My Step-Sister Stole My Husband, Cancer Stole My Fear
Daisy Swift
6.7k Words / Completed
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Introduction
I died three times.
The first time, at seven, when my father remarried. I learned to always be the second choice.
The second time, at twenty-eight, when my husband betrayed me. I discovered I had never existed in his heart.
The third time, when the doctor told me I had six months to live. That's when I finally came alive.
They called me the perfect wife, the understanding daughter, the strong sister. They said I was always so considerate, so selfless. What they didn't know was that every act of "understanding" was killing the real me.
When I discovered on our fifth anniversary that my husband Phoenix's fourteenth "client emergency" in three months was actually him running to comfort my mentally unstable step-sister Dahlia—when I held that psychiatric emergency consultation card in my hands, when I saw the lipstick stains on his shirt—I knew it was time.
Not time to forgive. Not time to save our marriage. Time to let everyone know: some women would rather die with their secrets than live in lies.
I signed my cancer diagnosis and divorce papers on the same day. They thought I'd lost my mind.
Truth is, I'd never been more sane.
The first time, at seven, when my father remarried. I learned to always be the second choice.
The second time, at twenty-eight, when my husband betrayed me. I discovered I had never existed in his heart.
The third time, when the doctor told me I had six months to live. That's when I finally came alive.
They called me the perfect wife, the understanding daughter, the strong sister. They said I was always so considerate, so selfless. What they didn't know was that every act of "understanding" was killing the real me.
When I discovered on our fifth anniversary that my husband Phoenix's fourteenth "client emergency" in three months was actually him running to comfort my mentally unstable step-sister Dahlia—when I held that psychiatric emergency consultation card in my hands, when I saw the lipstick stains on his shirt—I knew it was time.
Not time to forgive. Not time to save our marriage. Time to let everyone know: some women would rather die with their secrets than live in lies.
I signed my cancer diagnosis and divorce papers on the same day. They thought I'd lost my mind.
Truth is, I'd never been more sane.
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Daisy Swift
Chapter 1
Our fifth wedding anniversary. I stood in Napa Valley's most expensive private estate, surrounded by one hundred and fifty California elites, all praising our "perfect marriage."
If only they knew my husband Phoenix had abandoned me fourteen times in the past three months for "client emergencies"—each time rushing off to comfort my mentally unstable step-sister Dahlia.
"You two are relationship goals!" a client gushed.
"Five years of... learning each other," I responded perfectly, while internally counting down to tonight becoming the final straw.
Phoenix had just finished his heartfelt speech about our "blessed marriage" on stage. The applause hadn't even faded when his phone started buzzing frantically.
I watched his face turn ghost white.
The text flashed briefly: "I can't take it anymore. I'm going to end everything tonight. - D"
"Work emergency," Phoenix lied to me frantically, "Singapore client, time zone issues. I'll be back in an hour."
The same excuse. Another one of Dahlia's "life-or-death" moments. Another evening of me being left to face guests' questions.
"Supplier emergency," I lied to inquiring guests, "crisis management never stops."
My friend Sage approached me, "You look like a woman who's finally had enough."
She was right.
Two hours later, after the guests had left, while cleaning up alone, I found a card in Phoenix's hastily abandoned jacket pocket:
"Dahlia Rose - Emergency Session - Dr. Patricia Valdez, MD - Psychiatric Services"
Emergency psychiatric consultation.
Not a client. Not a supplier. My step-sister's mental breakdown.
All those "work emergencies" were Dahlia's manufactured psychological crises, and my husband had appointed himself as her personal emotional therapist.
I gripped that card.
The wood in the fireplace had long since burned out, leaving only a few weak sparks flickering in the darkness. I sat on the living room sofa, clutching that crumpled hospital appointment card, waiting quietly.
3 AM.
Three hours had passed since Phoenix's promised "one hour."
I didn't turn on the lights, didn't send urging texts, didn't call to inquire. I just sat here, enjoying this eerie calm. Because I knew that after tonight, our marriage would never be the same again.
The slight click of the door lock broke the silence. Phoenix tiptoed through the door, moving as carefully as a child who'd done something wrong. In the dim light, I could see his shirt was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and—there were obvious lipstick marks on his lips.
Enough was enough.
I reached over and turned on the living room chandelier.
"Shit!" Phoenix was startled by the sudden light, nearly bumping into the shoe cabinet by the door.
"Three hours." My voice was so calm it surprised even me. "You said one hour."
Phoenix squinted to adjust to the light, hastily wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "The Singapore deal fell through, I had to—"
"Dahlia Rose." I interrupted him, slowly raising the card in my hand. "Emergency Session. Want to try a different story?"
The moment he saw that card, Phoenix's face went deathly pale. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.
