I KISSED MY SISTER'S FIANCE

Chapter 11

I didn't open the folder right away.

The moment I stepped inside my apartment, I placed it carefully on the kitchen counter, then set my handbag beside it. The apartment welcomed me with the same silence it always did now, but today it felt different. Heavier. As though the walls themselves had followed me home from my parents' house.

The sealed folder rested exactly where Daniel had placed it into my hands less than an hour ago.

Beside it lay the small brass key.

For several long moments, I simply stood there, staring at them.

One carried Bella's final legal decision.

The other carried a mystery she had never lived long enough to explain.

Neither one offered me the answers I wanted.

I turned away first.

Opening cupboards gave my hands something to do while my mind struggled to catch up with everything that had happened. I filled the kettle, switched it on, then reached automatically for the coffee jar. The familiar routine usually calmed me.

Today it didn't.

The water boiled.

I poured it into my mug.

The coffee tasted bitter, but I drank it anyway.

When the mug was empty, the folder was still waiting for me.

I let out a slow breath before pulling out one of the dining chairs and sitting down.

My fingers hesitated only briefly before breaking the seal.

Inside were several neatly organized documents.

The first page read:

Estate of Isabella Hart.

The words blurred for a second before my eyes finally focused again.

I turned the page.

Then another.

Every document was exactly as Daniel had read it, every page carried the same careful legal language, stripped of emotion until it reached the final section.

The last will and testament.

My eyes drifted to the bottom of the page.

Bella's signature.

My chest tightened.

I reached out almost without thinking, letting my fingertips brush lightly across the ink.

The handwriting was unmistakably hers.

She had signed plenty of birthday cards that way.

She used to leave little notes on the refrigerator whenever she borrowed my favorite yogurt.

Even her grocery lists had looked beautiful.

For one impossible moment, touching that signature almost felt like touching her hand.

Then reality settled over me again.

It was only ink.

Only paper.

It couldn't answer the question that had been growing louder inside my head since Daniel finished reading.

Why?

Why me?

Nothing about this made sense.

I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry.

The apartment remained painfully quiet until my phone suddenly rang across the table.

Nathan.

I answered after the second ring.

"Hi."

His voice carried its usual warmth, though today it sounded cautious.

"I've been thinking about you all afternoon."

A tired smile touched my lips.

"I'm still here."

"How did it go with your parents?"

I looked down at the papers spread across the table.

"It wasn't what I expected."

He waited.

"Our family lawyer came."

There was a brief silence.

"A lawyer?"

I nodded before remembering he couldn't see me.

"He read Bella's will."

Nathan didn't interrupt.

I swallowed.

"She left everything to me."

The silence on the other end stretched so long I almost thought the call had dropped.

"Nathan?"

"I'm here."

His voice had changed.

Not suspicious.

Simply stunned.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

I stared at Bella's signature again.

"The condominium she owned. Her investments. Her savings. Her company shares. Everything she spent years building."

Another silence settled between us.

Finally he spoke.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I."

"I keep trying to think of some explanation."

"So do I."

He sighed quietly.

"I worked with Bella for five years."

I listened.

"She wasn't impulsive."

His certainty made something inside me tighten.

Nathan continued before I could respond.

"She didn't change her mind without a reason."

The words settled over me more heavily than I expected.

Because he was right.

Bella never made important decisions on impulse.

She researched everything.

Planned everything.

Thought three steps ahead of everyone else.

She wouldn't rewrite her entire future for no reason at all.

"I just wish I knew what that reason was," I whispered.

"So do I."

Neither of us spoke for several moments.

Some silences were uncomfortable.

This one wasn't.

It simply carried the weight of two people grieving the same person in different ways.

Finally Nathan cleared his throat.

"Have you eaten?"

I looked toward the untouched dishes still sitting in the sink.

"No."

"You should."

"I know."

"And try to get some sleep tonight."

A faint laugh escaped me.

"You make that sound easy."

"I know it isn't."

His voice softened.

"But Bella would've told you the same thing."

The mention of her name almost unraveled me again.

"I'll try."

"Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

After we ended the call, the apartment became quiet once more.

Only this time, the silence felt different.

Nathan hadn't answered any of my questions.

He'd only given me another one.

She didn't change her mind without a reason.

I gathered the papers carefully and slid them back into the folder.

Then I looked at the brass key lying beside it.

For days, I'd convinced myself the key was the only mystery Bella had left behind.

Now I wasn't so sure.

Maybe there had always been two.

The following morning, I woke feeling as though I hadn't slept at all.

