After He Let His Sister Ruin My Dress, I Jailed Them

1: 1

Valentine's Day was the seven-year anniversary of my relationship with my boyfriend, Gavin Fox, and the day we'd decided to get married.

I'd paid my own way through every couture bridal house in the country.

And every single time I tried a gown on, Gavin's foster sister, Marcella Henson, would snatch it away and ruin it on the spot, always with some excuse about wanting to try it herself, or the dress being so pretty she just had to get a closer look.

I bore it, over and over, only because I couldn't bring myself to throw away seven years with Gavin.

"Karrie, Marci has severe depression. She can't take the slightest stress. I'll make sure she never sets foot in another bridal shop. Once we're married, I'll give you half my life."

I'd been indulging it for seven years.

But today, Marcella came bursting out again and, so-called by accident, slashed through the limited-edition gown I'd spent two weeks begging to get, using the scissors she carried on her.

This time, all at once, I didn't want to indulge it anymore.

By reflex, Gavin jumped in to cover for her.

"Karen Sanchez, Marci's been sickly and frail since she was little. This one's on me, I wasn't watching. But she only wanted to borrow the dress for a bit of fun. You're the bride-to-be, and you'd really be this vicious, hound her to death?"

"Gavin, I understand her, really. It's my fault"

"Sweetheart, don't be so understanding, Marci. You got sick in the first place because you're always thinking of everyone else."

Watching this pair of devoted "siblings" in front of me, I laughed.

"Fine. You want this gown, the only one of its kind in the world, then consider it a gift. Just remember to pay the thirty million it cost."

At the words thirty million, Gavin froze. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

"Karen, has wanting money finally driven you out of your mind? Thirty million? For a dress?"

"Like I don't know exactly where you come from and what you're worth?"

He walked over and patted my head. "No fever. And here I thought you'd been running a temperature these past couple days, cooked your brain soft"

I knocked his hand away and just looked at him, quiet.

Off to the side, Marcella covered her mouth and giggled, then came over cooing to loop her arm through Gavin's.

"Gavin, maybe Karen just wants to marry you so badly she made up some sky-high number on purpose."

"Karen, I know you won't even spring for a cab most days. Even if this dress is a knockoff, three thousand should cover it, right?"

"Don't worry, Karen, I'll pay you back. Just stop trying to con Gavin with a number like thirty million."

As she spoke, she pulled a wad of cash from her limited-edition Herms bag and, oops, tossed it, hitting me square in the forehead so a lump swelled up on the spot.

"Oh no, sorry, Karen, I didn't have a good grip. I really didn't mean to."

Looking at the red bills scattered across the floor, all I felt was how absurd it was.

Won't even spring for a cab?

Yes. I wouldn't.

For seven years, to protect what little pride Gavin had.

I'd hidden the fact that I was the sole heir to the Sanchez Group, the richest family in Chicago.

I'd crammed into a hundred-square-foot basement with him and eaten dollar-store instant noodles.

When he had no capital in the early days of his startup, I secretly sold off the estate my grandfather left me and backstopped him under the name of an anonymous investor.

When he complained about the spoiled, arrogant rich girls at work, I taught myself to cook for him, made myself the sweetest, most attentive support at his side.

I thought giving everything, holding nothing back, would win me his heart.

But the first twenty million he ever earned, he turned around and spent on a big penthouse downtown for his foster sister, Marcella.

Marcella wanted a limited-edition bag, he swiped the card without a blink.

All in the name of curing Marcella's "severe depression."

While I only had to glance one second too long at a gown in a shop window before he scolded me for being "vain."

"Karen, we're still in the growth stage of the business. Can't you be a little sensible and stop fixating on all this useless stuff?"

That was his line, always on his tongue.

And all my tolerance and giving ground bought me was their endless pushing for more.

"Three thousand?"

I gave a cold little laugh, then pulled the gold-embossed limited-edition receipt straight out of my bag and threw it against Gavin's chest.

