are you punishing me for them?"

Her performance was flawless. Everyone in the room looked at her with pity, then back at me with disgust. Someone from behind gave me a hard shove.

I stumbled forward, losing my balance. The sharp corner of a metal desk met my forehead with a sickening thud. A warm trickle of blood ran down my temple and dripped onto the floor.

Sophie rushed forward, pretending to help me up. The moment her hand touched my arm, she flung herself backward onto the floor.

Seriously? Is this girl for real? With all these people watching?

She lay on the ground, her eyes wide with manufactured fear. "Sadie… why did you push me? I was just trying to help…"

The entire office swarmed around her, asking if she was hurt, while shooting daggers at me.

"What is wrong with you, Sadie? You get caught stealing, and now you're assaulting her?"

"Yeah, just leave her alone, Sophie. She’s not worth it. Let the psycho bleed on the floor."

Sophie slowly got to her feet, brushing herself off with a martyred sigh. "It's okay, everyone. She's still my sister, no matter what…"

A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I looked at her, the master manipulator. "You know what, sis? You're right. I was wrong. Come closer, I have something I want to tell you."

Wary but triumphant, Sophie stepped toward me.

I smiled sweetly. And as soon as she was in range, I slapped her across the face, hard.

The crack echoed in the stunned silence. She stumbled back and fell to the floor, more from shock than the force of the blow.

"Whoops," I said, flexing my fingers. "So clumsy of me, Sophie. Guess my hand just… slipped."

She sat there, clutching her cheek, her mask of innocence finally cracking. Through the curtain of her hair, I saw a flash of pure, unadulterated hatred in her eyes before it was replaced by her usual wide-eyed victim look.

I was done playing her game.

While everyone was still focused on Sophie, I stood up, walked out of the office without a backward glance, and left that part of my life behind for good.

I stopped by an urgent care clinic to get the gash on my head glued shut, then went home. The apartment was empty. I walked straight to my room and began gathering every single sketchbook, every loose design, every scrap of paper with a drawing on it. If she was stealing my work, how? These were physical copies. It made no sense. Unless I was truly losing my mind and copying her in some fugue state.

My phone buzzed. The company-wide group chat was exploding.

We can't have a parasite like that working here. Fire her already.

Seriously, get her out of the building! Can't believe I have to share oxygen with a thief.

And she always acted so high and mighty. What a hypocrite.

The messages blurred together, a familiar wave of nausea washing over me as I remembered my first life. The endless phone calls from unknown numbers, filled with screaming and threats. The insults, the ridicule. I’d had to cancel my number. Then they found my rented apartment. They camped outside, cameras ready, hoping to catch a shot of the disgraced designer. Someone even hung a banner across my door: THIEVES DESERVE TO DIE.

I hadn't left that apartment for a week. One night, starving, I snuck out. I sat on a curb, hunched over, wolfing down a cheap convenience store sandwich. A little boy walking by with his mother pointed at me.

"Mommy, look! It's the lady from the internet! The thief!"

He then spat on my face.

I didn't even flinch. I just looked at him and smiled, a strange, empty smile. His mother quickly dragged him away.

I had had enough. That last night, I sat on the roof of my building, feeling nothing. The city lights glittered below, a beautiful, rotten thing. The only person I would miss was my grandma, safe in the country, unaware of how far I had fallen.

My thoughts snapped back to the present.

I started packing a suitcase. I was going back to the country. Back to her. Screw the competition. Screw the career. I didn't understand Sophie's methods, but I knew one thing for sure.

I sent a resignation email to HR and an official withdrawal from the competition.

I can’t figure out how she reads my mind and steals my designs before I even finish them. So, I’ll just stop designing altogether.

Let’s see what she submits then.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "260614" to read the entire book.