Chapter 3 - THE DEATH CERTIFICATE
When Marcus placed the documents on the wedding table, Juliette looked as though the floor had vanished beneath her.
"You planned this."
"Yes."
"You wanted to humiliate me."
"No."
I looked around the ballroom.
"I wanted everyone to see what happened."
She laughed bitterly.
"You've always been jealous of me."
The sentence hurt more than I expected.
Not because it was true.
Because I had spent my whole life afraid that she believed it.
"I was jealous of one thing," I said.
She frowned.
"What?"
"That you could still call me your sister."
She stared.
"And you couldn't even do that."
Andrew finally stepped forward.
He looked completely lost.
He had been preparing to marry a woman he thought he understood.
Now he was watching a supposedly dead sister stand before her.
"Juliette."
She turned.
"Andrew, don't."
"What is she saying?"
"She's lying."
Marcus opened another file.
"Then let's examine the records."
Juliette looked at him.
"Who are you?"
"You know who I am."
She looked away.
Marcus placed a photograph on the table.
It was an old security image.
Grainy.
Blurry.
But recognizable.
Juliette stood outside the house.
Alive.
The timestamp was visible.
11:42 p.m.
My family had claimed she had been unconscious at that time.
Juliette stared at the photograph.
Marcus said:
"You told investigators you were trapped upstairs."
She said nothing.
"You told them you escaped through a window."
Nothing.
"You told them you never saw Caroline."
Her lips parted.
Marcus placed another photograph beside the first.
This one showed the hallway.
Smoke.
Fire.
And a figure near the entrance.
Me.
Then another figure behind me.
Juliette.
She had been there.
The room erupted in whispers.
Andrew looked at her.
"You told me you weren't there."
Juliette shook her head.
"I was confused."
"You said you were downstairs."
"I don't remember."
Marcus leaned forward.
"That's interesting."
He opened another file.
"The hospital report states Caroline was found alive at 11:58 p.m."
Juliette stared.
Marcus continued.
"Your death certificate was filed the following morning."
"So?"
"The problem is that your father signed an estate authorization at 7:30 a.m."
Juliette froze.
My father closed his eyes.
Marcus looked at him.
"You signed it before Caroline was officially identified."
My father's shoulders dropped.
"I was told she was dead."
"By whom?"
My father looked at Juliette.
She whispered:
"Dad."
I watched him.
"Tell them."
He couldn't.
So I did.
"She told you I was dead."
Juliette shouted:
"No!"
"You told him."
"No!"
"You told him I was gone."
"I thought you were dead!"
"You knew."
"I didn't!"
"You looked at me."
My voice cracked.
"You looked directly at me while I was trapped in that hallway."
She began crying.
"I was scared."
"So was I."
"I didn't know what to do."
"You walked away."
Her tears continued.
"I thought the ceiling was going to collapse."
"And you left me."
She covered her mouth.
For the first time, she looked less like a bride and more like the little girl I remembered.
But I couldn't let that memory save her.
Not this time.
Marcus turned to Andrew.
"You deserve to know that the Mercer estate was transferred after Caroline's death."
Andrew looked at Juliette.
"Your sister's inheritance?"
She said nothing.
He understood.
"That's what this is about?"
"No."
I answered.
"It's about what happened before the money."
I looked at my father.
"Tell him."
My father finally spoke.
"Caroline found irregularities in the company."
Andrew frowned.
Juliette looked at him.
"She misunderstood."
"No," my father said.
Juliette stared at him.
"Stop."
He continued.
"She found transfers I couldn't explain."
"You promised!"
"I was trying to protect you."
"You promised you wouldn't tell."
The room went silent.
There it was.
The confession hidden inside a broken sentence.
Juliette realized what she had said.
Her face changed.
Marcus slowly closed the file.
"Thank you."
She stared at him.
"I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did."
I stepped toward her.
She stepped backward.
My satin-clad sister.
My scarred reflection.
We were suddenly only inches apart.
"You stole my life," I whispered.
"I didn't."
"You took my inheritance."
"I didn't mean for you to die."
The room froze.
Juliette's eyes widened.
She had said it.
Not intentionally.
Not dramatically.
Just honestly.
And honesty was the one thing she could no longer afford.
Andrew stepped away from her.
"Juliette."
She began shaking.
"I didn't kill her."
I looked at Marcus.
He didn't move.
I looked at my father.
He was crying.
Then I looked at my sister.
