The Sister's Treason

In my first life, I died for my family, betrayed by the closest person to me.

My father, a high-ranking State Department official, was disgraced, and my mother died of grief.

It was my older sister, Stella, who orchestrated it all.

She poisoned my family' s reputation with a self-righteous speech at a D.C. gala, becoming a progressive darling while our lives crumbled.

My fiancé, Ethan Lester, and the Vice President' s son championed her, oblivious to the destruction she wrought.

But the ultimate betrayal came when I joined the army to protect my younger brother.

Stella, posing as a "war correspondent," leaked my patrol's location to insurgents.

She deemed a rescue "not worth the risk," leaving me to bleed out in the dirt, her face the last thing I saw.

How could my own sister, who once claimed to love me, deliberately condemn me to such a horrific end?

The pain of her betrayal was worse than any bullet.

Now, I've woken up again, back at that lavish D.C. gala, seconds before she destroys everything.

This time, things will be different.

In my first life, I died for my family. My father, a high-ranking official at the State Department, was disgraced. My mother died of grief. My older sister, Stella, watched it all happen.

No, she didn't just watch. She caused it.

Now, I've woken up again, back at the lavish D.C. gala hosted by Senator Maria Clarkson. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of powerful people making deals.

It's the moment before everything went wrong.

My sister, Stella, is standing near the podium. She' s a junior aide to the Senator, a position my father secured for her. She looks radiant, but I know the poison she' s about to spew. She believes she' s the main character in some grand story, here to tear down the "corrupt establishment."

In my first life, she gave a speech right here, denouncing Senator Clarkson for "elitist extravagance." It went viral. She became a progressive darling. My fiancé, Ethan Lester, and the Vice President' s son, Andrew Scott, fell over themselves to champion her.

The scandal destroyed my family. My father had a heart attack. My mother followed him soon after. I joined the army to support my younger brother, only to be betrayed again. Stella, then a "war correspondent," leaked my patrol's location to insurgents. She told the commanding officer a rescue wasn't "worth the risk."

I remember the ambush. I remember the pain. And I remember her face, watching from a distance as I bled out in the dirt.

This time, things will be different.

Stella clears her throat, a self-righteous fire in her eyes. "Senator Clarkson," she begins, her voice ringing with performative passion, "I must speak out against this obscene display of wealth..."

Before she can continue, I move.

I walk directly to Senator Clarkson's wheelchair, my steps firm on the marble floor. I drop to my knees, my head bowed. The entire ballroom falls silent.

"Senator," I say, my voice clear and steady, cutting through Stella's planned tirade. "My sister is unwell and speaking treasonously."

I look up, meeting the Senator's sharp, intelligent gaze.

"I beg you to remove this embarrassment from your presence and forgive my family's failure."

Senator Clarkson looks down at me, her expression unreadable. Then, a flicker of amusement crosses her face. She sees the game. She understands power.

"Security," she says, her voice calm but carrying absolute authority. "Escort Ms. Stella Fuller from the premises. Her employment is terminated, effective immediately."

Two guards move toward Stella, who stands frozen, her mouth agape.

"And Jocelyn," the Senator adds, her eyes still locked on mine. "Be in my office at 8 a.m. tomorrow. We have work to do."

Stella finally finds her voice, a shrill cry of disbelief. "Jocelyn! What are you doing? You're a bootlicker! You're defending this corrupt system!"

I don't even look at her as the guards take her arms. I simply remain on my knees until she is gone, a silent, loyal subject before her queen.

Outside, the D.C. night is cool. The chaos of the gala spills onto the street. I see Ethan, my fiancé, rushing to Stella's side. He puts a comforting arm around her as she sobs theatrically.

"Stella, are you okay? That was incredible, what you did. So brave."

I walk straight up to them.

"Ethan," I say, my voice flat. "Take your hands off my sister."

He glares at me, his face a mask of indignation. "Jocelyn, what is wrong with you? Your sister was just humiliated! She needs support!"

"She needs to learn her place," I reply. "And so do you. You are my fiancé. Consoling my sister like this is inappropriate, and you know it."

His face turns red with anger. "Maybe I don't want to be your fiancé anymore! This whole thing is a sham!"

"It is," I agree, my tone icy. "It's a political arrangement brokered by our parents and the Vice President to consolidate power. If you want to break it, feel free. But don't come crying to me when your father's firm loses its access and your career on K Street is over. Take it up with them, if you think you can win a political war against my father and the VP."

Ethan's jaw clenches. He knows I'm right. He is trapped. He looks from me to the crying Stella, his supposed righteous crusader, and for the first time, I see a flicker of fear in his eyes.