From Broken Sister To Beloved Wife

After our parents died in a plane crash, my brothers were my whole world. That ended the day they brought Francis home-a manipulative liar they treated like a saint while he systematically turned them against me.

He framed me for everything, from fake injuries to sabotaging the neuro-linker compound that was my life's work.

My brothers always chose his crocodile tears over my truth.

"He's in the hospital, Jenna. Thanks to you," Bryan snarled over the phone.

They even offered him my childhood bedroom right in front of me, as if I was already a ghost.

They had no idea I was about to become one.

I had a one-way ticket to Zurich and a contract with their biggest rival, a man who saw my value when my own blood saw a problem.

I wasn't just running away-I was taking all of their secrets with me.

Chapter 1

Jenna POV:

The contract lay on the table, crisp and unforgiving, much like the realization that my family had become strangers, their eyes reflecting an enemy, not a sister. My hand didn't shake when I picked up the pen.

The words blurred, a legal dance of clauses and commitments. It wasn't just a job offer. It was an escape, a promise of invisibility, and a final, brutal severance. The silence in my office was heavy, broken only by my own shaky breath. My heart hammered against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate for flight. This was it. The real ending.

Cesar Witt, founder of Aegis Collective, watched me from across the desk. His gaze was sharp, intelligent, yet surprisingly gentle. He had seen the raw edges of my talent, the way my mind worked in patterns no one else seemed to grasp. He saw my potential when my own blood saw only a problem.

"Are you certain, Jenna?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Once you sign, there's no looking back. We erase the past. Completely."

I met his gaze, my throat tight. "More certain than I've ever been about anything," I whispered, the words scratching against my raw vocal cords.

He nodded, a subtle satisfaction in the slight curve of his lips, a flicker in his eyes that I couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't predatory, not exactly, but it held a possessiveness I recognized. It was the look of a man who knew he was getting something invaluable. The unease that flickered through me was quickly extinguished by the cold resolve hardening in my chest. He was offering a lifeline, and I was drowning.

With a deep breath, I scrawled my name across the dotted line, a definitive stroke that felt like cutting a cord. This wasn' t just a signature; it was a burial. The old Jenna Salazar was gone.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, booking a one-way flight. Zurich. The name felt foreign on my tongue, a new beginning tasting of crisp mountain air and anonymity. I had exactly one week to dismantle my life, to erase every digital trace, to become a ghost in the machine I had once helped build.

One week to say goodbye.

I tried Howard first. My eldest brother, the public face of Salazar Analytics. My calls went straight to voicemail, each missed ring a tiny hammer blow to my already shattered hope. I left a message, a stilted invitation for a holiday dinner, knowing it was probably pointless. He wouldn't pick up. He never did anymore.

Then Bryan. My middle brother. After what felt like an eternity of ringing, his voice, sharp and impatient, cut through the silence. "What do you want, Jenna? I'm busy."

"It's almost the holidays, Bryan," I said, my voice thin, almost pleading. "I thought... maybe we could all have dinner. Just us. Like old times."

A beat of silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken accusations. I knew he was already committed to Francis, to the "long-lost" son of our father' s partner. Francis, with his manufactured charm and his manufactured victimhood. Francis, who had systematically poisoned my brothers against me.

"Is Francis not invited?" Bryan's voice dripped with disdain, a familiar, painful tone. "Still jealous, are we?"

My chest tightened. "I made his favorite spiced cider, Bryan," I blurted out, a desperate, childish attempt at manipulation, even as I hated myself for it. "You know how much he loves it. I was going to bring it to the house."

There was a sharp intake of breath on his end, followed by a low murmur I couldn't quite catch. Then, his voice, colder than before, hit me. "He's in the hospital, Jenna. Thanks to you."

The accusation, raw and unfounded, made my stomach clench. Again. The last time, it was a conveniently placed bruise, a whispered lie about me pushing him. Before that, a feigned allergic reaction to a dish I' d meticulously prepared, painting me as careless, even malicious. It was always something, always my fault.

"I can bring the cider there," I offered, ignoring the barb, my resolve hardening. This was my last chance, my final, futile bid for peace. After this, there would be nothing left to salvage.

