The champagne flutes caught the late afternoon light streaming through my sister's penthouse windows, casting little rainbows across the white marble countertops. I watched Elise examine each glass with the critical eye of someone who'd spent the last year planning what she called "the wedding of the century." Her manicured fingers—French tips, naturally—traced the rim of one flute before she set it down with a dissatisfied click. "These aren't the Waterford crystal I ordered," she said to no one in particular, though I was the only other person in the room. "Maya, did you pick these up from the rental company?" "I did exactly what you asked me to do, Elise." I kept my voice neutral, the way I'd learned to do over the past thirty years of being the younger sister, the quieter one, the one who didn't make waves. She sighed, that particular sigh that said I'd disappointed her again without really trying. "Well, they'll have to do. It's too late to change anything now." Too late to change anything. The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd been hearing variations of that phrase for months now, ever since Elise announced her engagement to Marcus Holloway. Marcus, with his old-money surname and his hedge fund position and his family's compound in the Hamptons. Marcus, who I'd been dating for two years before Elise came home from her modeling stint in Milan. But that was eighteen months ago, and I'd moved on. At least, that's what I told everyone. That's what I told myself every morning when I woke up in the apartment that was supposed to be our starter home, the one Marcus and I had toured together, the one where we'd planned our future. The apartment that Elise now believed was her wedding gift from our parents. "I need you to do something for me," Elise said, turning to face me fully. The evening sun backlit her blonde hair—professionally highlighted, always perfect—creating an almost angelic halo effect. My sister knew her angles. She'd built a career on knowing her angles. "What do you need?" I asked, though something in her expression made my stomach tighten. She took a breath, and I recognized the expression she wore. It was the same one she'd had when she told me she was seeing Marcus. The same one she'd worn when she announced their engagement at my birthday dinner. Sympathy wrapped around steel. "I need you not to come to the wedding." The words hung in the air between us like something solid, something I could reach out and touch. Around us, the penthouse continued its golden-hour glow, indifferent to the way the ground had just shifted beneath my feet. "I'm your maid of honor," I said slowly. "I know, and you've been wonderful, truly. But Maya..." She reached for my hand, and I let her take it because I was too stunned to pull away. "Your presence tomorrow would just make things uncomfortable. For everyone. Marcus's family has been asking questions, and some of the guests know about your... history with him. I don't want any whispers, any distractions. This day needs to be perfect." "You're uninviting me to your wedding." I needed to say it out loud, needed to hear how it sounded. "I'm asking you to give me a gift. The gift of a drama-free wedding day. Think of it as the ultimate sisterly sacrifice." She squeezed my hand, her eyes wide and pleading. "You understand, don't you? You've always understood me." I had always understood her. That was the problem. I understood that Elise took what she wanted and dressed it up as fate. I understood that she'd seen Marcus as an upgrade to her lifestyle and had set her sights accordingly. I understood that our parents, dazzled by the Holloway name and the society wedding, had chosen not to see how their elder daughter had orchestrated the whole thing. I understood that I'd spent my entire life making myself smaller so Elise could shine brighter. "The apartment," I said quietly. "The one on Park Avenue. Mom and Dad told you it was a wedding gift, didn't they?" Elise's face brightened, apparently relieved by the change of subject. "Yes! Marcus and I are moving in next week. Can you believe it? Park Avenue! I've already hired an interior designer. We're thinking contemporary minimalist with warm accents—" "It's mine." She blinked. "What?" "The apartment is mine. I bought it two years ago. My name is the only one on the deed." I watched her process this information, watched the confusion cross her face followed by disbelief, then calculation. "That's not possible. Mom said—" "Mom and Dad helped with the down payment. As a gift to me. But the mortgage, the deed, everything—it's all in my name. They must have forgotten that detail when they offered it to you." Or they'd assumed I'd go along with it, the way I went along with everything. Elise's expression hardened. "Well, obviously you'll transfer it to us. It's already been announced as our wedding gift. The registry, the thank-you cards—everything references the Park Avenue apartment." "No." The word felt foreign in my mouth, sharp-edged and uncompromising. I'd said no to Elise exactly three times in my life. Once when I was seven and she wanted my Christmas presents. Once when I was sixteen and she wanted to borrow my car on the night I had a date. And once when she'd first started seeing Marcus and asked if I was okay with it. That last no hadn't stuck. She'd worn me down with tears and talks of true love and accusations that I was being selfish, holding her back from happiness. This no would be different. "Maya." Her voice dropped to that dangerous sweetness, the tone that preceded ultimatums. "Don't be difficult. Not now. Not when everything is finally falling into place." "You're right," I said, pulling my hand from hers. "Everything is finally falling into place. I'll give you what you asked for, Elise. I won't come to your wedding." Relief flooded her face. "Thank you. I knew you'd understand. You've always been the reasonable one, the one who—" "I'm going home now," I interrupted. "To my apartment. The one on Park Avenue. I have some phone calls to make." I turned and walked toward the door, my heels clicking against the marble with a decisiveness I didn't entirely feel. My hands were shaking, my heart hammering against my ribs, but I kept walking. "Maya, wait—" I didn't wait. I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby, watching my sister's confused face disappear as the doors slid shut.