Ruffled

All my life I have been in my sisters shadow, growing up I was always compared to her. My parents wanted me to be like my older sister Natalie but I didn't want to be anything like her, I was my own person with my own dreams, but every time I tried to figure it out, my parents would help Natalie steal it away from me.

My family, for the past 15 years have ran a club here in New York, called the Devil's chair. It's one of the biggest clubs here. It is also owned by Sebastian Knight. The mafia boss. The man whom owned almost everything here in America. The man I gave my heart too and the man who broke it.

The stale breath of beer and regret clung to my clothes, an invisible shroud I couldn't shed. My fingers cramped around the rag, the last glass already gleaming on the shelf. Fifteen hours stretched behind me, a grueling marathon of clinking bottles, forced smiles, and the relentless throb behind my eyes.

Natalie, my older sister, had spent her day in pampered preparation for a modeling audition, a mere ripple in the grand scheme of her effortless existence. My parents, of course, endorsed her delicate schedule. My shift, a perpetual penance, always bent to their will.

I unhooked my apron from the rack, the stiff fabric scraping against the tired skin of my neck. My jacket, a worn shield against the city's indifferent chill, slid over my shoulders. My hand closed around the familiar strap of my handbag, a small anchor in the churning currents of the day.

A shadow fell over me. Richard, my father, stood blocking the exit. His face, usually a mask of detached control, held a sharper edge. His fingers, thick and unyielding, clamped around my arm.

"Six AM, Liliana," he said, his voice flat, a pronouncement rather than a request. "Tomorrow, you start at six."

The air left my lungs in a silent gasp. Four hours. Four meager hours to dismantle fifteen hours of exhaustion, to find a sliver of rest before returning to this fluorescent-lit cage. The protest coiled in my gut, a bitter taste. My brows drew together, a flicker of defiance I couldn't quite extinguish.

His eyes narrowed. A low hiss escaped his lips, a sound I knew well. "Don't even think it. Natalie's future is paramount. Her audition is more important than your comfort."

The words, a familiar refrain, scraped against the raw edges of my patience. My jaw tightened, my gaze dropping to the scuffed linoleum. My head dipped, a small, involuntary nod. The argument was a battle already lost before it began. Every fiber of my being screamed to unleash the torrent of frustration, the years of quiet indignation, but the wisdom of silence had been etched into my bones.

The biting wind clawed at my exposed skin the moment I stepped outside, a harsh reminder of the world's indifference. My beat-up 2005 Toyota Corolla, a faded sentinel in the empty parking lot, waited. Its dented passenger side, a testament to countless forgotten scrapes, seemed to slump alongside me.

The worn plastic of the key fob dug into my palm as I pressed the unlock button. A faint click echoed in the stillness. I pulled the door open, the interior air a stale, familiar cocoon. The faint scent of old coffee and forgotten dreams clung to the worn upholstery.

My gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, but it wasn't my own weary reflection that met me. Instead, a different scene unfolded, fifteen years distant, yet as vivid as the scent of dust and lilies.

####

-Flashback-

I stood before a mahogany coffin, polished to a sickening gleam. Sebastian Knight's mother lay inside, a victim of a wrong turn, a fatal bullet. The air in the funeral home was thick with hushed whispers and the cloying sweetness of white flowers. My small hand, damp with nervous sweat, clutched Sebastian's. His grip, surprisingly firm for a boy his age, offered a silent language of shared grief. His blue eyes, usually bright with mischief, were shadowed with a depth that felt ancient, too old for someone so young.

My family, a tight-knit unit of performative sympathy, lingered in the background. My mother, Ashley, smoothed her dress, her gaze constantly sweeping the room, calculating, assessing. My father, Richard, stood beside her, an imposing pillar of gravitas. Natalie, a vision even then, her blonde hair catching the faint light, stood slightly apart, a pre-calculated smile touching her lips. They had only come, I knew even then, to introduce Natalie. To position her.

Sebastian's fingers tightened around mine, a faint tremor running through him. "Thank you for being here, Lily," he murmured, his voice a low thrum against the backdrop of hushed prayers. "It means… everything."

His eyes, a startling blue against the pallor of his skin, met mine. A promise hung in the air between us, unspoken but palpable. He would keep me safe. He would take me with him. I believed him. In that moment, he was my refuge, my escape from the gilded cage of my own life. I knew my family. I knew their constant judgment, their meticulous dissections of my every perceived flaw, their relentless praise of Natalie's elegance, her grace.

That night, a child's hope still flickering in my chest, I waited. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind against the windowpane, sounded like his arrival. But the night stretched, long and cold, until the first tendrils of dawn painted the sky in shades of bruised purple. He never came. He simply vanished, leaving me to face the relentless tide of my family's expectations alone.

"He clearly saw who the real catch was," my mother had purred, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, her eyes fixed on Natalie. "Natalie has a certain… presence. An elegance you lack, darling."

