Fidelia went back home. Now that she was getting married, it was time to pack her things and inform her parents, her sister, and of course, her stepmother. That was part of the revenge: making them watch her rise, powerless to stop it.
The moment she stepped into the house, her stepmother stormed toward her like a raging bull.
"How dare you!" she screamed, grabbing Lohigedia by the arm. "You ruined everything! I had that marriage perfectly planned!"
Lohigedia didn't flinch. She yanked her arm free and stared her stepmother dead in the eyes.
"I already broke up with Silas," she said coldly. "You can't control me anymore."
"You are marrying Silas, whether you like it or not!" her stepmother shrieked.
Fidelia laughed, a sharp and bitter sound.
"That's exactly the problem. You planned my marriage like a business deal. But I'm done being your pawn."
"Who are you to do such a thing?!" Alice shouted, fury written all over her face. "What gave you the right?!"
She stormed forward and raised her hand to slap Fidelia.
But Fidelia caught it mid-air—calm, steady, powerful.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said coolly. "You wouldn't want to be sued for assaulting the fiancée of Adrian Richardson, would you?"
Her tone was sharp and final. Alice froze, her face twisted in rage, but she slowly lowered her hand.
"I suggest you step back," Fidelia added with a chilling smile.
At that moment, Bridget burst into the room, drawn by the shouting. Her eyes landed on Fidelia like daggers.
"You snake!" Bridget screamed. "How could you?! You stole my husband! You stole everything from me!"
Fidelia turned her head slightly, giving her stepsister a slow, deliberate look.
"Correction," she said. "I took back what was never yours to begin with."
"Anyways," Fidelia said, her voice calm but cutting, "I came to inform you that I will officially be the wife of Adrian Richardson very soon."
She paused just long enough to watch their faces twist.
"And once we pick the date, I'll send you an invitation card. For both of you."
"And why the hell would we care?" Richard snapped.
"Because," Fidelia smiled coolly, "you two are expected to attend the ceremony, smiling and giving us your full approval."
Bridget scoffed. "You're insane. You're bold enough to come here and not only tell us, but demand our smiles?"
Fidelia's smile widened. "Well, you wouldn't want me to cause a few... damages, would you?"
They stilled.
"I have evidence," she added smoothly, "of you blackmailing Ms. Peterson about certain very serious matters. Shall I remind you what those are?"
Fidelia tilted her head slightly, then pulled her phone from her purse.
"I didn't come here to argue. I came to offer you a choice."
She tapped her screen once, then turned it toward them. A scanned legal document glowed on the display — complete with forged signatures and a bank trail.
"What's that?" Richard asked, eyes narrowing.
"Proof that while I was lying in the hospital, unconscious, you both transferred part of my mother's estate into Bridget's name. You forged my signature on a trust amendment and laundered the money through the company account."
"You can't prove—"
"I can," Fidelia interrupted coldly. "I already did. I have the bank statements. The original trust deed. And the handwriting analysis."
She stepped closer, her voice now a quiet blade.
"So either you come to my wedding, smile, and pretend to be the loving family you never were...
"Here are the fake receipts," Fidelia said, holding up her phone and flipping through clear, undeniable photos.
Alice and Bridget froze. Their faces drained of color.
"How did you get your hands on those?" Alice snapped, turning to Bridget with a glare. "Didn't I tell you to get rid of them?!"
Bridget stammered, "I—I thought I did!"
Fidelia gave a slow, mocking smile. "Although she's your friend, I doubt she'll press charges or run to the police. But I guarantee she won't smile at this either. Especially when she finds out the charity her name is tied to is actually a front for your little money-laundering hobby."
Bridget's mouth fell open. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?" Fidelia tilted her head and zoomed in on another image—bank transfers, signatures, and a statement from one of the fake beneficiaries.
"I did my homework," she continued coolly. "Every coin, every cent, every name you've left a trail so messy a toddler could follow it."
Alice stepped forward, her voice lower now, desperate. "What do you want, Fidelia? Just tell us."
Fidelia smiled, sweet and slow. "What I want is already happening. You're going to attend the wedding. You're going to smile, nod, and hand over your fake blessings. Then, when the cameras are off and the guests are gone, you'll stay quiet. No stunts. No sabotages. Nothing."
Bridget scoffed. "You can't control us forever."
"I don't need to," Fidelia replied.
Alice's voice was strained but composed. "Fine."
"Mom!!!" Bridget screamed in frustration. "I won't go! I won't sit there and watch them—"
"Oh, you will," Fidelia cut in calmly, already turning toward her room with quiet satisfaction in her voice.
