HER STRENGTH HIS SIN

Chapter 10— Threads of Truth

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(Lisa's POV)

Syra's smile was honeyed, too sweet to be real.

She stood in front of me, holding a glossy white box wrapped with a gold ribbon. "Try not to freak out," she said, grinning. "It's for you. You have to wear this to the party tonight."

The "party."

The same college prom that, in my first life, had turned into my biggest humiliation.

I looked at the box - I already knew what was inside.

The fake designer dress. The one she'd worn herself in the original, leaving me looking like a cheap copycat. The one that had made everyone whisper.

But this time, I smiled.

"Wow, Syra... this is beautiful," I said softly, pretending to be touched.

She tilted her head. "You deserve it, babe. I mean, you've been through so much lately. Think of it as... a fresh start."

Fresh start. The same words she'd said last time.

I thanked her, accepted the gift, and hid the quiet burn under my ribs.

She thought she was winning again.

Let her think so - for now.

Later that afternoon, I decided to take a walk to clear my head. The sun was low, painting the streets gold. I still had the box in my hand, still pretending to be the grateful friend.

That's when it happened - a blur of motion, a splash, and warmth spreading across my sleeve.

"Oh my God!" someone gasped. "I'm so sorry!"

I blinked down. A girl stood frozen in front of me, holding an empty coffee cup, her wide brown eyes full of panic. She couldn't have been more than nineteen - small, lively, with a face that looked like it didn't know how to lie.

"It's fine," I said, shaking my arm. "Just coffee."

"No, no, I can't believe I just-" She fumbled in her bag for tissues, nearly dropping her phone. "Please, let me- I'll pay for cleaning or-"

I laughed quietly. It had been so long since someone had looked genuinely sorry for something. "Relax," I said, taking the tissues gently from her hands. "Really, it's fine."

Her expression softened, relief flooding her face. "You're not mad?"

"Not at all."

She smiled - big, bright, and real. "I'm Emma."

"Lisa."

"Lisa," she repeated, like she was trying to memorize it. "You're too kind. Most people would've yelled at me."

I shrugged. "I've seen worse."

She laughed, and something in her laugh - unguarded, pure - made me feel strangely at ease. For a moment, I almost forgot the weight I was carrying.

We chatted for a few minutes - about random things: the weather, the chaos of last-minute prom shopping, her dreams of designing clothes one day. Then, when her phone buzzed, she waved goodbye and hurried off, still apologizing as she disappeared into the crowd.

I didn't think I'd see her again.

But I did.

That evening, just as I stepped into the mall with Syra's box tucked under my arm, I heard someone call my name.

"Lisa!"

I turned - Emma again, running toward me, her ponytail bouncing.

"Hey," she said, breathless but smiling. "Small world, huh?"

I smiled faintly. "Seems like it."

Her gaze drifted to the box I was holding. "Is that... the new Everlace collection box?" she asked curiously.

I nodded slowly. "Something like that."

She tilted her head, frowning. "Weird. My cousin works for Everlace. That logo's wrong."

My heart skipped once, even though I already knew.

Emma leaned closer, tapping the tiny golden emblem on the side. "See this?" she said. "It's supposed to curve left, not right. This one's a knockoff. A really good one, though."

I smiled - small, controlled. "Thanks for letting me know."

Her eyes widened, realizing she might've said too much. "Oh my God, I didn't mean to- I just thought-"

"It's okay," I said gently. "Really. You probably just saved me from a disaster."

She blinked. "Wait- you mean- you didn't know?"

I hesitated. "Let's just say I had my suspicions."

Emma grinned, relief flooding back into her face. "Well, then I guess I'm your hero today."

I laughed softly. "Guess you are."

We walked together for a bit - just talking. She was easy to be around, the kind of person who didn't wear masks. She didn't ask too many questions, didn't pry. She just existed beside me, warm and genuine in a world that had long since turned cold.

As we talked, my mind flickered back to the past - that same night, that same fake dress, the laughter, the humiliation. I could still hear the whispers: She copied Syra's dress.

But this time, I wouldn't fall for it.

When I returned home, I placed the fake dress on my bed and smiled.

This time, Syra wouldn't be the one laughing.

That evening, another box arrived — no name, no note, just her address written in neat handwriting.

Inside was a gown the color of moonlight, smooth satin that shifted between silver and soft blue, delicate but bold.

It wasn’t from Syra — Lisa knew that instantly. This felt different. Thoughtful. Elegant.

The card inside was blank, for you my princess was written inside

I traced my fingers along the ribbon of the box and whispered, "Not this time."

Because this time, the stage was mine - and I was no longer the fool in someone else's story.