Before Death Do Us Part

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Silken Smiles

The rain had stopped by noon, leaving the city smelling faintly of asphalt and wilted petals. I watched droplets slide down the car window as my driver turned toward Ayala Heights — the neighborhood my sister, Selene Valez, had recently moved into.

I hadn’t seen her in weeks. Not since the gala, where she’d arrived wearing one of my atelier’s designs — a gown meant for a different client. I had laughed it off that night, brushed it aside as coincidence. Sisters borrowed things, after all. But lately, everything between us felt… borrowed. Fragile. Uneven.

“Ma’am, we’ve arrived,” the driver said softly.

I stepped out of the car, heels clicking against the driveway tiles. Selene’s home was small compared to ours, but stylish — all glass, cream walls, and curated minimalism. The kind of place designed more for photographs than for living.

Before I could knock, the door opened.

“Sera!”

Selene’s voice was sugar and silk as she threw her arms around me. She smelled of vanilla perfume and fresh curls. Her smile sparkled — bright, rehearsed.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said, stepping back.

“I didn’t plan to,” I admitted. “I was nearby. Thought I’d drop by.”

Her eyes flickered for a second — the tiniest hesitation — then she nodded, ushering me inside.

Her living room was picture-perfect. Camera lights on tripods, boxes of PR packages stacked neatly by the wall, her phone mounted on a ring light. Every corner screamed Selene Valez, fashion influencer.

“I just finished a live session,” she said, waving a hand toward her setup. “You know how brand deals are. They’re basically my new full-time job.”

I smiled politely. “I can tell. The house suits you.”

“Really?” She looked around, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “It’s small, but it’s mine.”

That word — mine — lingered in the air like perfume.

She motioned for me to sit, and I took a seat on her velvet couch. She poured coffee, careful not to chip her nails. Every movement was curated — even the way she stirred her cup looked like something she’d post on social media.

“So,” she began, “how’s married life treating the perfect Mrs. Hale?”

The tease in her tone was light, but there was something sharp under it.

I forced a laugh. “Perfect is a dangerous word.”

Selene smirked. “You’ve always been perfect, though. The face of the Valez family. The golden one. I’m surprised you’d even visit a little nobody like me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” she said, feigning a pout. “Everyone talks about you — your husband, your events, your business. I can barely keep up.”

There it was — the envy she tried to dress as admiration. It wasn’t new. Selene had always wanted to stand where I stood. When we were younger, she’d wear my clothes, mimic my laugh, practice my signature. I thought it was just sisterly admiration back then. I was wrong.

“I came because I missed you,” I said softly.

Her gaze flicked toward me — something unknown, quickly replaced by charm. “I missed you too, Ate. You’re just always busy with Lucian and your… perfect life.”

She said his name with such ease. Familiar. Almost too familiar.

I took a sip of my coffee to hide the strange twist in my chest. “Lucian’s been busy lately. The Hale Group’s expanding.”

“Oh, yes. He told me.”

The words slipped out of her mouth before she realized what she’d said.

I blinked. “He told you?”

She froze, just for a second, then smiled. “I mean — he mentioned it at the gala, remember? You were talking to the press, and he—”

But her voice wavered. Her eyes darted.

I set the cup down gently, my heartbeat pulsing in my throat. “Right. The gala.”

She nodded too quickly, then stood up, fussing with a vase of tulips. “Anyway! You should’ve told me you were coming. I would’ve prepared something nice.”

“You already did.” I gestured to the pastries on the table. “You must’ve had company earlier.”

Her hand froze midair. The look in her eyes — fleeting, nervous — told me enough.

Before I could press further, her phone buzzed. A notification lit up her screen. I caught only a glimpse — Lucian Hale — Message Received.

My breath hitched.

Selene snatched the phone almost instantly, locking it, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second. “Work,” she said too fast. “Collab schedules.”

I nodded slowly, though the air between us felt heavier now.

“Do you still wear the bracelet Lucian gave you?” she asked suddenly, her tone too casual.

I frowned slightly. “You remember that?”

“Of course. It’s… beautiful.” Her voice softened. “I always thought he had good taste.”

A pause. A silence too long, too sharp.

“He does,” I whispered. “Or at least he used to.”

Selene’s expression shifted — something unreadable flickered there, a war between guilt and triumph. She stood, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. “You’ve always been dramatic, Ate. Maybe you’re just overthinking. Men get busy. That’s normal.”

I smiled faintly, though my stomach twisted. “You’re right. I just came to see you. That’s all.”

Her expression softened then, genuine for once. “Then stay a while. For old times’ sake.”

So I did.

We talked — about nothing and everything. About childhood. About the Valez name. About how our mother still hosted charity lunches she didn’t care about. For a moment, I almost believed we were still the same sisters who used to share secrets under our blanket fort, whispering about dreams.

But then I noticed it again — the way her gaze lingered on my ring. The way she laughed when she mentioned Lucian’s success. The way she said we when referring to his events.

When I finally stood to leave, the sun was dipping behind the city. She hugged me tightly, her voice warm against my ear.

“Take care of yourself, Ate,” she whispered.

But there was something strange in her tone — pity, maybe.

As I stepped out into the fading light, I glanced back. Through the window, I saw her watching me, phone in hand, expression unreadable.

I didn’t know it yet, but that would be the last time I’d see my sister as my sister.

Because the next time I’d find her name — it wouldn’t be in my messages.

It would be on my husband’s phone.

And that was how everything began to fall apart.