Chloe POV: "God, Emma, you are so much better than Chloe. That bitch is as boring as a dead log," Lucas groaned, his voice thick with contempt. Lucas, the cowardly hypocrite who had survived college only because I worked three part-time jobs to support him, was now panting heavily over my sister. "Then show me how much you love me, Lucas! Since she's marrying that vegetative cripple anyway, you're all mine now!" Emma giggled, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Emma, my spoiled younger sister who had made it her life's mission to steal everything that was ever mine. This was the vile, grotesque scene that greeted me as I pushed open the door to my small attic bedroom, exhausted after a long day of cleaning. On my own bed, my fiancé, Lucas Hayes, was desperately entangled with my younger sister, Emma. The sheets were a mess, and the room was heavy with the undeniable scent of their betrayal. "Lucas..." I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of shock and disgust. They finally stopped. But there was no panic, no scrambling for covers. Lucas, the man who had promised to marry me just a month ago, casually turned his head. He looked at me with a smirk. "Oh, Chloe. You're home early," Lucas drawled, his tone laced with cruel amusement. "Don't just stand there. You could stand to learn a thing or two. But honestly, I don't think even that could fix how boring you are." Emma leaned back against Lucas's chest, pulling the sheet up just enough to cover herself, though she made no effort to hide her smirk. She looked at me with pure disdain. "Exactly," Emma chimed in, her voice dripping with arrogance. "Since you are going to marry someone else anyway, I might as well take Lucas off your hands. We wouldn't want your engagement to go to waste, would we?" My mind went blank. "Marry someone else? What are you talking about?" Emma feigned a dramatic gasp, her eyes wide with fake surprise. "Oh, you don't know? Mom and Dad didn't tell you? You are going to marry a vegetable!" "A vegetable?" I repeated, the word leaving a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. "Blake Carlisle," Lucas supplied, his eyes moving to Emma. "The captain of the Chicago Blackhawks. The great hockey superstar who got his skull crushed on the ice last month by a malicious cross-check. He is in a coma, Chloe. You are going to be a nursemaid for a brain-dead hockey player." Anger, hot and blinding, finally shattered my paralysis. "Get out!" I screamed, lunging forward to grab the bedsheets. "Get out of my room, you disgusting pigs!" Before I could reach them, a harsh grip clamped down on my arm, yanking me backward with such force I stumbled and fell to the floor. "Chloe, stop your screaming this instant!" The voice, sharp and imperious, belonged to my adoptive mother, Freya. She was a greedy, controlling woman who had treated me like an unpaid servant since I was a child. She stood over me, her face twisted in a vicious scowl. Her hand, nails painted a blood-red, pointed accusingly at my face, interrupting my confrontation. "Mom, she's ruining our mood," Emma whined from the bed, wrapping her arms around Lucas's neck. Freya's gaze snapped to me, filled with venom. "You ungrateful little wretch. How dare you interrupt them? You can't even keep a man satisfied, and now you are throwing a tantrum? You are a worthless orphan. You should be down on your knees thanking us that a vegetative cripple is even willing to take you!" She grabbed my arm, dragging me out of the room. I obediently rose, forced to follow her to the living room. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. Freya was smiling, a wide, predatory grin I'd never seen before. Her expression radiated a terrifying blend of greed and ecstasy. My adoptive father, Fred, shifted beside her on the sofa. His eyes, which usually held a permanent apology, refused to meet mine today. He was a spineless coward, always wanting to play the good guy but never daring to stand up to his wife. My heart sank. Freya pulled a glossy, bound folder from her Hermès bag. She slapped it onto the glass coffee table. The sharp crack echoed in the silent room. "The most wonderful news," she announced. "You are getting married." I already knew the answer, but my breath caught. As if reading my mind, Freya leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Carlisle family. The hockey dynasty from Chicago. Their son, the great Blake Carlisle!" Blake Carlisle. The name hit me like a physical blow. The captain of the Chicago Blackhawks. The league's superstar. The man who looked like a god on television. But another memory surfaced, a news headline that had shaken the sports world a month ago. A brutal collision on the ice. A severe head injury. He was still in a coma. My voice trembled as I looked at Freya. "He's... he's in the