Stolen Design, Stolen Life

Maya's POV

I stared at the screen, my fingers digging into the worn fabric of the couch. The leather was cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the terrible heat rising in my chest. Three years of marriage, and this is what it had come to.

There he was, my husband Daniel, his arm wrapped around Fiona's waist like she was his prized possession. The camera loved them, capturing every detail of their picture-perfect smiles. The studio lights gleamed off their teeth, their eyes, the jewelry adorning Fiona's neck.

That was mine, she was flaunting my design as hers.

I could still remember the day Daniel and I met. It was an arranged marriage, set up by our parents to unite our families. I had been so naive then, thinking love would naturally follow. How wrong I'd been.

"I'm the luckiest man alive," Daniel gushed, his eyes never leaving Fiona. "To have this beautiful woman by my side."

My stomach churned, a nauseating mix of anger and despair. The necklace glittering around Fiona's neck was my creation, born from countless sleepless nights and discarded sketches. Each gem, each curve of metal, told a story only I knew and understood. But there she was, basking in the spotlight meant for me, playing the role of both model and designer. And my husband? He was loving every second of it.

Fiona. She's my adoptive sister. The golden child apparently. She'd entered our family when I was still missing, stolen away at four years old. For years, she'd been the daughter my parents always wanted. Then I returned, and nothing was ever the same.

I wanted to scream, to throw something at the damn TV, to scream the fucking truth for the world to hear. But I sat there, silent and still, as I always did. The good wife. The obedient daughter. And I knew exactly how pathetic that was.

The front door slammed, the sound echoing through the empty house, jolting me back to reality. I could hear Daniel's footsteps, sharp and purposeful, before he walked into the room. His face twisted with disapproval as he looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my plain shirt and comfortable pants.

"Maya, why aren't you dressed?" he snapped. "The party's in an hour."

I blinked, confusion momentarily overriding my hurt. "Party? What party?"

He rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically as if explaining something to a child. "The celebration. For the new line."

My heart skipped a beat, hope fluttering in my chest like a trapped bird. Was this it? Did he want me at the party to introduce me to the public? Would I finally be recognized as the designer? Would my work finally be acknowledged?

Daniel must have read my expression. He scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Don't get any ideas. Fiona insisted you come. She’s just being kind. As usual. Unlike some people I could mention."

The bird in my chest fell silent, hope withering and dying as quickly as it had bloomed.

"Try to look presentable, will you?" He turned to leave, then paused, his hand on the doorknob.

"Maya?"

"Yes?" I hated how small my voice sounded, how eager for his approval I still was, despite everything.

His eyes roamed over me again, disgust etched in every line of his face. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if I were a particularly disappointing child. "Christ, do you even try anymore? You're an embarrassment, you know that?"

I flinched, but I should be used to this right?

"Try to smile more, for fuck's sake," he continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "And make an effort to look like a woman for once. Why can't you be more like Fiona? Elegant. Put-together. Actually worth looking at."

He stepped closer, invading my personal space. I could smell his cologne, cloying and suffocating. His hand shot out, grabbing my chin roughly, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"You're lucky I keep you around, you know that?" he hissed, his fingers digging roughly into my skin. "God knows no one else would want you."

With a final disgusted look, he shoved my face away and strode out of the room, the door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the echo of his words. I sat there, staring at the space he had occupied, feeling the weight of his expectations pressing down on me. With a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of my soul, I hauled myself up and headed for the closet.

I had the perfect dress for this, one I'd designed myself in a rare moment of selfish indulgence. I'd poured my heart into it, imagining the day I'd wear it as a celebrated designer. In my dreams, I stood under bright lights, cameras flashing, as I explained the inspiration behind my latest collection. People listened, they cared, they saw me.

But when I reached for the dress, my hand grasped the empty air. My heart rate quickened as I pushed aside hanger after hanger, searching desperately for the familiar fabric.

"Looking for this?"

I spun around, my breath catching in my throat. There stood Fiona, wearing my dress like she'd been born in it. The deep blue fabric hugged her every curves, the intricate beadwork I'd labored over for weeks catching the light with every movement.

"Daniel gave it to me," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. Her lips curved in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "He practically begged me to wear it tonight. Isn't he just the sweetest?"

I bit my tongue, tasting blood. What could I say? That it was my dress? My design? My husband she was flaunting? None of it mattered anymore. I was a ghost in my own life, transparent and voiceless.

What stung even more was how casually Fiona had walked in, as if she owned the place. I hated that she could come and go as she pleased in our house - my house. But Daniel had given her a key months ago, claiming it was "more convenient." More convenient for their affair, no doubt. Just another reminder of how little my feelings mattered in this twisted arrangement.

Fiona's eyes narrowed at my silence, the facade of kindness slipping. "What's wrong, Maya? Don't you want me to wear it?"

I'd heard this tone, seen this act too many times before. The initial shock, the pain of betrayal - they had dulled over time, leaving only a hollow emptiness. I met her gaze, my face a carefully crafted mask of indifference.

My lack of reaction seemed to infuriate her more than any words could have. The sweetness in her voice turned to venom. "Oh, I see. You're too good to even respond now, is that it?"

I remained silent, my eyes never leaving hers. This was a game we'd played countless times, and I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Fiona's face contorted with rage, her carefully maintained composure cracking. "You ungrateful bitch," she hissed, stepping closer. "After everything we've done for you, you can't even pretend to be happy for me?"

Still, I said nothing. My silence was my only weapon, and I wielded it with precision.

With a growl of frustration, Fiona grabbed the fabric at the neckline and pulled. The sound of tearing filled the room, each rip feeling like it was coming from my own heart.

"Fine!" she screamed, tears suddenly streaming down her face. "If you don't want me to wear it, I'll take it off! Please, just stop!"

"Fiona, don't—" I started, reaching out instinctively.

That's when Daniel walked in. He took in the scene – Fiona with the torn dress, me with my hand outstretched – and his face darkened.

Fiona collapsed to the floor, sobbing dramatically. I stood there, frozen, as Daniel rushed to Fiona's side, catching as she fell into his arms.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, glaring at me with a mixture of anger and disgust. "Maya, what did you do?"

***