Sister’s Sanctuary

Jenna’s Point of View

Jessica opened the door before I could even knock. Her face,usually so composed and sarcastic,was etched with worry. No words. She just pulled me into a hug so tight, it unraveled every thread I’d been holding together since last night.

“Come in,” she murmured. “I’ve got comfort food and a box of tissues the size of a suitcase.”

I managed a shaky laugh, the kind that bordered on a sob. Inside, the apartment smelled like vanilla and melted cheese. Jessica had made grilled sandwiches, tomato soup, and hot cocoa with extra whipped cream. I didn’t know how she always knew exactly what I needed,but today, she was my anchor.

We sat on the couch, the blanket wrapped around both our legs, our hands clutching mugs like lifelines.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I whispered.

Jessica turned to me, waiting, her eyes soft. I didn’t have to explain. She just listened.

“Last night…” I took a breath. “He kissed me. After everything. After that dinner where his sister practically called me a placeholder for his dead soulmate… he just… kissed me.”

Her eyebrows drew together in anger.

“It wasn’t a real kiss, Jess,” I went on, my voice cracking. “It was mechanical. Like brushing his teeth or signing a document. I just laid there, like always. Letting him pretend I meant something to him, when I don’t.”

Jessica’s mouth tightened. “You’re not invisible, Jenna. You’re being made to feel invisible. There’s a difference. And that man,your husband,is toxic.”

I looked down at my lap. “He used to be sweet, Jess. Before the wedding, before the papers, before all this coldness.”

“Before he stopped needing to impress you,” she muttered bitterly.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I reached for the tissues and told her what had haunted me since that awful dinner.

“Danielle said… Damon had a true love. A woman who died. She said it casually, like it was common knowledge. But I had no idea, Jess. He never told me.”

Jessica’s jaw dropped slightly. “Wait, what? He never mentioned anything about her before?”

“Not once.”

“Did she say her name?”

I shook my head. “No. Just said she died. That he was ‘never the same’ afterward.”

Jessica stood up, pacing now. “Okay. So let’s think. Why would he never tell you? Was it really love or some kind of obsession? How did she die? When?”

I could only shrug. “I don’t know. But something tells me… I don’t want to know the answers.”

Jessica stopped pacing and looked at me, her voice low and serious. “We need to find out.”

I blinked. “What? No, Jess, no. We can’t—”

“We have to,” she interrupted. “You’re sleeping beside a ghost, Jenna. You deserve to know what’s haunting your marriage.”

I hesitated. My heart screamed to know. But my gut twisted in fear.

“What if I find something I can’t handle?” I whispered.

Jessica sat beside me again, grabbing both my hands.

“Then at least you’ll know the truth. And that will set you free.”

---

Two weeks later

I’d been feeling sick. Not just emotionally. Physically. Nausea in the mornings, a tightness in my chest. I chalked it up to stress. The pressure of pretending, smiling, enduring,it was eating away at my body.

Jessica and I had started digging. We checked old news articles, photos, company gossip. It wasn’t easy, especially since we didn’t even have a name at first. But a few familiar threads started showing up.

A woman who had once been photographed entering Damon’s car in the early days of his business rise.

Her name had been listed as Liana Moore in one article, but in another, she was called Clarisse Grant.

It didn’t add up—until we found a deeper lead.

Fake identities. Hidden backgrounds.

We were getting closer.

And then… we found her.

Liana.

A former fashion intern. She’d changed her name to Clarisse Grant for a brief period during her involvement with Damon. Rumor had it she’d died in a car crash while leaving the Easton estate two years ago.

But something didn’t feel right.

That afternoon, I stood outside Damon’s office building, holding a manila folder filled with printed evidence. Jessica and I had everything. The fake name. The overlapping dates. The funeral announcement that didn’t match any official death records.

Liana wasn’t dead.

She had just disappeared.

And now… I was going to confront Damon with the truth.

I walked across the street toward the building, my hands shaking. I could barely breathe. I wasn’t even sure what I would say. But I had to say something.

Then I heard it.

Through the open doors of a nearby café with floor-to-ceiling glass walls, I saw Damon—inside, seated at the back.

And sitting across from him… was her.

Liana. Alive. Laughing.

My heart stopped.

They were leaning in close. His hand was over hers on the table. Her eyes sparkled. His face—the same stone-cold face I woke up to every morning—was soft, tender, alive.

Then he said it.

“I never stopped loving you, Liana.”

The manila folder slipped from my hand, pages fluttering to the sidewalk.

I stumbled backward. The world tilted. My lungs refused to expand. My stomach twisted, then lurched. I turned and ran.

I ducked into a nearby restaurant. It was half-empty, dim, quiet—thank God. I slid into the booth in the corner, pulled out my phone, and called Jessica.

She answered on the first ring. “Jenna?”

“I… I saw them.”

“Who?”

“Him. Damon. And Liana. She’s alive, Jess. She’s not dead. He said… he told her he never stopped loving her.”

There was a pause. “Where are you right now?”

“A restaurant. Across from his office building. I— I dropped the file. I couldn’t breathe—Jess, I think I need to leave the country. I can’t take this anymore.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me. I’ll call the lawyer, and I’ll come get you. Just stay put, okay?”

“Okay.” My voice was barely a whisper. I pressed a hand to my stomach. The nausea was worse now. Everything was spinning.

“And Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“I feel… dizzy. Like I’m gonna… pass out…”

Then everything went dark.