My father, never one to mince words, simply grunted his agreement. "A Knight needs a woman who can move in their circles. Someone refined. Someone who understands influence."

-end fladhback-

####

Ruby, our eighty-five-year-old neighbor, emerged from the gloom, her silver hair a soft halo around her kind, wrinkled face. Her shawl, a patchwork of vibrant colors, seemed to glow in the dim porch light. A faint scent of lavender and freshly baked sugar cookies wafted from her.

"Oh, darling," she sighed, her voice a gentle murmur, laced with a familiar sorrow. She reached out, her frail hand hovering near my arm. "They've got you working yourself to death, haven't they?"

A small, weary smile touched my lips, a genuine one for the first time that night. Ruby saw me, truly saw me, beyond the expectations and the disappointments. She was my secret harbor, a haven where I could shed the armor I wore for my family. Her kitchen, always warm and smelling of cinnamon, had witnessed countless confessions, her soft voice a balm to my raw nerves. Her endless stories of her late husband, a man whose kindness mirrored her own, were a comfort I rarely found elsewhere.

"I'm okay, Ruby," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "Thank you."

She nodded, her eyes, milky with age, held a deep, knowing empathy. We spoke of nothing and everything for a few minutes, the mundane details of her day, the quiet hum of the night. Then, with a gentle squeeze of my arm, she pulled back.

"Sleep well, my dear," she whispered, her lips pursing into a soft, air-blown kiss directed at me before she turned and disappeared back into the comforting shadows of her own porch.

The solid oak door of the Torres mansion felt heavier than usual. It swung inward with a faint groan, swallowing me whole. I kicked off my shoes, leaving them a silent pair of sentinels by the threshold. My coat, scarf, and handbag landed with soft thuds beside them. The house was quiet, a vast, echoing space that swallowed sound. My footsteps, usually light, felt heavy and dragged as I headed towards my room.

A low, guttural sound, faint at first, then distinct, sliced through the quiet. It emanated from Natalie's room. My eyelids fluttered, a weary dismissal. Natalie and her fleeting conquests were a constant, unremarkable symphony in this house. I rolled my eyes, the familiar wave of disinterest washing over me.

Then, a name. Thomas.

My blood ran cold. The low moans, previously dismissed as generic, twisted into something sickeningly familiar, something intimate. My breath hitched. Thomas. My Thomas.

My hand, numb and disbelieving, reached for Natalie's bedroom door. The polished brass felt icy beneath my fingers. I pushed. The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing a scene ripped from a nightmare.

Thomas, his back to me, moved with a rhythm I knew, a rhythm meant for me. Natalie's blonde hair, spread like a golden fan across the pillows, tangled with his dark strands. Her eyes, wide and glazed, met mine across his shoulder. A slow, cruel smirk bloomed on her lips.

"What the fuck," I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat, raw and ragged. My voice, unfamiliar and desperate, pierced the hazy silence of their betrayal.

He froze. His head snapped around, his eyes, usually a calm green, wide with panicked horror. He flinched, pulling out of her with a gasp, a sound of slick separation.

"Fuck. Liliana."

My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I spun on my heel, a dizzying pivot, the room blurring around me. My fingers fumbled for my phone, the screen a lifeline in the sudden, crushing darkness. Emily. Always Emily.

"Liliana, wait!" His voice, laced with desperation, reached me, a frantic plea. "It's not what it looks like!"

I stopped, my feet rooted to the spot, but I didn't turn all the way. My head angled back, my face a mask of scorching fury. My eyes, narrowed slits, found his. He was pulling up his pants, his face pale, riddled with shame. Natalie, a viper in a silk dressing gown, stood behind him, her smirk still in place, a silent celebration of her victory.

"What?" My voice was a low hiss, each word etched with venom. "You screwing my sister? After you swore to me, you had nothing for her?" My gaze flickered to Natalie, her smugness a sickening confirmation. The fury intensified, a burning inferno in my chest.

"I hate you," I spat at Thomas, the words ripped from the deepest, most wounded part of my soul. "I hope you rot in hell."

Then, my eyes locked on Natalie. The hatred in my gaze felt like a physical blow. "And you," I snarled, my voice cracking, betraying the fragile composure I fought to maintain. "I hope you go to the darkest parts of hell."

A strangled sob tore through me, hot and stinging. It felt like a piece of my soul ripping free. "I'm gone. I hope you're happy with sloppy seconds." My eyes darted to Thomas, then back to her, a final, disgusted appraisal.

The world tilted. My breath came in ragged gasps. I whirled around, my vision blurred by unshed tears, and scrambled to gather my shoes, my coat, my scarf, my handbag, everything I had just discarded. Each item became a symbol of my hasty escape, a testament to the shattered pieces of my life. My fingers, trembling with a mixture of rage and profound heartbreak, hit Emily's contact again. The phone vibrated, a comforting hum against my ear.

Our plan. Our plan. It was a go. A different place, a different start. Somewhere I had always wanted to go, somewhere Sebastian never took me. San Miguel de Allende.