"Open your eyes and look carefully. That's the personal signature of a top French luxury designer, and proof of purchase."

"The hem of this gown was hand-sewn with two thousand genuine South African diamonds."

Gavin caught the receipt, and when he saw the figure on it and the exclusive seal, his face changed hard.

But he steadied himself again fast, crushed the receipt into a ball, and hurled it back at me.

"Enough! Karen, how long are you going to keep making a scene!"

"You think faking some receipt is going to fool me? I'm telling you, my patience has a limit!"

At that, Marcella started to sob, the same trick she always used, and every single time Gavin fell for it.

"I'm sorry, Gavin. It looks like you two are fighting because of me again. I'll leave right now"

Marcella made a show of walking off, and Gavin quickly pulled her into his arms, then turned and glared at me, hard.

"Today, you're going to get on your knees and apologize to Marci, and you're going to settle her down! Otherwise, forget the wedding! And you can get out of our marriage home right now!"

Marriage home?

That secondhand little building whose down payment I'd covered for him with money I'd passed off as "lottery winnings"?

Looking at this man I'd loved for seven years, I felt a sudden wave of nausea in my stomach.

I looked at him calmly, not a ripple in my voice.

"Whatever."

2: 2

Gavin's face darkened, his patience gone in an instant.

"Karen, how long are you going to keep this up? Marci just scratched your dress by accident, that's all."

"She has severe depression. Am I supposed to scold a sick girl over some ratty dress of yours?"

"Can't you show a little sense and drop that petty, penny-pinching attitude of yours?"

That was when Judith Whitney, Marcella's best friend, sidled up with her own snide little tone.

"Exactly, Karen. Is scheming all you know how to do, day and night?"

"Last month Marci liked that five-thousand-dollar gown you'd ordered. That was her praising your taste. But you had to make a scene, and you set off Marci's depression."

"Now Marci just wanted to borrow this ratty dress and try it on, and you want to squeeze thirty million out of her? Look at you, broke as you are. Have you ever even seen what thirty million looks like?"

Off to the side, Marcella dabbed at her eyes, the picture of hurt.

"Judy, stop. It's all my fault."

"I just thought, since Gavin's so amazing, it would embarrass him if my sister Karen showed up to her wedding looking shabby. I only wanted to help her try some styles..."

The words filled Gavin's eyes with tenderness for Marcella.

He turned and glared at me, hard.

"Karen, look how much Marci thinks about you!"

"And then look at yourself. Acting like some shrew!"

I couldn't be bothered to look at any of them again. I only wanted to get out of that suffocating room.

Just as I passed Marcella, her hand suddenly moved.

A sharp, stinging pain shot up my arm.

Before I could say anything, Marcella cried out.

"Ah! Karen! I'm so sorry, the scissors slipped, did I hurt you?"

Gavin's pupils shrank, and he took an instinctive step toward me, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

"Karen, are you all right..."

He didn't finish. Marcella went limp beside him and folded into his arms.

"Gavin... my head's spinning, I feel awful, I think my depression's flaring up again."

She clutched at his sleeve, refusing to let go.

That flash of worry Gavin had for me was gone, replaced at once by Marcella.

He swept her up and stared anxiously at her face.

"Marci! Marci, what's wrong? Don't scare me!"

Then he turned his head and sighed at me, impatient.

"Karen, yes, Marci dropped the scissors by accident and cut you, but you set her off again."

"Your arm doesn't look that bad. Go to a pharmacy nearby, buy a bandage to stop the bleeding, and grab some antibiotics while you're at it. You'll be fine. I have to get Marci to the hospital right now! If anything happens to her, our wedding will have to be pushed past Valentine's Day..."

And with that, without another glance at my bleeding arm, he carried Marcella straight out of the bridal shop.

I stood there, quiet, watching the blood run down my arm.

Seven years, and my heart was finally dead.

Last winter, I was burning with fever, and the moment I opened my eyes I wanted to throw up.

