Her Sister's Shattered Shadow

"Vincent says your work has lost its soul."

The girl on my husband’s arm was the twelfth one.

"He says I'm the only one who reminds him of his first love."

She flashed a diamond bracelet. "He gave me this the day we met. I bet he never gave you anything like this."

I picked up my sculpting knife.

She was the twelfth girl who looked like me.

The twelfth time I was forced to sculpt a statue for my husband's mistress.

The last time I refused, he grabbed my chin.

"Aria, if you don't want the De Luca name wiped from New York, you'll do as you're told."

"Be a good Mrs. Moretti," he'd said. "I'll come back to you when I'm bored."

Today, he tossed a black card on my workbench. "Your payment."

This time, I just smiled.

He forgot one tiny detail.

Our five-year marriage contract expired yesterday.

And that priceless painting he just bought at auction? The one called "Phoenix"?

The signature on it is mine.

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1

"I want this statue placed in our home." Vincent's voice came from above me, laced with an authority that left no room for argument.

"Vincent, won't Aria be upset?" Isabella cooed, but her eyes were venomous darts aimed straight at my heart.

"What right does she have to be upset?" Vincent sneered, leaning so close his warm breath ghosted against my neck.

"Did you hear that, Aria? Put your heart into it. This is, after all, a gift you're personally sculpting for your replacement."

He then turned to Isabella. "Once this is finished, I'll divorce her and marry you."

Isabella covered her mouth in a theatrical gasp of surprise, the smugness in her eyes practically overflowing.

The sculpting knife in my hand stilled. The crimson clay on my palette was the color of dried blood.

I didn't speak. I just stared at the face on the sculpting stand—a near-perfect copy of my own.

My silence clearly displeased him. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I thought my bones would snap.

"What, cat got your tongue? Or are you finally too heartbroken to speak?"

There was a sick pleasure in his voice.

"I thought you'd be used to it by now."

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze with a faint smile.

"Not at all, Mr. Moretti."

"I was just thinking that this payment is enough for that penthouse in Tribeca with the studio I've been eyeing."

The color drained from Vincent’s face, his expression instantly darkening.

He never expected this. Not from me, the woman who had always been so pliant, who had cried and fought for him.

Sensing the shift, Isabella immediately wrapped her arms around his, pouting. "Vincent, Aria must be faking it. How could she not love you?"

"She's just jealous of me, jealous that you found that spark with me."

Vincent's expression softened. He released me and pulled Isabella into his arms.

"Ignore her. She's just a soulless artisan."

"Once the sculpture is done, I'll take you to the Maldives to see the dolphins."

As if I were nothing but air, they began planning their future behind me, their voices a low murmur of wedding dresses and honeymoon destinations.

With each slice of the knife, I carved the girl's features.

But when I reached her eyes, I paused.

Those eyes were identical to mine.

And identical to someone else's.

After the final cut, I set down my tools. "It's finished."

Vincent strolled over, appraising the statue with satisfaction.

"Not bad. It has some of your old magic."

He pulled out his phone, ready to wire the funds.

But I spun the sculpting stand around, revealing a miniature sculpture on the other side.

It was the mangled wreckage of a car, engulfed in flames. From the twisted metal, a single hand reached out in desperation.

Vincent's pupils contracted.

"Aria, what the hell is this?"

I smiled, taking out my own phone and dialing.

"Hello? Attorney Thompson?"

"You can proceed."

"I've sent you all the evidence of Vincent Moretti's breach of contract and emotional abuse."

"Also, tell him to expect a formal investigation into... the car bombing from five years ago."