Another long silence. Then, a faint, almost imperceptible voice in the background, weak but clear. "Cider... Jenna's cider?"

Bryan' s sigh was heavy, laced with a familiar exasperation. "Yes, Francis. It's Jenna. She's asking if the cider is for you."

"Oh," Francis's voice, still faint, sounded almost wistful. "She always makes the best. Better than anyone else."

A fragile sliver of warmth, quickly turning to ash. He complimented my work, even as he systematically destroyed my life.

"I could bring it myself," I offered, my voice barely a whisper, a last flicker of hope.

The silence that followed was my answer, a reluctant permission. The unspoken word hung in the air: Fine. But don't expect a welcome.

I hung up, my hands trembling, and immediately began preparing. This was the final act.

The hospital suite was ostentatious, a gilded cage for their golden boy. Plush armchairs, expensive flowers, a sprawling view of the city lights. I stood in the doorway, a simple thermos clutched in my hand, feeling like an alien. There were only three seats at the small table, all occupied. Howard, Bryan, and Francis. No space for me. I was, as always, an afterthought.

Francis's eyes lit up when he saw the thermos. "Jenna, you came!" His voice was weak, but his smile was wide, almost innocent. He reached out a pale hand.

"It's your favorite," I said, my voice flat. I poured a small cup, the warm, spiced scent filling the sterile air.

He took a tiny sip, his eyes closing in exaggerated pleasure. "Perfect," he murmured, his gaze resting on me, a mixture of gratitude and something else I couldn't quite place. "Just perfect. No one makes it like you."

I forced a faint smile, poured a small portion for myself, and retreated to the corner, leaning against the wall.

"I'll eat over here," I mumbled, not looking at anyone.

Bryan shot me a sharp, critical glare, his jaw tight. Howard, briefly startled, quickly averted his gaze, turning his attention back to Francis. My existence was, at best, an inconvenience.

"Jenna," Francis began, his voice surprisingly strong, "when I get out, we should all go to Paris. Or maybe the Alps! It's been too long since we traveled together." He looked at my brothers, then back at me, his smile beaming. "You too, Jenna. You're coming with us."

My grip tightened on the paper cup, my hand shaking so violently I almost dropped it. Paris. The Alps. Empty promises, designed to pacify, to keep me within reach.

"I can't," I said, my voice barely audible. "I'm leaving for Zurich soon. For work."

Bryan scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound. "Work? You mean avoiding your responsibilities, as usual." His eyes were cold, filled with contempt. "Always running away."

"I'm not running," I started, but Howard cut me off, his voice sharper than I'd expected.

"It's probably for the best, Jenna," he said, his eyes avoiding mine. "Given... everything. Francis needs peace and quiet to recover. Your presence clearly isn't helping." He paused, then added, "After what you did, it's probably better if you're not around."

The accusation hung heavy in the air, thick and suffocating. My throat was dry, my heart a lead weight in my chest. They still believed Francis's lies. They still blamed me.

The air in the room grew thin, heavy with a cold silence. They had no idea this wasn't just another one of my "flights." This was permanent.

"Francis," Howard said, his voice softer, "when you're well enough, would you like to move into Jenna's old room? It's bigger, and closer to the main wing." His eyes, when they finally glanced at me, were devoid of any warmth, any pity. Just a cold, calculating assessment.

Bryan chimed in, a cruel edge to his voice. "Yes, Francis. It's not like she uses it anymore. Always locked herself away, never shared anything."

I just nodded, a dull ache spreading through my chest. "Of course," I said, my voice flat, hollow. "I'll clear everything out. What little remains."

All three of them looked at me, surprised. Their faces, usually so quick to anger or dismiss, were etched with genuine confusion. They remembered my past refusals, my fierce protectiveness over my space, their accusations of me being selfish. Now, I was just... surrendering. It made them suspicious.

"Don't you dare change your mind later, Jenna," Bryan warned, his eyes narrowed. "Don't play your games."

"I won't," I said, my voice calm, almost detached. "I've accepted things. It's for the best. Easier for you all to take care of Francis without me around."

