Chapter 4: The Bride's Revenge
1708words
Each loop deepened my understanding of this complex conspiracy, but Isabella remained a mystery. Her behavior always confused me—sometimes she appeared an innocent victim, other times a dangerous player. Her eyes held emotions I couldn't comprehend—a mixture of pain, anger, and something deeper.
This time, I decided to confront Isabella directly, to clarify her true intentions before the wedding began. I needed to know whether she was enemy or ally—needed to understand exactly what role she played in this deadly game.
The bride's dressing room was located in the church's side wing—a small room full of ancient charm. This space had a long history, reportedly once a prayer room for nuns. Light blue wallpaper printed with hand-drawn golden flower patterns adorned the walls. A Victorian-era dressing table, carved with delicate patterns, was covered with cosmetics and perfume bottles—Chanel, Dior, Lancôme, all the most expensive brands.
Isabella sat before the mirror, but her expression wasn't one of bridal happiness—rather, deep fatigue and something close to despair. Her Paris custom wedding dress, perfect in every detail, now resembled an elaborate shroud. Though her makeup was flawless, I could see exhaustion and concealed pain beneath it.
The dressing room was filled with mingled scents of rose perfume and hairspray—expensive French fragrances that somehow smelled putrid to me, like beautiful flowers rotting. Ancient oil paintings hung on the walls depicting angels and the Madonna, but in the dim light, they seemed to weep.
"Isabella, we need to talk."
She looked at me through the mirror, and in those eyes I saw something I'd never seen before—not love, not hatred, but a hollow indifference, like someone already dead looking at the world. "About what?"
Her voice was calm, but with a disturbing emptiness. This wasn't the Isabella I remembered—that lively, beautiful girl full of vitality. This person looked as if something had hollowed out her soul.
"About today's wedding. About our origins. About this entire conspiracy." I stood behind her, sensing the tension in her body. Through the mirror, I saw her shoulders trembling slightly, as if she were fighting to maintain control.
Isabella set down her lipstick—an expensive Chanel one, its bright red color appearing particularly eerie in the light. She slowly turned to face me, her movements elegant and unhurried, like some ritual performance. Her makeup was flawless, but I could see fatigue and traces of madness hidden beneath her foundation.
"How much do you know?" she asked, her voice carrying strange curiosity, as if inquiring about an interesting secret.
"I know we were both stolen babies. I know Eleanor and Marcus planned it all. I also know Christopher was involved." I watched her reaction carefully, searching for any revealing clues.
She stood, the silk of her wedding dress rustling against the floor—a sound unnaturally loud in the silent room. Her movements were slow and graceful, but unsettling, like a predator stalking its prey.
"Then do you know why I shot him?"
The question sent a chill through me. She said it so calmly, so naturally, as if discussing the weather. "Because you discovered his plan to kill us?"
Isabella laughed, but her smile seemed to lower the room's temperature. It wasn't a normal smile—it was twisted and morbid, like a madman admiring their own masterpiece.
"No, Sarah. I shot him because he betrayed me."
*Betrayed?* A deeper fear rose within me. This word sounded particularly dangerous, especially deadly coming from her mouth.
"Three years ago, I discovered my true identity." She began pacing the small room, her wedding dress dragging along the floor with a rustling sound like a snake slithering. "I learned I wasn't Eleanor's daughter, that our adoption was a fraud."
*Three years ago?* This meant she'd known the truth much longer than I'd imagined. "Then why didn't you say anything?"
She withdrew the pearl-handled gun from the dressing table drawer, her movements skilled and natural, as if picking up a pen. The gun gleamed with pearly luster under the old lamp's light—both beautiful and deadly. This was no ordinary weapon but a work of art—a beautiful instrument created for killing.
"Because I have my own plan. I don't want those properties, Sarah. What I want is revenge."
Her voice grew colder, her eyes flashing with a light beyond madness—reminiscent of hellfire, beautiful yet dangerous.
*Revenge?* The air seemed to thicken, making it difficult to breathe. This room suddenly felt like a trap, and I was the cornered prey.
"Revenge against Eleanor, revenge against Marcus, revenge against everyone involved in this conspiracy." A light beyond madness flashed in her eyes. "Including revenge against you."
*Against me?* This twist shocked me. "What did I do?"
"You didn't do anything. That's the problem." Isabella's voice became sharp and painful, like a wounded child crying. "For twenty-seven years, you've been the family's darling. Even though we were both adopted, Eleanor loved you more."
*This isn't right… Eleanor always favored her.* "You're lying."