But just as she stepped inside, Alice's hand shot out and grabbed her phone.
"What—"
Before Fidelia could react, Alice shoved her hard, making her stumble backward onto the bed.
In one quick move, Alice slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside.
"Open the door!" Fidelia shouted, rushing to it, banging her fists.
Alice's muffled voice came through the door. "You really think you've won, don't you?"
Bridget joined in, voice trembling. "You're not marrying Adrian. You're delusional if you think you can blackmail your way in."
Fidelia's eyes narrowed, fury brewing behind them. "This is kidnapping. You're locking me in?"
"No," Alice replied coldly. "We're putting you in your place."
Fidelia stepped back, breathing hard as she stared at the door
Fidelia was still shouting, slamming her fists against the locked door.
"Open this door now! Do you hear me?! I said open it!"
She kicked hard, the sound echoing through the hallway.
But no one answered then she heard it—the sharp, bone-jarring smash of something hitting the floor outside.
' A hammer?' She thought
Alice raised it high again and brought it down, crushing Fidelia's phone into tiny shards.
"This should teach her a lesson," Bridget muttered, arms folded.
"So now she can beg," Alice sneered, eyes cold. "She's been parading around like she's bold and mighty... what a fool."
Inside, Fidelia paused. Her breath hitched. Her hands fell from the door. A strange sensation crept over her—cold sweat beading down her spine, her knees beginning to weaken.
Then came the shaking started her chest tightened. Her heart pounded violently against her ribs. She couldn't catch her breath. Panic wrapped around her like a vice, choking her.
"No," she whispered, backing away slowly from the door. "Not this again..."
It was happening. The memories came flooding back.
She was ten. Her stepmother had locked her up for celebrating a test score higher than Bridget's. Fidelia had rushed home, smiling brightly with her paper in hand, showing it off.
But Bridget had cried and that was all it took for her to be punished.
Her stepmother dragged her to her room and locked the door. No food. No comfort. Just water—at night. Cold and silent and alone.
She had cried and begged. That was the first time.
Then it happened again. And again. Until she stopped celebrating victories altogether.
Fidelia stared at the door now, tears welling up in her eyes.
This couldn't be happening. Not again.
She slid to the floor, curled up, and hugged herself.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Two hours.
Her breathing grew shallower, and the tears wouldn't stop. Her face was flushed, sweat soaked her hairline, and her body trembled uncontrollably.
"Please… plea… se open up," her voice cracked, broken and soft. She dragged herself up to the door, weakly banging it.
Her nails scratched against the wood, her fingers bleeding. Her hands were already swollen, but she kept hitting, desperate.
"Please… I'm sorry. Please... I can't stay here."
Andrian leaned back slightly, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. "She's not here," he said, his voice calm but slightly curious. "I thought she might be with you or maybe running errands. Her phone's been off."
There was a pause on the other end.
"It's not like her to be unreachable, especially with everything going on," Maya said, her voice growing tight with concern. "I've called, messaged… Nothing. I even stopped by her apartment earlier. No one answered."
Andrian sat up straighter. "Wait, you went to her apartment?"
"Yes. And something felt... off. Her curtains were drawn. Lights off. But I swear I heard movement inside."
He stood from the bar stool, a sense of unease settling in. "You're saying you think she was in there?"
"I'm not sure. But I know Fidelia, Mr. Richardson. She wouldn't just go radio silent without telling someone. Not now."
Andrian clenched his jaw. "I'll go check it out."
"Please do. And call me if you find her. I have a very bad feeling."
He ended the call, grabbed his keys, and was already halfway out the door.
Another call came through just as he was about to start the engine. It was his younger sister.
"Hi Maya, I'll call you back," he said quickly and ended the call to pick the incoming one.
"Finally," his sister's voice came through, mildly annoyed. "Don't hang up— I know you're always busy, but this is about Fidelia. I've been trying to reach her all day."
"What?" Andrian's grip on the wheel tightened. "When did you last speak to her?"
"Around twelve, I think. We were supposed to meet up to look at wedding dresses. She said she'd join me after picking up her things from her place."
Andrian's entire body went still.
"Hello? Andrian? Are you there? Hello?"
He didn't respond.
He had already tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and turned the ignition. The tires screeched as he sped off, his chest tightening with every second. The streets blurred past him as he headed straight for her apartment.
She was supposed to be out with his sister. She was supposed to be picking up clothes.
So why hadn't anyone heard from her since?
Something wasn't right.