hospital. He's in a vegetative state!" Freya's smile tightened for a fraction of a second before morphing into a cruel sneer. "So what if he is? His family has money. They need a wedding to bring good luck, and to improve his public image after all those scandals." She pointed a red-tipped finger at the folder. "And you, Chloe, are the lucky girl they've chosen. This isn't a request. It's a notification." "No," I shook my head, taking a step back. "I can't marry someone who isn't even conscious. That's insane." Freya's face turned to ice. She stood, towering over me. "Insane? You eat our food, you live under our roof. It's time you paid us back." I cast a desperate glance at Fred, pleading with my eyes for him to say something, anything. He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing, but all that came out was a soft, defeated sigh before he looked away again. Freya stepped closer, poking my shoulder with a sharp nail. "The Carlisles are paying us a fortune. Enough for Emma to get that Maserati she wants, and for us to finally move into that house in Lincoln Park." Of course. For Emma. My sacrifices always ended up benefiting my spoiled younger sister. I bit down on my lip, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. It was a subconscious habit, a response to helplessness and rage I'd had since childhood. "Why me?" I finally managed to ask. "Emma is prettier, more social. She's the one who's always dreamed of marrying rich." Freya let out a short, ugly laugh. "Emma? Why would I let my precious daughter be a widow-in-waiting? This kind of opportunity, of course, is reserved for you, the adopted daughter." Her words were a knife, slicing me open and exposing my status as the outsider, the tool. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I grabbed the back of the sofa to keep from falling. "I won't do it," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but it was the last bit of defiance I had. Freya's patience snapped. She grabbed the contract and shoved it in my face. "You have no choice. The Carlisles are coming tomorrow to discuss the wedding details." Tomorrow? So soon? My mind was a buzzing hive of panic. She savored the sight of my pale, horrified face and smiled. "You'd better be on your best behavior. Or you know the consequences." She turned and sat back down on the sofa, as if she hadn't just threatened me. I wiped the blood from my lip. The Carlisles were coming tomorrow. Freya thought she could just sell me like a silent commodity, but I would rather freeze on the streets than let them have their way. I turned and walked towards the stairs, a desperate, reckless thought taking root in my mind.

Chloe POV: I didn't listen to another word. I turned and walked numbly up the stairs, each step feeling like I was wading through thick, suffocating mud. "Don't forget to take down those cheap posters in your room!" Freya's harsh voice called after me from the bottom of the stairs. "Don't give the Carlisles a bad impression tomorrow! You need to look presentable for the buyers!" I didn't look back. I just hurried my steps, escaping back to my small, cramped room in the attic. Lucas and Emma were gone, but the sickly sweet smell of her expensive vanilla perfume and the unmistakable, disgusting stench of their betrayal still hung heavy in the air of my room. The crumpled, stained bedsheets mocked me, a physical proof of their ultimate betrayal. A violent wave of nausea hit me. I rushed to the bed, ripped the dirty sheets off the mattress with shaking hands, and shoved them aggressively into a black trash bag. I wouldn't let their filth contaminate my space for another second. I shut the wooden door, my back sliding down the panel until I was sitting on the cold floor. I buried my face in my knees, and the raw, agonizing sobs I had been holding back finally broke free, tearing at my throat. My mind drifted back to the past, desperately searching for a time when things were different. But the exact moment they brought Emma home from the hospital, everything in my life changed permanently. Emma instantly became the golden child, while I was pushed aside, becoming her invisible shadow, a built-in babysitter and an unpaid maid. I remembered one specific time when I was twelve. I had a severe high fever and couldn't make Emma's breakfast on time. Freya had marched into my room, pointed a manicured finger in my burning face, and called me a useless, lazy burden. Fred, my father, had just stood in the doorway, handing me a cheap fever reducer before walking away in silence. His pathetic cowardice was always as sharp a blade as Freya's cruelty. I used to stupidly think that if I worked hard enough, I could eventually earn a tiny sliver of their parental affection. Instead, they systematically destroyed my love life, letting my sister steal