I stood up and walked to the bookshelf by the fireplace. Behind the complete works of Shakespeare, I pulled out a thick file folder.
"Do you know what this is?" I caressed the folder's cover. "Three years' worth of collectibles."
I opened the folder and dumped its contents onto the coffee table. Bank transfer records, phone call logs, hospital visit records, hotel booking confirmations, and dozens of photos of Phoenix's car parked outside Dahlia's apartment building.
Phoenix stared wide-eyed at this evidence, as if seeing ghosts.
"Fifty thousand dollars last month. Seventy-five thousand in March. Should I continue reading?" I picked up a bank record, my tone as casual as discussing the weather.
"She's sick, Celeste. She needs help—" Phoenix tried to defend himself, his voice trembling.
"She needs help?" I laughed coldly. "What about me? I've been slowly dying for three years, and you fucking never noticed!"
"Slowly dying? You're being dramatic—"
"Dramatic?" My voice suddenly shot up, three years of suppressed anger finally finding an outlet. "Every night you chose her! Every crisis, every call, every goddamn emergency!"
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I knew from the beginning that Tristan Hayes was a line I shouldn't cross.
He wasn't just anyone, he was my brother's best friend. The man I spent years secretly wanting.
But that night... we were broken. We had just buried our parents. And the grief was too heavy, too real...so I begged him to touch me.
To make me forget. To fill the silence that death left behind.
And he did. He held me like I was something fragile.
Kissed me like I was the only thing he needed to breathe.
Then left me bleeding with six words that burned deeper than rejection ever could.
So, I ran. Away from everything that cost me pain.
Now, five years later, I'm back.
Fresh from rejecting the mate who abused me. Still carrying the scars of a pup I never got to hold.
And the man waiting for me at the airport isn't my brother.
It's Tristan.
And he's not the guy I left behind.
He's a biker.
An Alpha.
And when he looked at me, I knew there was no where else to run to.
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Her CEO Stalker and Her Second Chance Mate
Ongoing · Lilly W Valley
I paused at the ajar conference room door, attempting to balance the tray of coffees. Creedon was my new boss, now also my boyfriend. I listened at the door.
“Where is that slut of yours, Creedon? Must be a hell of a lay. The coffee is going to be cold,” Michael complained. “What's the point in keeping her around? She's not even your breed.”
Not his breed?
“You know me, I like nice accessories, Besides, she is smarter than she looks."
An Accessory?
“Stop toying with the girl. You're letting her get too close to us. Not to mention the scandal you’ll have with the press once they realize she's a poor country girl. America will fall in love with her, you will just crush them when you’re done with her. Poor Image...” The sound of fits hitting the table silenced the room.
“She’s mine! She is no concern of yours. I can fuck her, breed her, or cast her aside, remember who's in charge here. “If I want to use her as a cum bucket, I will." His anger explosive.
Breed me? Cast me aside? Cum bucket? I think not!*
“She is pretty, but she’s of no value to you, Creedon. A pebble in a sea of diamonds, darling. You can have any woman you desire. Fuck her out of your system, and sign off on her,” Latrisha spat. “That one is going to become a pain in your ass. You need a bitch that will submit.”
Someone, please, come mop up the word vomit this woman has just spewed.
“I have her under control, Trisha, back the fuck off.”
**Control? Oh, hell naw! ** He hadn't met the take no bullshit southern bitch I could be.
Rage brewed as I elbowed open door.
Well, here goes everything.
“Where is that slut of yours, Creedon? Must be a hell of a lay. The coffee is going to be cold,” Michael complained. “What's the point in keeping her around? She's not even your breed.”
Not his breed?
“You know me, I like nice accessories, Besides, she is smarter than she looks."
An Accessory?
“Stop toying with the girl. You're letting her get too close to us. Not to mention the scandal you’ll have with the press once they realize she's a poor country girl. America will fall in love with her, you will just crush them when you’re done with her. Poor Image...” The sound of fits hitting the table silenced the room.
“She’s mine! She is no concern of yours. I can fuck her, breed her, or cast her aside, remember who's in charge here. “If I want to use her as a cum bucket, I will." His anger explosive.
Breed me? Cast me aside? Cum bucket? I think not!*
“She is pretty, but she’s of no value to you, Creedon. A pebble in a sea of diamonds, darling. You can have any woman you desire. Fuck her out of your system, and sign off on her,” Latrisha spat. “That one is going to become a pain in your ass. You need a bitch that will submit.”
Someone, please, come mop up the word vomit this woman has just spewed.
“I have her under control, Trisha, back the fuck off.”
**Control? Oh, hell naw! ** He hadn't met the take no bullshit southern bitch I could be.
Rage brewed as I elbowed open door.
Well, here goes everything.
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Daisy Swift
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