Howard snorted softly, Bryan rolled his eyes, and Francis remained silent, sipping his cider, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

The rest of the evening blurred into a tasteless, quiet affair. Francis eventually declared himself tired, a clear signal for me to leave. I stood, picked up my bag, and took one last look.

A wave of grief, years of suppressed pain, washed over me. I remembered them, my brothers, as children. Howard, stern but protective. Bryan, mischievous but loyal. Laughter, shared secrets, a sense of belonging that was now a faded dream. I was an unwelcome guest, an intruder in the remnants of my own family.

"Goodbye," I said, the word a fragile whisper caught in the suffocating silence.

No one answered.

Jenna POV:

The city streets glittered with holiday lights, a festive blur that felt alien to me. Strangers laughed, bundled in scarves and hats, their joy a stark contrast to the hollow ache in my chest. Home. The word had lost all meaning. It was an illusion, a cruel joke played on my memory. I walked aimlessly, my feet carrying me further and further away from the only place I'd ever known.

A sharp gust of wind brought with it the scent of damp earth and distant smoke, triggering a memory. The plane crash. The twisted metal, the acrid smell of burning fuel, the impossible stillness that followed. Mom and Dad, gone. Just like that. In the blur of shock and grief, it was Howard who had held me, his arms shaking but strong, promising to always protect me. Bryan, usually so boisterous, had been quiet, his hand gripping mine until my knuckles ached. Who were these men now? The strangers who eyed me with suspicion, who believed every lie woven by a con artist?

They had pledged to protect me, to keep our family united. Instead, they had thrown me to the wolves, or rather, invited the wolf into our den, and then blamed me for the sheep' s wounds. But not anymore. My plane ticket to Zurich was a one-way trip to a future where their betrayal meant nothing. I would be free. And in that freedom, I hoped they would find whatever twisted version of happiness they were chasing.

I'd always been the odd one out, the unexpected late-life child. My parents, consumed by the voracious appetite of Salazar Analytics, a data brokerage firm that operated in the shadows, had largely entrusted my upbringing to my older brothers. I was a child of their empire, not their leisure. They were busy building their legacy, and I was just... there.

Howard, for all his sternness, had once tackled a bully twice his size for teasing me about my thick glasses. Bryan, reckless and wild, had once snuck me onto the roof on a clear night, pointing out constellations, swearing we' d discover a new star together. They were my world. My everything.

Then the plane crash. A sudden, brutal end. Howard, barely out of college, stepped into Dad's shoes, burdened by a legacy built on secrets and morally ambiguous data collection. The empire, unstable and vulnerable, needed a steady hand. He tried. He really did.

That' s when Francis Carr appeared. Introduced by Howard as the "orphaned son" of Dad's most loyal partner, a man who had died years ago, leaving behind a destitute family. Or so they claimed. I still remember Howard, his eyes gleaming with a misguided sense of duty, bringing Francis into our home. "He's family now, Jenna," he'd declared, not realizing how those words would twist into a blade.

It didn't take long for me to find the discrepancies. Old medical records, carefully hidden away, revealed Francis's true identity. Not a direct descendant, but a distant relative, a sickly child whose manipulative mother had orchestrated this elaborate charade. They had erased his old life, meticulously crafting a sympathetic narrative, transforming him into the tragic, deserving heir.

I tried to tell Howard, to warn him. He dismissed me, accused me of jealousy, of fabricating lies. He showed me forged documents, insisted on his "responsibility" to Dad's supposed best friend. He chose to believe a carefully constructed fiction over his own sister.

I watched Francis systematically dismantle my family from the inside. A misplaced heirloom, a whispered secret, a staged accident. He' d "accidentally" stumble upon my private notes, feign innocence when caught, and then twist my words, making me sound possessive, ungrateful. I was no longer the brilliant innovator; I was the spoiled, dramatic younger sister. My brothers, blinded by Francis's charm and their own guilt, swallowed it whole.

"She pushed me," Francis had whimpered once, pointing to a scratch on his arm that I knew he' d inflicted himself. And just like that, I became the dangerous one, the one who caused harm.