"No, Sarah. You've been blinded." Isabella raised her gun, pointing it at my heart. The motion was so natural, so practiced, as if she'd rehearsed it countless times. "Eleanor planned to kill you, not because she feared your birth mother. But because I asked her to do it."
The air in the room seemed to freeze. I heard my heart beating violently, felt blood rushing through my veins. This revelation was more terrifying than death itself.
"What?"
"I told her if she didn't kill you, I would reveal all the secrets at the wedding." Isabella's smile grew more twisted, tears glistening on her eyelashes, but those tears looked more like blood. "She chose to protect me, just as she always does."
*So all of this was orchestrated by Isabella?* I felt the world completely collapse beneath my feet. Everything I thought I knew, all the truths I believed I understood, were utterly overturned by this terrible revelation.
"But why? We grew up together…"
"Grew up together?" she sneered, the madness in her eyes becoming more evident. "Do you know what it feels like to live in the shadow of the 'perfect daughter'? Even though I was more beautiful, smarter, and better, Eleanor's eyes could only see you."
There was deep pain in her voice—the pain of being ignored, of being forgotten. But this pain had twisted into something more dangerous—hatred.
"You know what, Sarah? Whenever you made a mistake, Eleanor always said 'It's okay, Sarah is still young.' But when I made the same mistake, she said 'Isabella, you should know better.' Whenever you achieved something, she proudly told everyone. But when I achieved something even greater, she just gave a slight nod."
*She's completely lost her mind.* I realized Isabella's jealousy had twisted into pathological hatred. But I also felt deep sadness. Part of what she said was true—Eleanor had indeed been more lenient with me.
Just then, the door was pushed open with a harsh creak. Eleanor and Marcus walked in, their faces turning pale when they saw the gun in Isabella's hand, as if they'd seen a ghost.
"Isabella, the ceremony is about to begin." Eleanor's voice trembled as she tried to remain calm, but I heard the fear in it. "Sarah? What are you doing here?"
"She knows everything." Isabella turned to them, the gun barrel drawing a dangerous arc in the air. Her movements were full of threat, but also carried a morbid elegance. "So the plan must start early."
Marcus tried to pull his weapon from inside his suit. His movement was quick, but Isabella was quicker. Her reaction was swift and precise, like a trained killer's.
"Don't move!" Her voice echoed in the small room, filled with threat and madness. "You think I don't know your real plan? You want to kill Sarah and me after the wedding, then divide the property."
*What? This isn't what Victoria said...* I felt even more confused. Everyone had their own version, everyone claimed to know the truth.
"But I'm smarter than you." Isabella continued, the madness in her eyes growing more apparent. "Today, I will end it all. I will kill everyone, then disappear with the property."
Her plan was more insane and thorough than I'd imagined. This wasn't revenge—this was slaughter.
"You're insane." Eleanor's voice was filled with fear, her face etched with despair. "Isabella, we can work together…"
"It's too late."
The gunshot exploded in the cramped dressing room, sound waves reflecting off ancient walls, nearly rupturing my eardrums. Marcus was shot in the chest, blood splattering onto the pale blue wallpaper, leaving horrifying red marks on the golden flower pattern. He fell to the floor, his blood slowly seeping into the old carpet.
"Now it's your turn." Isabella turned toward Eleanor and me, her gun gleaming with deadly light in the lamplight. Her face bore a kind of morbid satisfaction, like an artist admiring her own work.
*I must stop her.* In desperation, I lunged at Isabella. I knew this might be my last chance—I had to stop this massacre.
We knocked over the dressing table with a heavy crash. Perfume bottles and cosmetics scattered everywhere, expensive fragrances spreading across the floor in colorful pools. The old mirror shattered, glass fragments reflecting broken light like shattered dreams.
In the chaotic struggle, I tried to seize the gun from her hand. Isabella was stronger and more desperate than I'd imagined. Her strength came from hatred—from more than twenty years of suppressed anger and jealousy.
The gun fired again.
This time, the bullet hit me. Intense pain spread from my chest throughout my entire body, like a flame burning inside me. Blood flowed warmly between broken glass, red mixing with colorful perfume to create a macabre artwork.
In my last moment of consciousness, I saw Isabella standing above me, her wedding dress stained crimson, her face wearing an expression of morbid relief.
"It's finally over," she whispered. "It's finally over."
Darkness swallowed me once again, but this time I entered death carrying a more terrifying truth: the person I trusted most—my sister—was the true mastermind of this deadly game.
