"Sis, can you be my maid of honor at my wedding?" Ciena asked Ceres, her voice laced with anticipation as they sat at the long, lavish dining table of the Monteverde mansion.
The clinking of silverware against fine china ceased as Ceres froze mid-bite, the taste of perfectly cooked steak forgotten. Her grip on the fork tightened as she slowly lifted her gaze to meet her older sister's expectant expression.
A slow, deliberate arch of her brow followed. Maid of honor?
The audacity.
Ceres knew exactly what this was. A calculated move disguised as an innocent request.
Because they both knew the truth.
Ceres should have been the one engaged to Ryzel. It was an unspoken certainty, their families had arranged it since childhood. Ryzel belonged to her. And yet, here was Ciena, sitting before her, wearing that infuriatingly serene smile as if she hadn't stolen him right from under her nose.
As if she hadn't shattered Ceres's entire world.
Her fingers curled into a fist beneath the table, nails biting into her palm.
Ciena is the daughter of their mother, Cielo, from her first marriage.
Before Ceres was born, Romos Monteverde had found Cielo unconscious on the dirt road leading to the estate, bruised and barely breathing. She had no memory of how she got there. She had no recollection of who she was. The only clue to her identity was the delicate gold necklace resting against her collarbone, engraved with a single name: Cielo.
Romos, ever the gentleman, had taken her in. Nursed her back to health. Cared for her as if she had always belonged to him. And when feelings inevitably blossomed between them, he made her his wife. Soon after, they had Ceres, their beloved daughter, their princess.
For fifteen years, Ceres had been the undisputed heiress of the Monteverde household. She had been pampered, adored, given everything she had ever wanted.
Until that fateful birthday.
Her fifteenth.
The day Ciena arrived.
Ceres still remembered the exact moment her life had changed.
The grand ballroom had been adorned with chandeliers and overflowing with guests when a seventeen year old girl stepped forward, her dark eyes locked onto Cielo like she had seen a ghost.
She had spoken with certainty, her voice cutting through the festivities like a knife.
"I am your daughter."
The whispers had started immediately.
Who is she? Is it true?
Cielo gasped, clutching her chest as if something long buried had begun to resurface. Romos had gone pale, disbelief flashing in his usually composed features.
Ceres, still wearing her birthday crown, had felt the first sting of betrayal.
Despite Romos's initial refusal to acknowledge Ciena, a DNA test had sealed their fate.
She was, without question, Cielo's daughter.
And just like that, Ceres's perfect world had cracked.
According to Ciena's story, Cielo had once lived in a small, struggling village before losing her memory. Her husband, Ciena's father, had searched for her for years, believing she had died when she never returned home. Ciena had grown up waiting for a mother who never came back, believing she had been abandoned.
Then, one day, she stumbled upon a fashion magazine.
There, on the glossy page, was a feature article on Cielo Monteverde and her stunning daughter, Ceres.
A single glance was all it took.
Ciena had known.
Her mother, the woman she had spent her entire life longing for, was alive.
But there was no joyous reunion, no tearful embraces.
By then, Cielo's past had already been buried beneath a life of luxury. Her former husband, Narciso, had passed away, leaving Ciena truly alone. With nowhere else to turn, she had gathered every ounce of courage she had left and traveled to the city, determined to claim the only family she had left.
And now, years later, she sat across from Ceres at the dining table, asking her to stand beside her at the altar.
Ceres could feel the weight of expectation hanging in the air, pressing down on her like an invisible force.
Her lips curled into a slow, sharp smile.
Maid of honor?
"Ciena," Cielo spoke gently, concern evident in her voice as she turned to her eldest daughter. "Didn't you and Ryzel already decide that Ryza would be your maid of honor?"
Her words were careful, cautious as if she already sensed the tension brewing beneath the surface.
Ryza, the younger sister of Ryzel, was a relentless thorn in Ceres's side. For reasons unknown, she harbored an intense hatred for her, and every encounter between them inevitably erupted into sharp-tongued clashes.