my fiancé right in my own bed. I aggressively wiped my tears. A deep, freezing chill settled into my bones. I had no more illusions about this family, about this twisted thing they called love. This would be the last time I shed a tear for Freya, Fred, or Emma. I stood up and walked to my tiny desk, opening my old, battered laptop. I started searching for Blake Carlisle hockey accident hidden details and Carlisle family legal loopholes. The results brought a fresh wave of despair. Blake's medical records were sealed tight. More importantly, I was completely broke. Freya had siphoned away all my savings under the guise of paying for the wedding preparations. Without money, without support, I couldn't even afford to rent the cheapest basement apartment in this freezing city. But the suffocating feeling of being trapped in this cage was a physical, throbbing ache in my chest. I made a reckless decision. I grabbed my worn duffel bag and hastily stuffed a few pieces of clothing inside. I was going to run away into the freezing Chicago night. I would rather freeze on the streets than be sold like a commodity to a comatose man. I slung the bag over my shoulder and tiptoed down the stairs. The house was dead silent. But just as my hand touched the front doorknob, the living room lights violently snapped on. "Going somewhere, sister?" Emma's sickeningly sweet voice echoed. I spun around. Freya, Fred, Emma, and Lucas were standing in the living room. They had been waiting for me. Lucas smirked, stepping forward to block the door. "Told you she would try to run. She is as predictable as a rookie goalie." Freya walked toward me, her eyes gleaming with a manic, malicious light. In her hand, she held a small glass bottle filled with white pills. "You ungrateful brat. We knew you would pull a stunt like this." "What are you doing?" I backed away, my heart hammering in my chest. "Since you refuse to cooperate, we are doing this the hard way," Freya sneered, shaking the pills. "These are heavy sedatives. You are going to swallow them. We will tie you up and deliver you directly to Blake Carlisle's hospital bed tonight! The Carlisles do not care if you are unconscious, as long as they have their prop bride for the media!" "No! Are you insane? This is kidnapping!" I screamed, lunging for the door. But Lucas was faster. He grabbed my arms, twisting them behind my back with brutal force, his fingers digging painfully into my skin. "Hold still, Chloe. Be a good little nursemaid." Emma stepped up, holding a glass of water, her eyes dancing with wicked delight. She aggressively pinched my jaw, trying to pry my mouth open. "Swallow it! You belong to the brain-dead hockey player now! Once you are gone, your room, your clothes, and your money are all mine!" I was completely trapped, treated like a literal piece of meat. The pills touched my lips. In a surge of desperate, blinding adrenaline, I bit down hard on Emma's fingers. She shrieked, dropping the glass, which shattered on the hardwood floor. I stomped my heel onto Lucas's foot, breaking his grip. I dove to the floor, grabbed a jagged, bloody shard of the broken glass, and held it directly to my own cheek. "Don't come near me!" I screamed, my chest heaving, the sharp edge pressing dangerously close to my skin. "The Carlisles are paying a fortune for a perfect, beautiful bride to save their public image! If I scar my face right now, or bleed out on this floor, you lose your billions! You get absolutely nothing!" Freya froze, the color draining from her face. She knew I was right. A damaged commodity was worthless. Fred finally panicked, stepping forward with his hands raised. "Freya, stop! If she ruins her face, the deal is off! The Carlisles will ruin us!" Freya gritted her teeth, her chest heaving with fury. She pointed a trembling finger at me. "Lock her in the attic! Do not let her out until the Carlisles arrive tomorrow morning!" Lucas and Fred dragged me upstairs, throwing me into my dark room and locking the heavy deadbolt from the outside. I collapsed onto the cold floor, the glass shard still tightly clutched in my bleeding hand. The sky outside the skylight darkened, the clouds heavy and oppressive, just like my bleak future. My phone vibrated sharply on the desk. It was a text message from Emma. A picture of her and Lucas curled up together in my bed, his arm slung possessively around her. The caption read: "Some people just don't know how to satisfy a real man. Have fun playing tied-up nursemaid to your vegetable husband tomorrow, sis!" That disgusting picture was the final straw. I slammed the phone face-down on the desk. The heavy deadbolt on my door clicked, trapping me in the dark, but Freya didn't realize one crucial detail. By locking me up tonight, she had just handed me the exact weapon I needed to destroy her tomorrow.

