Chapter 58: Sister’s Love

Four days ago, before the shadowy SUV swallowed Eliana Bennett into the night, Jason Asher’s penthouse was still buzzing from the fallout of his brutal rejection of Sarai’s pregnancy. Sarai Monroe had stormed away, fury and heartbreak dripping from every step, and vanished into the sanctuary of her private hostel—the same place she’d once made sure Eliana was kicked out of. The drive back to her hostel was a blur of cars and angry horns. Her grip on the steering wheel was painfully tight, her vision hazy with tears that refused to stop. Every red light felt like a trap, every passing car another reminder of how fast her world was spinning out of control. She pressed harder on the gas than she should have, as if speed could outrun the words Jason had hurled at her. Sadness sat heavy in her chest, but rage burned just beneath it—rage at him, at Eliana, at herself for letting her guard down. By the time she pulled into the hostel’s garage, her eyeliner had smeared into a smoky mess, and the silence inside the car was deafening. She stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed against the steering wheel, her breath shuddering as she tried to swallow down the sobs clawing their way out. When she finally dragged herself through the quiet, art lined, corridors of the hostel, every step felt heavier than the last. By the time she reached her suite, her chest burned with a mix of anger and exhaustion. She shoved the door closed behind her, the slam echoing across the wide, empty room. The silence that followed pressed in on her, making the space feel even larger, even lonelier. She tore off her heels, hurling them across the velvet carpet, and dropped onto her silk-draped bed. The soft mattress caught her as she collapsed face-first, her body trembling with the weight of unspoken words and bottled fury. The mascara she’d spent half an hour perfecting that morning now bled down her face, black streaks cutting through the mask she had built so carefully. Sobs wracked Sarai’s body, deep and guttural, as she buried her face in a feather pillow. "How could he do this to me?" she wailed into the fabric, her voice muffled but raw. "After everything... I gave him my heart, my body, and he throws me out like trash?" The tears came faster, hot and unrelenting, soaking the pillow. Her mind replayed the scene: his grip, the shove, the slam. Humiliation twisted into rage. "Eliana. It’s all her fault. That naive little bitch with her hopeful smiles and poor-girl charm. She doesn’t deserve him. I do!" She punched the mattress, her manicured nails digging in. "I’ll kill her. No matter what it takes. I’ll make sure she’s gone forever. Then Jason will have no choice—he’ll be mine. All mine." The words spilled out like venom, repeated like a mantra as she rocked back and forth, her glossy hair tangling around her tear-streaked face. "Die, Eliana. Just die." The bedroom intercom buzzed once, twice, three times, piercing the haze of her grief. Sarai ignored it at first, her sobs drowning it out. But on the third ring, she sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing more mascara. She stumbled to the console on her nightstand, pressing the button with a shaky finger. "What?" she snapped, her voice hoarse. "Miss Monroe," came the security guard’s polite but firm tone through the speaker. "This is front desk security. Your sister, Bianca Monroe, is here to see you. Shall I send her up?" Sarai’s heart leaped. Bianca. If there was anyone she loved more than Jason—more than the thrill of manipulation or the gleam of designer labels—it was her elder sister. Bianca, at 27, was her rock, her confidant, the one who had taught her how to navigate the cutthroat world of the elite. With Bianca’s sharp mind and ruthless advice, Sarai had climbed social ladders and crushed rivals. And now, in her darkest hour, Bianca was here. She would know what to do—how to make Jason accept the "baby," how to claim him once and for all. A flicker of hope cut through the despair. "Yes," Sarai said, her voice steadier now. "Let her through. Right away." She hung up and paced the room, trying to compose herself. The spacious suite, with its minimalist decor—white leather couches, a crystal chandelier, and a balcony overlooking twinkling city lights—felt less oppressive now. She glanced in the full-length mirror, wincing at her reflection: red-rimmed eyes, smeared makeup, disheveled dress. But Bianca wouldn’t judge. Bianca understood. Minutes later, a soft knock echoed. Sarai rushed to the door, flinging it open. There stood Bianca, a vision of poised elegance. Her beautiful warm skin glowed under the hallway lights, her sharp green eyes—mirroring Sarai’s own—softened with concern. Her jet-black hair was styled in loose waves, and she