Gilded Lies The Perfect Sister

The sunlight glimmered off the Miami skyline like shards of

champagne, each reflection sharp and golden against the glass

towers. I stood barefoot on my balcony, silk robe tied loosely

around me, letting the ocean breeze tease the ends of my hair.

The water below shimmered deceptively calm, the kind of calm

I'd learned not to trust. One year of silence, one year of space,

and here I was, breathing freely again-or so I thought.

Inside my penthouse, the scent of peonies and sandalwood

lingered, courtesy of a dozen Jo Malone diffusers lined along

the marble counters. My phone vibrated on the counter, a soft

gold-glass tray rattling slightly beneath it. Unread messages.

Twelve missed calls.

All from her.

Rochelle.

I didn't block her number. Not entirely. Not yet. There was still

that tiny fragment of hope buried in the corners of my chest-

hope that maybe she had changed, that maybe her words would

soften, that maybe... she'd say she was sorry