"I never said you killed me."
Her face crumpled.
That was the difference between accusation and truth.
She had confessed to something I hadn't even accused her of.
The ballroom had become a courtroom without a judge.
People whispered.
Phones appeared.
Someone was crying.
Someone else was recording.
I didn't care.
For three years, my death had been a private family story.
Now it belonged to witnesses.
Juliette looked around.
"Everyone leave."
Nobody moved.
"This is private!"
Marcus shook his head.
"No, it isn't."
She looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because you made a legal death out of a living person."
He pointed toward me.
"That is no longer a private family disagreement."
Andrew stared at the floor.
He looked devastated.
"Was any of it real?"
Juliette turned.
"What?"
"Our relationship."
She stared at him.
"Andrew—"
"Was the wedding real?"
She began crying.
"Of course."
"Then why did you never tell me?"
"I was afraid."
"Of what?"
She looked at me.
"Her."
I felt my stomach twist.
"Me?"
"You were going to take everything."
"I was going to expose the truth."
"You don't understand."
"No."
I stepped closer.
"I understand perfectly."
Marcus opened another section of the file.
"There is one more thing."
Juliette stared at him.
"No."
He removed a small envelope.
My father looked terrified.
I recognized the handwriting.
Mine.
Marcus handed it to me.
I opened it.
Inside was a single page.
My handwriting.
Written three years earlier.
Before the fire.
Before my death.
Before everything.
I read it silently.
Then I looked at Juliette.
"What is this?"
She didn't answer.
Marcus did.
"It was found in the remains of Caroline's study."
I looked down again.
It was a note I had written to my father.
I had forgotten it.
I had been planning to confront him about the financial records the morning after the fire.
The note said I had discovered transfers that appeared to have been made without authorization.
It named several accounts.
It mentioned Juliette.
And at the bottom, I had written:
If something happens to me, look at the accounts first.
My hands began shaking.
I looked at my father.
"You knew about this."
He nodded.
"When?"
"After the fire."
"And you destroyed nothing?"
"No."
"Then why didn't you tell anyone?"
He looked at me.
"Because I was afraid of losing both of my daughters."
I laughed bitterly.
"You lost me anyway."
He lowered his head.
The ballroom doors opened.
Uniformed officers entered.
Juliette stared.
"You brought the police."
"No."
Marcus shook his head.
"I called them before we arrived."
Juliette looked at me.
"You planned everything."
I shook my head.
"No."
I looked around the ballroom.
"I waited three years for this."
I touched my scarred throat.
"I didn't plan your humiliation."
I looked directly into her eyes.
"I planned my return."
Juliette suddenly ran.
She grabbed her dress and sprinted toward the service corridor.
A scream went through the ballroom.
I reacted before thinking.
I ran after her.
My legs hurt.
Every step felt like knives.
But I ran.
Down the corridor.
Past the kitchens.
Past startled staff.
Juliette threw open a door.
I followed.
She stumbled into the back courtyard.
"Juliette!"
She turned.
Her veil had torn loose.
Her white dress was dirty.
She looked at me with pure hatred.
"You should have stayed dead."
The words stopped me.
Not because they surprised me.
Because they confirmed everything.
I stood there, breathing hard.
She looked at my scars.
"You were supposed to disappear."
"I did."
"You ruined everything."
"No."
I stepped closer.
"You ruined everything."
She shook her head.
"You don't understand."
"Then explain."
"I had no choice."
"You always had a choice."
"My entire life was built around being the daughter who came second."
I stared at her.
"I never asked you to compete with me."
"You didn't have to."
Her voice cracked.
"Dad always trusted you."
"I worked for it."
"I loved him too."
"I know."
"You don't know what it was like."
I looked at her.
"Do you know what it was like waking up and not being able to speak?"
She went silent.
"Do you know what it was like asking for my father and hearing that he had already buried me?"
Her eyes filled.
"Do you know what it was like learning my sister was wearing my jewelry?"
She whispered:
"I was scared."
"So was I."
"You had everything."
"I had you."
She looked away.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said:
"I didn't think you'd survive."
The words were almost a whisper.
I stepped closer.
"Neither did I."
The police found us there.
Juliette did not resist.
She only looked at me once before they took her away.
My father remained inside the ballroom.
I wasn't ready to forgive him.
I wasn't sure I ever would be.
But I went back.
May you like
Because there was still one truth left.
The fire.
