So this was who I'd been all along in the eyes of the man I'd loved for eight years.
We went from school uniforms to wedding gowns. I truly believed we'd be happy forever.
But everything changed the day Marilyn was found and brought home.
My parents, who once cherished me like the apple of their eye, started telling me to give way to my sister in everything.
They said she'd suffered so much during all those years she was lost.
Harrison, whose gaze used to orbit around me alone, began glancing her way more and more.
He'd toss out little comments: "Your sister is so much more innocent than you."
And maybe she was. I'd spent those years building a company, closing deals, single-handedly pulling my family into the upper echelons of the capital's society.
I'd seen too many mind games, too many schemes, too many transactions dressed up as relationships.
I wasn't innocent anymore. I weighed every cost and benefit. I kept score. I cared about winning and losing.
Compared to Marilyn, who called herself a "curious little darling" and played sweet and naive, I wasn't exactly endearing.