wore a tailored black pantsuit that screamed power, accessorized with diamond earrings and a designer clutch. "Sarai, darling," Bianca said, stepping inside and enveloping her in a hug that smelled of expensive perfume—jasmine and ambition. But as she pulled back, her eyes widened at the sight: Sarai looked sad, her hair—for the first time ever—looked unkempt, mascara rivers drying on her cheeks. "Oh my God, what happened? You look like you’ve been through hell. Tell me everything." Sarai collapsed back onto the bed, fresh tears spilling. "It’s Jason, Bianca. He’s still hung up on that pathetic Eliana. I... I told him I was pregnant today. Thought it would finally make him see me, choose me. But he denied it! Called it a lie and... and he manhandled me out of his penthouse like some criminal!" Bianca’s face darkened, her sharp features twisting in fury. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand gripping Sarai’s shoulder. "He did what? That entitled prick! Tell me exactly what happened. Did he hurt you?" Sarai nodded, pulling up her sleeve to reveal the faint bruises. "He grabbed my arm, dragged me to the door, shoved me out. Threw my things after me like I was garbage. All because he can’t let go of her. Eliana this, Eliana that. I hate her, Bianca. I hate her so much." Bianca’s green eyes blazed. "That bastard. How dare he lay a hand on you? You’re a Monroe—we don’t get treated like that. And this pregnancy... are you really pregnant, Sarai? Be honest with me." Sarai hesitated, then shook her head, her voice small. "No. I’m not. But I thought... I thought it would secure him. Make him commit. Forge the papers, play the part—boom, he’s mine." Bianca stared for a moment, then burst into laughter—a rich, throaty sound that filled the room. She clutched her sides, her diamond rings flashing. "Oh, Sarai, you clever little schemer! Faking a pregnancy? That’s bold, even for you. Hilarious, really." But Sarai’s face crumpled, more tears flowing. "Don’t laugh! It’s not funny. I’m serious, Bianca. I want Eliana dead. Gone. If she’s out of the picture, Jason won’t have anyone else to obsess over. He’ll come to me." Bianca’s laughter faded, replaced by a knowing smile. She wiped a tear from Sarai’s cheek with her thumb. "Oh, sweetie. I agree—Eliana needs to be eliminated. But killing her? That’s no fun at all. Trust me, it would just make Jason sad, plunge him into depression. And then what? You’d be stuck with a moping, broken man who’d become a burden to you. I know from experience." Sarai blinked, curiosity cutting through her sobs. "Experience? You mean... your ex? The one who ’disappeared’?" Bianca nodded, her expression turning somber, almost nostalgic. "Exactly. Remember Derek? I thought killing him would solve everything—end his cheating, clear the path. But the guilt, the mess... it weighed on me. And if I’d been with someone else, they’d have turned into a shell. No, we need something better for Eliana. Something that twists the knife." Sarai sat up, intrigued despite her misery. "Like what?" Bianca leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Instead of killing her, we disfigure her. Scar her face, ruin that ’natural elegance’ she prances around with. Make her so hideous that Jason can’t even look at her without gagging. But here’s the best part—we make Eliana believe Jason orchestrated it all. Plant evidence, whisper lies. Imagine her heartbreak, thinking her precious golden boy turned into an unrecognizable monster. That satisfaction? Priceless." Sarai’s eyes widened, a slow smile creeping across her lips. "Disfigure her... and frame Jason? God, that’s brilliant. She’d hate him forever. But what if he gets in trouble? What if she goes to the police and accuses him?" Bianca waved a dismissive hand, chuckling softly. "Accuse him all she wants, but without proof? It’s her word against his. And since he didn’t actually do it, there’ll be no evidence—no calls, no payments, nothing traceable to him. The law needs facts, not stories from a disfigured girl crying wolf. We’ll be ghosts in this. And you don’t have to worry about the kidnapping, I’ll take care of it." Sarai’s tears dried as excitement sparked in her green eyes. "You’d do that for me? Handle the kidnapping, all of it?" Bianca pulled her into a tight hug, stroking her hair like when they were kids. "Of course, darling. I hate seeing you sad like this—it breaks my heart. You’re my little sister, my fierce partner in crime. I’ll make you happy again. We’ll turn this around, and soon Jason will be begging at your feet." Sarai clung to her, the weight lifting. "Thank you, Bianca. I love you." "I love you more," Bianca said with a sly smile, masking the storm behind her eyes. In her world, whatever Sarai wanted, Sarai would always claim. No matter what.