Chapter 3
Mara wore a custom couture gown and held Caleb’s arm. Caleb kept lowering his head to smooth her train and adjust her veil—every movement gentle enough to look practiced. From a distance, they looked like the perfect love story.
At the reception, Declan played the attentive husband flawlessly—shielding me from tedious conversations, pulling out my chair, his hand resting lightly at my back for the cameras. The gestures felt dangerously natural.
Across the room, Mara’s smile faltered when she saw us. Caleb’s grip tightened on his glass until his knuckles whitened.
I allowed myself one quiet moment of satisfaction. For once, they weren’t the center of everything.
Exhaustion hit hard once the guests left. I returned to the bridal suite, kicked off my heels, and sank onto the sofa.
Then I checked my phone.
Notifications exploded across the screen.
Mara had posted a long, tearful statement online.
She claimed the core algorithm behind NovaDx had originally been hers. That I had drugged her drink years ago, causing her to miss a critical research presentation. That I had stolen her clinical data and used it to build my company, appear on television, and steal the fame that should have been hers. She painted herself as the quiet, suffering wife while I lived the life stolen from her.
The comments were savage: thief, fraud, boycott NovaDx.
Hot anger surged, but beneath it I felt something sharper—anticipation. She’d shown her hand.
After everything, after she took Caleb, after she shoved me at Declan like discarded leftovers, after she played victim at my own wedding—she still wasn’t satisfied.
She wanted to burn down everything I had built.
I took screenshots of every post, every comment, and saved them in a new folder with shaking fingers.
Before I could decide how to respond, someone knocked on the door.
My parents arrived with Mara in tow.
“Give your sister the credit she deserves,” Mother said before I could speak. “Correct the research record. Add her name to the original work.”
She continued quickly, as if rehearsed. “And transfer part of the company back to her. NovaDx was built on her research. It should never have belonged only to you.”
Mara whispered, “Mom…” but didn’t stop her.
Mother looked at me, eyes full of accusation. “If you refuse, don’t expect to call yourself my daughter anymore. The Vance family will not stand behind someone who steals from her own sister.”
Father said nothing. That silence hurt worse than any words.
This was how it had always been. In their eyes, I was never the daughter who succeeded—I was the one who was supposed to give up whatever Mara wanted.
I leaned against the arm of the sofa and looked at them. My voice came out steady, even though something inside me was cracking.
“Mom,” I said calmly, “I’m Mrs. Price now.”
Mother froze.
“NovaDx is no longer just my private project. Declan’s fund has invested heavily. The company has outside shareholders, hospital partners, regulatory filings, and a board. My equity is held in a private trust under a prenup your lawyers begged me not to sign.”
The room went deathly quiet.
I smiled faintly, though my eyes stung with unshed tears. “So no, I can’t just hand Mara shares because she cried online. I can’t add her name to validated research she didn’t do. And I definitely can’t rewrite FDA submissions because my family wants to protect her feelings.”
Mother opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“If Mara believes she owns the work,” I continued, voice ice-cold, “she can file a formal claim. Through attorneys. With evidence.”
Mara’s face went white.
I looked at my father. “And if you think you can pressure me privately, talk to Declan. Or better yet, talk to the board. I’m sure they’d love to hear why the Vance family wants me to commit securities fraud and falsify research attribution after launch.”
Father’s expression shifted. He finally understood—this was no longer a family matter. This was law, investors, and regulators.
They could bully the old Ella. They could not bully NovaDx.
Mother glanced between me and Mara, suddenly uncertain. Mara stared at me with reddened eyes, but the tears had dried.
“Ella…” she whispered.
I didn’t answer. My jaw was clenched so tightly it ached.
In the end, Mother pulled Mara toward the door. Father followed without a word.
Before the door closed, Mara looked back at me.
For one brief second, the wounded-sister mask vanished.
All that remained was hate—raw, pure, and unmistakable.
My breath caught. I had seen that look before, in my last life, right before everything fell apart.
The door clicked shut.
I picked up my phone with steady hands and opened the folder of screenshots. My heart still raced with anger and betrayal, but beneath it burned something stronger.
Resolve.
This time, I thought, I’m ready.