"Are you truly alright, Jenna?" Cesar's voice echoed in my mind, pulling me back from the dark memories. The rain outside intensified, mirroring the storm within.

"I'm fine," I murmured, wiping away a stray tear. I had to be. This was it. The final curtain. If they didn't want the truth, then they could live in their lies. I would build a new life, a new empire, where truth and loyalty actually meant something.

The next morning, I was back in the office, a hollow resolve guiding my hands. My projects, my life's work, lay before me, waiting for their final touches. I heard my brothers' voices in the hallway, their laughter mingling with Francis' s softer tones. A familiar annoyance prickled under my skin.

Then, the sound of footsteps approaching my lab door. I looked up to see Howard, Francis by his side. My lab, my sanctuary, my forbidden zone. I had explicit warnings against unauthorized entry, especially when I was working on sensitive algorithms.

"He can't come in here, Howard," I stated, my voice firm. "I'm in the middle of a critical encryption sequence. It's too sensitive."

Howard waved his hand dismissively. "He just wants to look, Jenna. Don't be so dramatic."

I didn't argue. What was the point? I simply stood, walked past them, and went to the breakroom, hoping for a moment of peace before returning to finish my work.

When I came back, the faint, metallic scent hit me first. My custom-synthesized neuro-linker compound, crucial for the project I was finalizing, was gone. My blood ran cold. I searched frantically, my eyes scanning every surface, every shadow. Then, I saw it. The small, crushed vial, half-empty, carelessly tossed into the waste bin.

My hands trembled as I retrieved the ruined flask. Years of research, hours of meticulous work, shattered. I knew. I just knew. The lab cameras had been conveniently offline, as they often were during Francis's "curiosity" tours.

Francis sat at his desk, humming softly, a picture of innocent distraction. His eyes, though, held a flicker of triumph when he thought I wasn't looking.

"Francis," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Did you touch my compound?"

He blinked, wide-eyed, then burst into theatrical tears. "Jenna! How could you accuse me? I would never!"

Just then, Howard burst in, his face contorted with rage. "What have you done to him, Jenna? Can't you see he's upset?"

"He ruined my compound, Howard," I explained, my voice tight with frustration. "The one I've been working on for months. He threw it away."

"Prove it," Howard demanded, his arms crossed.

"I can't," I admitted, my shoulders slumping. "The cameras were off. But I know he did it."

Howard turned to Francis, who was still sobbing softly. "Did you, Francis?"

Francis shook his head, his voice muffled by his hands. "No, Howard. I swear."

"There, you see?" Howard said, turning back to me, his voice laced with finality. "He said no. That's enough for me."

My chest felt hollow. The unfinished work. The impending departure. It was almost poetic, the way they were forcing my hand, pushing me out the door. The door I was already halfway through.

Howard followed me out, his eyes narrowed, watching my every move. "You've been acting strangely lately, Jenna," he said, his voice low. "I'm warning you, don't take your frustrations out on Francis."

I stopped, turning to face him, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Why, Howard? Why do you always make excuses for him? What exactly are you protecting? The sheep, or the wolf in sheep's clothing?"

His eyes flashed, but before he could respond, I stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut, leaving his stunned face behind me.

Jenna POV:

"I still can't believe they chose him over you," Cesar's voice was soft, laced with a mix of sympathy and quiet fury. "Their own family. Their own blood." He reached out, gently wiping a tear from my cheek.

The rain beat against the car windows, a rhythmic drumming that echoed the dull throb in my heart. "Blood means nothing to them anymore," I murmured, my gaze fixed on the blurring city lights. "Not when loyalty is for sale."

I'd been an accident, a surprise late-life child, born when my parents were already deep in the trenches of their ruthless data empire. Consumed by the insatiable demands of Salazar Analytics, they'd leaned heavily on Howard and Bryan to raise me. My brothers had been my world, my protectors. Howard, stern but fair, once fought a school bully for me. Bryan, wild and impulsive, would sneak me out to stargaze, promising we'd discover a new constellation together. They were my anchors, my everything.

Then, the plane crash. Suddenly, brutally, they were gone. Howard, barely out of college, stepped into the void, burdened by the weight of the family legacy. The empire, built on secrets and morally ambiguous data, teetered on the brink.

