VENGEANCE IN RED

She had found out two weeks ago. That was the day her world began to crumble.

The moment was burned into her memory like a scar that would never fade. She had walked down the familiar halls of her parents’ house, the home where she had always been a ghost. She wasn’t expecting much—maybe another cold conversation, another reminder that she was the adopted daughter, the one who never truly belonged. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she reached Monique’s bedroom door.

It was ajar, and the sounds coming from inside made her stomach lurch.

Moans. Groans. The unmistakable sounds of pleasure.

A sickening chill spread through her veins as she stepped forward, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. And there they were—Monique, her younger sister, straddling her husband, riding him with reckless abandon.

Her breath caught in her throat, her limbs frozen as if she had turned to stone. Her brain screamed at her to move, to leave, to erase the image from her mind, but she stood there, paralyzed, watching as the man she had devoted her life to moaned beneath her sister’s touch.

Then Monique laughed—a wicked, satisfied sound that sliced through her like a blade.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms as she stumbled backward, nearly colliding with the staircase railing. She needed to get out. To breathe. To—

When she reached the living room, her parents were there, sitting comfortably as if nothing in the world was amiss.

“Mom. Dad.” Her voice shook as she turned to them, her chest heaving. “Do you know about this?”

Karen and Miguel exchanged a glance before her mother sighed, barely sparing her a look of concern. “Your sister is stubborn,” she said dismissively. “She’s been into Rick for a while. Let her enjoy her madness. She’ll tire of him soon.”

Nausea coiled in her stomach, a suffocating weight pressing against her ribs. The sheer nonchalance of their words made bile rise in her throat.

Her legs wobbled as she ran to the nearest bathroom, barely making it in time before she retched, emptying her stomach in violent heaves. The acid burned, but not as much as the betrayal that clawed at her insides.

What kind of parents indulge their daughter in something like this?

But she already knew the answer. She had always known.

She was the outsider. The child they adopted out of obligation before Monique was born. They had never expected to have their own child, but when Monique arrived, everything changed. All attention, all love, all affection—everything was for Monique. She had grown up as nothing more than a shadow in her own home.

Monique wanted, Monique got.

It had always been that way.

She had dreamed of becoming a doctor once, but her parents shut her down. “We’re only supporting Monique’s education,” they had said. “There’s no budget for you.”

So, she had carved her own path. She passed the scholarship exam for the criminology and forensic science program, working part-time jobs to support herself. She studied relentlessly, earning her degree with Latin honors. When she was accepted into the state law enforcement agency, she had been proud. But even then, her family barely acknowledged her achievements.

Then Charles had come into her life.

Her college sweetheart, the man who had once made her feel like she was worth something. When he passed the BAR exam, he convinced her to give up her career. “Your job is dangerous,” he had said. “Stay home, take care of our family. Let me take care of you.”

And when she became pregnant, she had agreed.

Charlie Jr. had been her world, her reason for sacrificing everything. She had thought she was building something meaningful. She had thought she had a happy life.

Then Monique reappeared.

Like a storm, her younger sister had swept into their lives, sinking her claws into everything that wasn’t hers. And, just as always, Monique wanted, and Monique got.

And now… now she had taken everything.

But she wouldn’t get away with it.

She wiped her mouth, steadying herself against the sink as she lifted her head, staring at her reflection. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow, but beneath the exhaustion and heartbreak, something simmered.

That night, when Charles came home late, their son was already asleep.

“Why Monique?” she asked, her voice quiet but sharp.

Charles stiffened. “You and your baseless accusations,” he said defensively.

“I saw you in her room today,” she said, her words slicing through the air like a blade.

He froze.

“Let’s divorce,” she said, her voice steady, resolute.

His expression twisted in fury. “You unfeeling bitch! My son will stay with me. You can’t take him—you don’t have the money to support him.”

“He’s five years old. He’ll stay with me. You can visit him while you enjoy Monique,” she said, her jaw clenched, her eyes burning with unshaken determination.

“No, let—”

She cut him off, her gaze like steel. “There’s nothing more to say.”

That was the moment everything changed. The moment she stopped being the woman they could control.

And soon, they would all pay for their sins.

Alice’s plan crumbled before her eyes. Charles had dragged her to court for custody of their son, and with his influence as a respected lawyer, the judge ruled in his favor. The verdict struck her like a death sentence.

She had fought, pleaded, and presented everything she could, but it didn’t matter. Charles had power. He had connections. And worst of all, he had the full support of her so-called family.

After the hearing, she rushed to Charles, tears streaming down her face. “Please, Charles,” she begged, her voice breaking. “You know Monique won’t take care of him. She can’t. Give my son to me. He needs his mother.”

Charles tilted his head, a smirk curling his lips. “You’re so stubborn, Alice. Always thinking you can win against me.” His voice dripped with amusement, like he was toying with her suffering.

Alice clenched her fists. “This isn’t about winning. This is about our son—”

“Our son?” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “The court says he’s my son now. You lost. Face it.”

Beside him, Monique crossed her arms and smirked. “Oh, don’t look so pitiful, dear sister. Charles Jr. will be just fine without you.” Her tone was saccharine, her false sympathy making Alice’s stomach churn.

Alice turned desperately to her parents. “Mom, Dad, please. You know this is wrong. He belongs with me.”

Karen and Miguel, the people who raised her, barely met her gaze. Her father sighed, shaking his head. “Monique is better suited to care for him. You should just accept this and move on.”

Move on? How could they say that? How could they rip her son away like this?

Alice’s legs nearly gave out beneath her. It was in that moment she realized the bitter truth—she had never truly been part of this family. They had raised her out of obligation, but Monique had always been their priority. And now, even her son had been taken away for the sake of their precious daughter.

She turned back to Charles, her vision blurred with rage and despair. “You never loved me, did you?” she whispered. “I was just someone you could control.”

Charles’s smirk widened. “Love?” He scoffed. “I tolerated you. But you were always too ambitious, too independent. I needed a wife who knew her place. Guess Monique understands that better than you.”

Alice’s breath hitched. The realization hit like a knife to the heart. Charles had never wanted a partner—he had wanted someone submissive, someone he could mold. And when she refused to be that, he discarded her like she was nothing.

But she wasn’t nothing.

Monique giggled beside him, basking in her victory. Alice could see it in her eyes—she had taken everything from her, and she enjoyed it.

A cold numbness settled over Alice’s heart.