The weeks following that disastrous dinner passed in a blur of tension and unspoken resentment. I spent most of my time in our bedroom, the door no longer locked but my spirit increasingly confined. The memory of Ashton's hand gripping my wrist, his command to "humor" Mikayla, played on repeat in my mind.

One morning, I woke to find Mikayla in our kitchen, humming cheerfully as she prepared what smelled like herbal tea.

"Good morning, Alana," she greeted me with a saccharine smile. "I've made you something special."

I approached cautiously, eyeing the steaming cup she pushed toward me. "What is it?"

"Just some traditional health supplements," she explained, her eyes gleaming with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "For the baby. My mother always said these helped with morning sickness and strengthened the blood."

Ashton appeared behind her, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. "Mikayla's been researching all kinds of pregnancy remedies. Aren't you lucky to have such a caring niece?"

I forced a smile, though something about the dark liquid made my stomach turn. "That's... thoughtful."

"Drink up," Mikayla urged. "It's best when it's hot."

Over the following weeks, Mikayla's "special blends" became a daily ritual. At first, I noticed only minor changes—a slight dizziness, occasional spotting that I attributed to normal pregnancy symptoms. But as days passed, the bleeding became more frequent, and a persistent weakness settled deep in my bones.

"Are you sure these herbs are safe?" I asked one evening, after nearly collapsing during dinner.

Mikayla's expression hardened momentarily before softening into concern. "Of course they are. My mother used them with all three of her pregnancies."

Ashton dismissed my concerns with a wave of his hand. "Stop being so dramatic, Alana. Mikayla knows what she's doing."

That night, I hid the tea in my nightstand, pretending to drink it while Mikayla watched. The next morning, I felt slightly better, confirming my suspicions about her "remedies."

---

"Family movie night!" Mikayla announced one Friday, barging into our bedroom where I was sketching design ideas. "Ashton's setting up the projector in the library."

"I'd love to join," I said, eager for any opportunity to reconnect with my husband.

Mikayla's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, it's just for family. You know, blood relatives only."

Before I could respond, Ashton appeared in the doorway. "Alana, Mikayla and I are watching that film you said wasn't your cup of tea anyway."

"But I changed my mind," I protested weakly.

"Don't worry about it," he said, already turning away. "We'll make popcorn. You can stay here and rest."

Through the crack in the door, I watched them settle onto the library sofa, Mikayla's hand casually resting on Ashton's arm as she leaned close to whisper something that made him laugh.

Later that week, it was a private dinner at Ashton's mother's favorite restaurant.

"Last-minute reservation," Mikayla explained when I asked why I hadn't been invited. "And you've been so tired lately."

I stood frozen in the foyer, watching through the window as Ashton pulled out Mikayla's chair, their heads bent together in intimate conversation as they walked into the dining room.

"You're imagining things," Ashton insisted when he returned home. "Mikayla is just excited to be back. She needs family support after all those years abroad."

"And I'm not family?" I asked quietly.

He sighed, adjusting his cufflinks—his tell when he was about to say something he knew was wrong. "You're being jealous. It's not attractive."

---

The boardroom fell silent as I presented my design concepts for Coleman Enterprises' new product line. Important clients from Tokyo sat across the polished table, their expressions carefully neutral.

"These are quite... creative," said Mr. Nakamura, using the word that in business circles often meant "impractical."

Before I could respond, Mikayla leaned forward, her manicured fingers tapping the presentation slides. "While Alana's ideas have artistic merit, I wonder if they're commercially viable?"

She proceeded to systematically dismantle each concept, positioning herself as the practical alternative to my "overly emotional" approach.

"Perhaps we should consider someone with more business acumen for this project," she suggested, her eyes flickering briefly to me. "Someone who understands the Coleman brand's true potential."

I looked to Ashton, waiting for him to defend me—to remind everyone that I was a trained designer with years of experience. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully at Mikayla's comments.

"Excellent points," he said. "We should explore all options."

The clients exchanged glances, and I felt my professional credibility crumbling before my eyes.

As the meeting concluded, Mikayla lingered by Ashton's side, her hand resting casually on his back as she charmed the Japanese executives with her knowledge of their culture.

I gathered my rejected designs, a cold realization settling in my chest: this wasn't just about my place in the family anymore. Mikayla was systematically destroying every part of me that made me who I was—my professional identity, my relationship with my husband, even my physical well-being.

And Ashton was letting her do it.