I forced myself to call Gavin and asked him to come home and buy me medicine.

When he finally got back, he said he'd been too busy with a client and forgot, and why couldn't I just order delivery myself, why was I being so dramatic.

Later I found out the so-called client was Marcella, keeping her company after a breakup.

Last week I worked late into the night, and in the pouring rain I couldn't get a car.

He said his car was in for servicing and told me to figure it out myself.

Lucky for me, a kind old man on a delivery trike drove me home.

The next day Marcella gleefully told me that on that rainy night, after work, Gavin had driven over and watched drama serials with her until dawn.

I scrimped and saved, never letting myself buy a single piece of clothing over five hundred dollars, putting every cent away to back his startup.

And he used the money I'd invested to buy Marcella an entire counter's worth of that season's luxury pieces.

Every single time, he shut me up with the same line: "Marci has depression, cut her some slack."

And every single time, I chose to forgive, because I couldn't bear to throw away those seven years.

But this time, it really was over.

3: 3

I didn't stop at a pharmacy for bandages or ointment. Pain on my skin was easier to bear than pain in my heart.

I went back to our "wedding apartment," planning to pack up and leave.

For seven years, to play the ordinary girl who matched him, the couture gowns, the designer bags, the jewelry, all of it had disappeared from my world.

I had just stuffed a few wrinkled T-shirts into my suitcase when I heard a key in the door.

Gavin was back.

He saw me packing and didn't look surprised at all. If anything, a mocking little smile touched his lips.

"This routine again? Please."

"Karen, every time you throw a fit and run off, don't you always come slinking back on your own?"

"What is it this time? You want some excuse to make me find you in the little park downstairs, hold you, and coax you home?"

He walked over and looked down at me from on high.

"Fine, throw your tantrum if you want. But I don't have time today to play these hard-to-get games of yours."

"Marci's not doing well. The doctor says she's had a severe shock and needs to rest quietly. I was on my way to the South Side to buy her some pastries and passed by, just to see if you were back. Good to know you're fine. She's going to be in the hospital at least two weeks, so don't bother pulling some stunt to make me come looking for you."

I didn't answer him. I kept putting my things into the suitcase.

There wasn't much. One case was enough to hold it all.

Seven years, and I hadn't bought myself a single new piece of clothing. Gavin had never bought me any either.

When he saw I stayed silent, he finally started to lose patience.

"Karen, you're a grown woman. Why are you still throwing childish tantrums?"

My heart was ash. I didn't have the strength to fight with him anymore.

I pulled up my suitcase and said one last thing to him:

"Keep your Marci in line."

Then I walked out without looking back.

His cursing followed me down the hall, and I treated it as noise I would simply never have to hear again.

By the time I reached the ground floor, the sky had opened into a downpour.

I'd left in such a hurry I'd forgotten my keys, and the stairwell door had locked behind me.

My umbrella had broken a while ago, so I could only let the cold rain hammer down on me.

The cut on my arm hurt more in that moment.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

It was a video call from Marcella.

I answered, and there was Marcella's face, done up in careful no-makeup makeup.

She was lying in a high-end VIP hospital room, without a trace left of the fragile girl who'd fainted earlier.

"Karen, sweetie, Gavin was worried I wouldn't like the hospital food, so he drove all the way to the South Side to get me my favorite pastries."

"Those have a two-hour line, you know. He pushed back an entire senior management meeting for me. Oh, Karen, it's raining where you are."

I looked at her coldly.

"Was there something you needed? If not, I'm hanging up."

Marcella leaned close to the camera and lowered her voice, every word dripping with gloating.

"I just wanted to see what you look like right now. Aren't you furious that I slashed that wedding dress? I'll tell you the truth, I did it on purpose! I just like your things, Gavin included!"

"Those other wedding dresses you bought before? I dirtied and ruined those on purpose too. I didn't want you two to get married, so what? I met Gavin first. What gives you the right to be with him all these years?!"

She turned the camera, showing a velvet jewelry box.

