You're The Real Thing

If Looks Could Kill

Williams made his way out of the house toward the limo. A few minutes later, his driver rushed in, passing an instruction to the trio in the sitting room. Olivia glared between her husband and her daughter as she reluctantly made her way to the dining room to carry out Williams’s orders. After a moment of hesitation, her voice cut through Gabrielle's thoughts, as sharp and cold as a shard of ice. "You are to get dressed and join Mr. Jackson in his car immediately."

Gabrielle snapped back to reality, her mind still reeling from the shock of Williams Jackson's choice. Williams had walked out of her, leaving her to be buried in her thoughts, and she hadn't realized her stepmother had walked into the room. Now, alone with her in the room, she could feel the seething resentment radiating from Olivia. The hatred in her stepmother's eyes was a familiar ache, a constant reminder that she was an outsider in her own home. She knew her family was furious that Williams had chosen her—the overlooked and unwanted stepdaughter—over the "perfect" Annabelle. If only they knew how much she hated this choice, too. But to them, her unhappiness would be just another calculated lie, more evidence of her supposed malice.

"Where are we going?" she finally managed to ask, her voice barely a whisper.

Olivia sneered, her lips twisting into a cruel smile. "Don't pretend you're not thrilled with this. I know you had a hand in it." The accusation, so utterly false, hung in the air between them. "Now, go to your room and get dressed. And Gabrielle," she added, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "This isn't the end. You wait and see."

Ascending the stairs to her room, Gabrielle felt like walking on needles. Just as she passed the exquisite princess-styled room, Annabelle's scream ripped through the air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Gabrielle hadn't seen her ascend the steps to her room. Olivia ran up the stairs as she heard her daughter's scream.

"Why her?" Annabelle’s voice was a furious sob as she wrapped herself in her mother's embrace. "I know that cheap, disgusting w***e did something, but when? How could she have escaped Mother's careful watch?"

The words stung, but Gabrielle just gripped the worn fabric of her dress. She had been called worse.

"Williams is mine, you b***h!" Annabelle shrieked, her voice laced with venom. "You just watch and see how he'll throw you back like the filthy rag you are."

Shortly after, Gabrielle emerged from her room, still dressed in the same worn clothes she had worn for ages. Annabelle's cold stare met hers, a gaze so full of hatred it felt like a physical blow. If looks could kill, Gabrielle would have been in her mother's arms already, a silent prayer on her lips for a loving embrace she had never known.

"You dirty w***e! I'll find out what you did and have Mrs. Jackson send you to jail. She'd never let her son marry the daughter of a cheap prostitute—never!" Annabelle's roar echoed through the house before she stormed away.