That's when Francis Carr appeared, introduced by Howard as the desolate son of my father's most trusted partner. My brothers, blinded by a misplaced sense of duty, welcomed him into our home. "He's family now," Howard had declared, the words a cruel twist of irony given where we stood today.

I'd found the truth in old medical records, tucked away and forgotten. Francis wasn't the son of our co-founder, but a distant relative, a sickly child whose manipulative mother had orchestrated the entire charade. They' d meticulously erased his old identity, carefully crafting a new, sympathetic one.

I tried to warn Howard, to show him the truth. He'd investigated, then accused me of jealousy, of fabricating lies. He showed me forged documents, dismissed my concerns as childish envy. He chose a stranger's manufactured narrative over his sister's desperate plea.

I watched, powerless, as Francis methodically infiltrated our lives. He' d "accidentally" overhear a client' s sensitive information, then feign innocence when confronted. He' d whisper lies, twist my words, slowly poisoning my brothers against me. I wasn't the brilliant innovator anymore; I was the jealous, erratic younger sister. They believed him. Every time.

"She pushed me," Francis had sobbed, pointing to a scratch he' d inflicted on himself. And just like that, I became the aggressor, the one to be feared. My reputation, my standing in my own home, eroded with each calculated lie.

"Are you okay, Jenna?" Cesar's voice again, pulling me back.

I nodded, wiping my eyes. "I will be. Soon." I wouldn' t fight for a truth they refused to see. They wanted their fabricated reality? Fine. Let them have it. I would build my own.

The next morning, driven by a cold, quiet resolve, I returned to the lab. I had to finish my final project, the culmination of years of work, before I vanished. Just as I started, I heard my brothers' voices, their laughter echoing down the hallway, accompanied by Francis's lighter tone.

Then, the dreaded sound of footsteps approaching my lab door. Howard, with Francis close behind him. My sanctuary, my work, my carefully guarded space.

"He can't come in, Howard," I said, my voice firm. "I'm working on a critical sequence. It's classified."

Howard waved his hand dismissively. "He just wants to see, Jenna. Don't be so dramatic."

I didn't argue. There was no point. I simply walked past them, my heart sinking, and sought refuge in the breakroom, a desperate attempt to regain my composure. When I returned, the delicate scent of my neuro-linker compound was gone. My blood ran cold. The small, crushed vial, half-empty, lay discarded in the waste bin.

My hands trembled as I retrieved the ruined flask. Months of meticulous work, destroyed. I knew. The lab cameras, as always, had been conveniently offline during Francis's "visit." Francis sat at his desk, humming a cheerful tune, a picture of innocent distraction. But his eyes, when he thought I wasn't looking, held a flicker of cruel satisfaction.

"Francis," I said, my voice low and flat. "Did you throw away my compound?"

He blinked, wide-eyed, then burst into theatrical sobs. "Jenna! How could you accuse me? I would never!"

Howard burst in, his face contorted with rage. "What have you done to him, Jenna? Can't you see he's upset?"

"He ruined my compound, Howard," I explained, my voice tight. "The one I've been working on for months."

"Prove it," Howard demanded, his arms crossed, his gaze hard.

"I can't," I admitted, my shoulders slumping. "The cameras were off. But I know he did it."

Howard turned to Francis, who was still sobbing dramatically. "Did you, Francis?"

Francis shook his head, his voice muffled. "No, Howard. I swear."

"There, you see?" Howard said, turning back to me, his voice laced with finality. "He said no. That's enough for me."

My chest felt hollow. The unfinished work, the impending departure. It felt like a cruel joke, the way they were pushing me out the door that I was already leaving.

Howard followed me out, his eyes narrowed, a shadow of suspicion on his face. "You've been acting strangely lately, Jenna," he said, his voice low. "I'm warning you, don't take your frustrations out on Francis."

I stopped, turning to face him, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Why, Howard? Why do you always make excuses for him? What exactly are you protecting? The sheep, or the wolf in sheep's clothing?"

His eyes flashed with anger, but before he could respond, I stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut, leaving his stunned face behind me.