The folder remained exactly where I'd left it on the kitchen counter. Beside it, the brass key caught the pale morning light spilling through the window. I picked up my handbag, glanced at both of them one last time, then left for work with the uneasy feeling that my life had quietly shifted beneath my feet.

The cab had barely merged into traffic before my phone began vibrating.

Once.

Twice.

Then again.

I ignored the first few notifications, choosing instead to watch Chicago wake around me. Coffee shops unlocked their doors. Office workers hurried along the sidewalks balancing paper cups and briefcases. Cyclists slipped effortlessly between cars as if the city's traffic had learned to move around them.

Life continued with remarkable indifference.

My phone buzzed again.

Curiosity finally won.

I unlocked the screen and opened the first notification.

Marketing Executive Leaves Entire Estate to Sister After Tragic Death.

Bella's photograph filled the screen.

It had been taken during a charity gala almost a year earlier. She wore a simple black evening gown, smiling at someone standing just outside the camera's frame.

The article summarized everything the public already knew.

Isabella Hart.

Director of Marketing at Beaumont House.

One of Chicago's rising business leaders.

It mentioned the magazine interviews following the Autumn Collection campaign, the newspaper feature that celebrated young executives shaping the city's business scene, and the charity events where photographers always seemed to find her despite how much she hated posing for pictures.

Bella had never considered herself famous. She wasn't a celebrity. But in Chicago's publishing and fashion circles, people recognized her face.

Now they recognized it for an entirely different reason.

Another notification appeared.

More notifications appeared. Somehow, reporters had already obtained the basic details from the probate filing.

Questions Grow After Isabella Hart's Final Will Surfaces.

Then another.

Online Speculation Intensifies Following Probate Filing.

I opened the comments beneath the latest article.

"I still don't believe it was just guilt."

"Something about this doesn't add up."

"Why change the will only three days before she died?"

My stomach tightened.

I locked the phone before I could read another word and slipped it back into my bag.

The rest of the journey passed in silence.

When the cab stopped outside the publishing house, I paid the driver and walked inside.

The atmosphere had changed again.

Conversations paused the moment I entered the office.

Eyes lifted.

Then quickly looked away.

I pretended not to notice.

At my desk, I buried myself beneath manuscripts and editorial notes, grateful for pages that demanded my attention instead of my thoughts.

For a while, it worked.

Until lunchtime.

I walked into the break room intending to refill my coffee.

A folded newspaper sat on the center of the table.

My own photograph stared back at me from the front page.

It had been taken outside the office only days earlier.

Without a second thought, I turned the newspaper face down.

As I reached for a mug, two voices drifted in from the hallway.

Neither person knew I was there.

"People don't usually inherit everything unless there's a reason."

The second voice answered almost immediately.

"Or unless they made sure there wasn't anyone else left."

My hand tightened around the mug.

Heat rose into my face.

Without pouring the coffee, I quietly set the mug back onto the counter and walked out before either of them saw me.

I refused to let anyone at work watch me fall apart.

By the time the workday finally ended, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.

I gathered my bag and stepped outside.

Then I stopped.

Adrian stood a few feet away with his hands tucked into his coat pockets.

It looked as though he'd been standing there longer than he wanted to admit.

He looked up as I approached.

For several long moments, neither of us spoke.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"I don't think Bella changed that will because of money."

I searched his face.

There was no accusation in his eyes.

Only grief.

He looked past me toward the evening traffic before speaking again.

"Bella didn't do things without thinking."

The words settled somewhere deep inside me.

They echoed Nathan's almost perfectly.

She didn't change her mind without a reason.

I swallowed.

"Then why?"

Adrian slowly shook his head.

"I just don't know what."

There was nothing else either of us could say.

After a quiet nod, he turned and disappeared into the evening crowd.

I watched until I could no longer pick him out from the people crossing the street.

A taxi pulled over beside the curb.

I climbed into the back seat and gave the driver my address.

Halfway home, my phone vibrated again.

Then again.

I ignored it until another notification appeared.

Someone had tagged me in a news article.

Against my better judgment, I opened it.

The headline filled my screen.

Questions Mount After Isabella Hart Leaves Entire Estate to Sister.

Thousands of comments stretched beneath it.

I scrolled only a little.

She planned this.

Money was always the motive.

This story doesn't make sense.

Then one final comment caught my attention.

People don't rewrite their entire will without expecting something.

I stared at the words for several long seconds.

The comment came from a complete stranger.

Yet somehow, it echoed the same question that had haunted me since Daniel finished reading Bella's will.

I locked my phone without reading another comment and slipped it back into my bag.

Outside the cab window, Chicago kept moving as though nothing had changed.

As I watched the strangers pass by outside the window, I realized grief was no longer the only thing waiting for me wherever I went.