It was the wedding diamond ring Gavin had said last month he'd buy for me.

"See this? Gavin already gave me this ring to play with yesterday."

"Seven years with him, and so what?! All it takes is two little tears from me and he swings right over to my side!"

There it was, her true face at last.

But I felt no anger, only how absurd it all was.

4: 4

The rain came down harder, cold water soaking me through in an instant.

It took forever to flag down a cab.

I hurried to climb in, and my foot slipped. I went down hard.

Then a violent, wrenching pain tore through my belly.

I looked down and saw blood running with the rain down my thighs, spreading red across the ground.

Oh God, miss, you're bleeding so much!

The driver panicked and jumped out, helping me into the back seat.

Hurry, I'll get you to a hospital!

In the ER, the doctor shook his head with regret.

You were almost two months pregnant. Threatened miscarriage, plus a bad fall like that, and the baby couldn't be saved. Go handle the paperwork and prep for the D&C.

The news hit me like a thunderclap.

For seven years I had dreamed of having a child with Gavin, a child that was ours.

And now the baby was gone before it had seen this world even once.

I dragged my weak, ruined body down the corridor toward the operating room, alone.

But as I passed the VIP room at the bend in the hall, I saw Marcella and Gavin.

I shook my head and forced myself past through the pain.

Gavin was sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing at her with tender concern.

Gavin, do you think Karen's still angry?

Marcella's voice was soft and fragile as ever, but there was a flicker of triumph at the bottom of her eyes.

What if she really won't ever talk to you again?

Gavin let out a cold snort and lifted a pastry to her lips.

Who cares. After all these years, when has she ever not come crawling back once she's done throwing her fit? An ordinary clerk with no family, no background, marrying me was already above her station.

Let her stew a few days and she'll realize she was wrong.

Marcella ate the pastry and nodded sweetly.

Then she lowered her eyes, and her voice caught, thick with tears.

Gavin, actually, I just talked to my therapist

Ever since that scumbag ex hurt me, I've been so scared. I feel like I might never be able to love anyone again for the rest of my life, might never dare to marry. But what girl doesn't dream of putting on a wedding dress and walking down the aisle?

She clutched at the hem of Gavin's clothes, pitiful, and pleaded:

The doctor said if I could just wear a dress I love and have a ceremony, maybe it would finally undo this knot inside me.

Gavin, could you play out a wedding with me? Just to make my one dream in this life come true. Please?

Gavin's brow creased. Some part of him knew it was absurd.

He was, after all, about to marry Karen on Valentine's Day.

How could he stage a wedding with Marcella?

But then he looked at Marcella's face, so heartbreakingly forlorn.

And at the scars on her wrist, where she'd once cut herself in her depression. In the end, he agreed.

All right. I'll give you the grandest wedding there is, and make your dream come true. I just hope this time your depression finally gets better.

The way he saw it, it was nothing but make-believe, a ceremony with no legal weight.

Karen loved him so much. A little coaxing afterward and she was sure to understand.

Three days later, at the city's finest five-star hotel.

To make Marcella happy, Gavin had booked out the entire rooftop garden and brought in countless society guests and press.

The romantic wedding march began.

Marcella made her grand entrance in the couture gown she'd seized from Karen and altered slightly for herself.

But standing at the front, watching Marcella come toward him step by step,

Gavin was struck by a sudden, groundless surge of panic and a pounding heart, as if he were about to lose something.

And just as the officiant smiled and prepared to announce the exchange of rings,

the ballroom's carved double doors were shoved open from outside with a bang.

Founder of the world's top couture house, a godfather of the fashion world, the master designer himself

Bryce Delgado strode in with more than a dozen bodyguards in black.

The whole hall fell dead silent.

Gavin froze a moment, then hurried forward, flattered and eager.

Mr. Delgado, you came in person? This is truly an honor for me

Bryce didn't so much as glance at him. He walked straight up to Marcella.

Take off that gown.