Unfortunately for Ryza, she was no match for Ceres's wit. The Monteverde heiress wielded words like knives and each time, Ryza was left fuming, humiliated, or worse, reduced to tears.
"Ah, Mommy," Ciena responded quickly, her voice light, but her eyes flickered with unease. "I just thought about it, and honestly… Ryza and I aren't that close. Of course, she'll still be a bridesmaid, but I'd really love for Ceres to be my maid of honor, if she's okay with it."
Not that close?
Ceres's grip on her wine glass tightened.
Wasn't Ryza her first and closest friend?
Ceres didn't miss the contradiction. She had seen it herself...Ciena and Ryza whispering in corners, giggling together like they had some grand secret. Yet now, Ciena was dismissing their bond so easily?
A soft clearing of the throat broke the brief silence.
Romos Monteverde, seated at the head of the grand dining table, placed his silverware down with deliberate care. His stoic face revealed little, but his sharp eyes flickered toward Ceres with something akin to concern.
"That wouldn't look proper in front of the guests..."
"Sure," Ceres interrupted smoothly, cutting him off mid-sentence.
A sharp inhale echoed in the silence.
Romos turned to her, his usual composure slipping just enough to reveal his surprise. "Sweetheart, are you sure?"
"Of course, Daddy." Ceres beamed, her expression flawlessly sweet and unbothered. She twirled her fork between her fingers before adding, "I wouldn't want people thinking I still haven't moved on from Ryzel, after all. So, if my dear big sister wants me as her maid of honor, I'd be delighted to accept."
A calculated move.
The moment the words "big sister" left Ceres's lips, the entire table stiffened.
Cielo exchanged a nervous glance with Ciena, whose fingers curled ever so slightly against her lap.
Ceres had never called Ciena "big sister" before. Never acknowledged her as family. From the moment Ciena stepped foot in their lives, Ceres had made it abundantly clear that she was unwelcome.
Ciena knew.
This wasn't a gesture of goodwill.
Ceres was planning something.
And this wouldn't be the first time...nor would it be the last.
From the moment she arrived, Ceres had done everything in her power to humiliate her. Subtle jabs, backhanded compliments, and veiled insults disguised as polite conversation.
She had pointed out, time and time again, that Ciena did not belong in high society. That her provincial upbringing made her an outsider. That no matter how much she tried to fit in, she would always be less.
People pitied her at times. But pity was a fragile, fleeting thing.
In the end, they all laughed along with Ceres.
Because no one dared cross the Monteverde heiress.
Not when her family held the power to put someone in the presidential office...or tear them down just as swiftly.
Romos's lips twitched into something resembling amusement. A slow, knowing smile curved across his face as he leaned back against his chair.
"If that's what you want, then I suggest you call whatever designer you'd like for your gown," he said, his tone light but firm.
Ciena swallowed.
She knew why he was indulging Ceres.
Everyone did.
Because at the end of the day, Ceres was his daughter. His own flesh and blood.
Ciena was nothing to him.
At best, she was his wife's long-lost child. A girl who had stumbled into his home by mere circumstance.
Ceres, on the other hand, was the heir to the Monteverde empire.
The future of their legacy.
She could get away with anything.
"Thank you, Daddy." Ceres's voice dripped with saccharine sweetness as she turned to him, her smile radiant, almost hypnotic. With her beauty, she didn't even have to try...she was effortlessly alluring, drawing admiration with just a glance.
If only her personality matched her appearance, she would have been adored.
Instead, people either feared her or despised her.
Ciena clenched her hands into fists beneath the table.
She knew Ceres had something planned.
And when she leaned forward ever so slightly, eyes gleaming with wicked delight, Ciena's stomach twisted with unease.
"I can't wait for your wedding, sister," Ceres purred. "It's going to be… very, very, very memorable."
A chill ran down Ciena's spine.
Because with Ceres, memorable could only mean one thing.
Disaster.