I stood frozen in my bedroom doorway, staring at Mikayla sitting at my vanity. My diamond earrings—the ones Ashton had given me on our first anniversary—dangled from her ears as she admired herself in my mirror. Beside her lay my platinum necklace, the one my father had given me before I left home.

"What are you doing?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.

Mikayla's reflection smirked at me in the mirror. "Just borrowing some things for my dinner tonight. You don't mind, do you? Family shares everything."

My hands trembled as I stepped forward. "Those are my personal belongings. You can't just take them without asking."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic." She turned to face me, my earrings catching the light. "They look better on me anyway. Ashton always did have good taste in jewelry."

I reached for my necklace, but she snatched it away. "I'll return them tomorrow. Or next week. Whenever."

When I couldn't convince her to give them back, I found myself standing in front of Mrs. Coleman in the sitting room, explaining the situation with forced calm.

"She took my jewelry without permission," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "Those pieces have sentimental value."

Mrs. Coleman adjusted her pearl necklace, her eyes cold. "You're being petty and possessive, Alana. It's unbecoming."

"But they're mine," I insisted. "Personal gifts from Ashton and my father."

"Everything in this house belongs to the Coleman family," she replied, her tone clipped. "And Mikayla is family. You'd do well to remember that."

I touched my bare neck, feeling the absence of my mother's necklace that Mikayla had also taken. "I'd like my things back."

"Perhaps when you learn to share more graciously." Mrs. Coleman dismissed me with a wave of her hand. "Now, I have a charity committee call to make."

---

I found them in the library that evening—Ashton and Mikayla, heads bent close together over a book of poetry. My poetry book, the one where I'd scribbled notes in the margins about my feelings for Ashton when we first met.

"You used to say her eyes reminded you of twilight," Mikayla was saying, her finger tracing my handwriting. "Do you still think that?"

Ashton laughed softly. "I never thought you'd find this book."

"I was just organizing your office," she replied. "You know how I am with tidiness."

I stepped into the room, and they both looked up—Mikayla's expression guilty for half a second before settling into innocence.

"We were just reminiscing," she explained, closing the book.

Ashton didn't meet my eyes. "Mikayla was asking about our early days together."

"How sweet," I said, my voice hollow. "Sharing our private memories."

"Family shouldn't have secrets," Mikayla said, her smile sharp. "Besides, I know all about your little tradition of watching old black-and-white films on Sundays."

My stomach clenched. That was something Ashton and I had done alone, curled up on our couch with popcorn.

"And how you always wake up at exactly 6:17 AM," she continued, her eyes gleaming. "Even when you've had a late night."

I looked at Ashton, whose face had gone pale. Those were intimate details, private between us.

"I... I should finish packing for the gala," I mumbled, turning away.

Behind me, I heard Mikayla's voice drop to a whisper. "She's so easy to read, Ashton. Almost too easy."

---

The charity gala glittered with chandeliers and diamonds. I stood beside Ashton, my arm looped through his, trying to ignore the whispers that followed us.

"Alana looks tired," someone murmured.

"Poor thing," came the reply. "It can't be easy."

I smoothed my dress, wondering if I should have worn something more dramatic. But before I could dwell on it, Mikayla appeared beside us in a gown that mirrored mine—similar enough to be deliberate, different enough to seem coincidental.

"You both look wonderful," she said, her hand resting on Ashton's arm. "Like the perfect couple."

Before either of us could respond, she turned to address the crowd of socialites gathering nearby.

"I wanted to thank everyone for coming tonight," she announced, her voice carrying across the room. "Especially as we celebrate such an important time for the Coleman family."

She squeezed Ashton's arm possessively. "I'm so excited to help expand the Coleman family in new directions. There's nothing more precious than blood ties."

The room fell silent, all eyes darting between us. Mrs. Coleman appeared at Mikayla's side, beaming with pride.

"To family," Mikayla toasted, raising her champagne glass.

"To family," the crowd echoed.

I stood frozen, my smile plastered on as Ashton failed to correct her, failed to clarify that I was his wife, that any expansion of the Coleman family would come through me.

As the crowd dispersed into whispers and sidelong glances, I caught fragments of their conversations.

"...always thought there was something odd..."

"...the way she follows him around..."

"...poor Alana, doesn't even realize..."

My fingers found my wedding ring, twisting it round and round as Mikayla's laughter rang out across the ballroom, bright and victorious.