Chloe POV: I didn't sleep at all. The sky outside my small window shifted from inky black to a dull, bruised gray. My heart felt equally hollow and defeated. In the morning, Freya didn't even bother to knock. She pushed the door open and frowned when she saw me still in my pajamas. She threw an expensive-looking white dress onto my bed. "Get changed. The Carlisles will be here in an hour." I stared at the dress. It was beautiful, but to me, it looked like a sacrificial robe. "I'll say it again. I'm not getting married," I said, my voice hoarse from lack of sleep. Freya crossed her arms, a cold smile on her lips. "It's not up to you. The contract is signed. Your father and I signed it for you." Blood rushed to my head. "You had no right!" "We are your legal guardians. We have every right," Freya said, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. "We raised you. Now it's time for you to repay our kindness." Her words were a dull knife, twisting in a wound that was already festering. I stopped arguing. I knew it was pointless. I silently picked up the dress. My compliance seemed to please her. Her tone softened slightly. "That's a good girl. Remember, smile, don't talk much, and act like you're excited about this marriage." I changed into the dress and stood before the mirror. The girl staring back at me had a pale face and empty eyes. The beautiful dress looked like a cruel joke on her. When I went downstairs, Fred was pacing anxiously in the living room. He saw me, his lips moved as if to say something, but he remained silent. Freya was directing a cleaning crew, making sure every last speck of dust was gone. The room was immaculate, a perfect picture of fake sophistication. The doorbell rang, sharp and punctual, like a death knell. Freya's face immediately transformed. Her back hunched slightly, and a sickeningly sweet, overly eager smile plastered itself on her face as she practically sprinted to open the door. "Oh, Mrs. Carlisle, Mr. Carlisle, welcome, welcome! Please, come in! It is such an absolute honor to have you in our humble home!" I stood nervously at the bottom of the stairs, my palms slick with cold sweat. I couldn't bring myself to look up. I heard an elegant, slightly detached female voice. "Mrs. Kowalski, good morning." That must be Eleanor Carlisle, the formidable matriarch of the Carlisle empire, born into old money and known for her ruthless perfectionism. Then a calm, steady male voice. "Thank you for having us." Montgomery Carlisle, the iron-fisted CEO of the Carlisle Group, a man who built his fortune crushing his competitors. Freya ushered them into the living room, bowing so low she almost scraped the floor, while Fred hurriedly pulled out chairs for them like an obedient servant. I was forced to look up. Eleanor Carlisle was exactly as I'd imagined. She wore a perfectly tailored Chanel suit and a sapphire necklace, her icy blue eyes sharp and assessing. Montgomery Carlisle was more understated in a custom suit, but he carried an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. Their eyes swept over me. Eleanor's gaze lingered, and I felt like a piece of livestock being appraised at auction. None of them acknowledged me as a human being, I was simply a necessary prop for their transaction, a tool bought to appease the angry hockey fans demanding a happy ending for their captain. Freya pulled me forward. "This is my daughter, Chloe. She's been so looking forward to this marriage." I managed a stiff twitch of my lips, but no sound came out. Eleanor ignored Freya's fawning. She got straight to the point. "Mrs. Kowalski, we are here to finalize some details and inform you of our decision." Her directness cooled Freya's enthusiasm a few degrees. Montgomery spoke, his tone gentle, but his words hit me like a lightning bolt. "Given Blake's condition, we want the wedding to happen as soon as possible. Tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" The word escaped my lips before I could stop it. Freya pinched me hard from behind. Eleanor's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. She was clearly displeased with my outburst. Freya quickly tried to smooth things over. "Of course, of course, we completely agree. Chloe is just so excited, aren't you, darling?" The room started to spin. Tomorrow? I was going to be married to a man in a hospital bed? A married widow? I couldn't breathe. The world was blurring at the edges. I could only hear Eleanor's cool voice continuing on, discussing the wedding ceremony, the timing of the press release, and the "contractual obligations" I would have to fulfill, completely ignoring my obvious distress. They were treating my life like a corporate merger, completely ignoring my existence. I watched Freya nod vigorously like an obedient lapdog, sealing my fate. I slowly lowered my hands, letting the panic in my chest harden into pure ice. If they treated me like a silent prop, I would show them exactly how loud I could be—I just needed the right moment to strike.