Page 7 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

I forced a smile, ready to greet someone who might actually care about my work.

"Elena, you're still playing this little pretend-artist game?"

The second I looked up, the familiar voice froze my mouth.

Isabella.

She rarely wore anything this tight—an evening dress with big cutouts across her chest and along her waist. Her loose, wavy hair made her look lazy and sexy, not her usual polished perfection, but beautiful all the same.

She had a suitcase with her. Like she was heading out of town. That wasn't strange—traveling for social reasons was basically her job. But why the hell was she here? She usually couldn't care less about anything I did.

"Why are you here?" I asked, wary.

"My little sister's first art show. How could I not come support you?" She walked right up beside me, her nails dragging hard over the surface of my painting. "Even though I had no idea how someone like you even got invited. Still—congrats. You finally aren't just a parasite living off the family."

Isabella had always been like that. For years she had chipped at me, shoved me down, grabbed every chance to humiliate me. And Dad had never stopped her. He'd basically encouraged it.

Because I didn't bring the family value. I didn't give him anything to brag about in his precious upper-crust circles.

"Isabella, if you aren't here for the art, then leave." I pushed her hand away.

The girl in the painting showed only her back, standing in an endless open field, reaching for a hat the wind had stolen. The hat almost lined up with the setting sun, like she was chasing it before it dropped away.

I wiped the frame with care, letting it catch the bright lights again.

"Elena, you only ever belong in a sad little place like this." She looked around, then let out a scornful laugh. "A tiny show like this can only afford a washed-up 'artist' like you. Your paintings are just like you—total trash. Nobody is ever going to like them."

My breath snagged in my throat, pressure building in my chest. She could spit on me all she wanted. But I wasn't going to let her stand there with that smug face and tear into my work.

She didn't know a damn thing about painting.

"Take it back, Isabella." I kept my voice low so I didn't scream in the middle of the hall. "Who the hell are you to judge my art?"

"I just said what is true." She shrugged, all fake helplessness. "And you always act like I'm attacking you."

"Aren't you?" I stared into her hazel eyes—eyes the same color as mine—and felt like I was looking at a stranger.

How long had it been since she'd shown me any kindness? The memory of her holding my hand and dragging me into the back garden to play felt like it belonged to another lifetime. What I remembered more clearly was her stealing my toys and tossing them out; her shattering one of Dad's antique vases and blaming it on me.

Then we got older. She'd told me I was ugly, too quiet. She'd said I didn't deserve to look up, didn't deserve to be a Rossi daughter.

"Why?" My throat went dry. "Why do you hate me this much when you're my sister?"

"Hate?" She folded her arms and looked me up and down. "Elena, you think you're the victim? You get to do what you like. You get to chase your little dream. Me? I have to live exactly the way Dad planned. I have to be the perfect social princess, every second."

She sounded like a judge passing sentence, and I didn't even know what crime I'd committed.

"Didn't you already get everything?" Every word felt like it tore something loose inside me. "Dad's attention. Kiryan's obsession."

Those were the things I could never have.

"Not enough." Her long, sharp nail jabbed into my shoulder. "Maybe I'd finally feel satisfied if you disappeared from my life for good. After all, you are my dearest little sister."

The open cruelty in her voice made my skin crawl.

"Isabella—" I wanted to curse her out. To spit her own poison back at her. To tell her she didn't deserve to be my sister.

But I couldn't. My lips only shook, and my voice came out small and pathetic. God, I hated myself for it.