My Fake Sister's Downfall

The second I saw Weston’s name listed as the lead investor, I knew I had already lost to Camille. She was his untouchable first love. The one that got away.

The meeting wrapped, and Weston backed her proposal without missing a beat. Camille cornered me in the hall afterwards.

She leaned in close. "You might wear his ring, but I'll always be his first choice." A smirk pulled at her lips. "Everything you bleed for falls right into my lap." We’d been at each other's throats since high school—ever since her mother wrecked my parents' marriage and walked off with my father.

Slipping past my defenses to claim Weston was just her latest effortless victory. I stared at the man across the room. A cold, heavy exhaustion settled deep into my bones.

The urge to fight Camille just evaporated. This time, I was done. I was cutting him loose. Weston or my career. I chose the career.

Chapter 1 The new investor had the whole office talking. He was gorgeous, ruthless, and backed by old money. The investor was Weston. My husband.

The second I saw his name on the brief, I knew my silent war with Camille was over. I had already lost. The breakroom was buzzing with gossip. "It's the CEO of Weston Group.

The crown prince of the Weston empire himself." "Total goldmine. If he picks our design, we're set for the year." "I bet Camille's team bags it.

Rumor has it his untouchable first love works right here in the design department. And it's her." "College sweethearts. They were each other's first everything.

He’s only pumping money into this place to chase her." A sharp pain spiked through my ribs, cutting off my oxygen.

I dragged my feet back to my desk, the fluorescent lights blurring into a harsh white glare. The news spread like wildfire. Douglas called Camille and me into his office. "Vesper.

Camille." He tapped a pen against his desk. "Weston from Weston Group is backing us. You're both leading your teams to pitch a design.

You have one month." Douglas gave Camille a slow, meaningful look. He didn't even try to hide his absolute admiration. He clearly knew the rumors.

He knew exactly why Weston's money had suddenly landed in our laps. We hadn't even reached the door, and I already knew my team was going to bleed over a dead project.

Pitted against Camille, I wasn't a rival. I was just a prop. Out in the hall, Camille stopped dead in her tracks. We squared off. I met her eyes.

The corners of her mouth tipped up into a bright, razorsharp smile. "Fair competition, Vesper." She radiated absolute certainty. She knew the rules of the game.

Between the two of us, Weston would always pick her. I watched her strut down the corridor. Then I turned and walked the other way. The design department erupted into a frenzy.

If my proposal tanked, I'd spend the rest of the year trapped under Camille's thumb, swallowing my pride and taking her orders. I'd rather choke.

Right before clockout, a crowd swarmed her desk. The brownnosing was relentless. "You're an absolute genius, Camille." I caught her eye through the gap in the bodies.

She was the center of gravity, surrounded by heat and noise and adulation. I stood perfectly still in the corner. Empty air on all sides.

She offered me a sweet, pitying little smile. I broke eye contact, grabbed my coat, and walked out into the cold. Weston walked through the front door.

He wore his usual armor—bored, untouchable, and icecold. The words burned on my tongue until I let them out. "Weston.

You invested in my company?" He paused taking off his watch and looked up. His flat gaze met mine.

He gave a single, low hum of confirmation. "Why pick us?" I forced a light, airy tone. "Are you going to pull strings for me?" A faint crease formed between his brows. His jaw set.

Not a single trace of warmth touched his eyes.

He let the silence stretch for a long, heavy second. "It was a board decision." He stated it like a raw fact. "I don't pick the proposals alone." The translation was loud and clear.

Being his wife bought me absolutely nothing. Chapter 2 I didn't push it. He operated on his own untouchable logic, locked behind a wall of ice. He didn't make exceptions.

And I was an idiot for constantly bleeding myself dry hoping I'd be his first. Weston walked past me and shut himself in the study. The door didn't click all the way.

His low baritone drifted through the crack in the wood. It was Camille on the other end. Every so often, a quiet, rough laugh slipped from his chest. The line went dead.

He pushed the door open and headed straight for the entryway. He slid his arms into his heavy wool overcoat and stepped into his leather oxfords.

He straightened his cuffs. "Business dinner," he stated. "I'm heading out." I gave a single nod. He looked flawless. Sharp jawline, a straight nose, lips pressed into a hard line.

The dark coat draped perfectly over his tailored suit, making his broad shoulders look even more imposing. The front door clicked shut behind him.

He didn't come back until way past midnight. Every desperate question I had planned to ask him dissolved like ash in my throat the second I opened Instagram.

Camille had posted a new picture. Four people clustered around a dimly lit table. Camille, Weston, and two guys from their college days. I stared at the glowing screen.

I didn't need to ask my questions anymore. I had wanted to know if he would tilt the scales for her. The photo was my answer. He would.

I used to leave the hallway lamp on when he stayed out late. I reached over and killed the switch. I slept like the dead. I didn't run into him the next morning.

We went to work like two strangers passing in the dark. The entire design floor practically worshipped the ground Camille walked on. Everyone knew the truth.

Weston wouldn't have looked twice at our firm if she wasn't sitting at that desk. My bad blood with Camille was my own problem.

The rest of the staff only cared about hitting their quotas and cashing their bonus checks. Weston showed up at the office today as the lead investor.

Douglas called Camille into his office. When she finally strolled back to her desk, every eye in the room tracked her movements. "Camille, is Mr.

Weston as intimidating as he looks?" Camille’s lips curled into a slow, secretive smile. "We've known each other for a long time.

He's not mean." She smoothed her skirt. "You guys don't have to worry about a thing." A few of the girls exchanged knowing looks and giggled.

I had already clicked the link floating around the group chat and read the whole timeline of their legendary romance.

If I wasn't married to the guy, I probably would have thought it was a beautiful story about young love.

Instead, scanning through the timeline their old classmates had patched together, my stomach just twisted into a hard knot.

Camille still had an old Twitter account from college that she never deactivated. A digital shrine to their daily dates and inside jokes.

I scrolled through it like I was repeatedly pressing on a fresh bruise. The further down I went, the more obvious it became. Weston was obsessed with her.

He had read every single post, leaving long comments and likes on every blurry photo. He was the one who chased her.

I spent a solid year throwing myself at him before he even looked my way. When I first found out Camille was his ex, a nasty, bitter thrill shot through me.

I thought I finally had one over on her. But reality hit fast and hard. Weston was still hung up on her. It wasn't a victory; it was a total humiliation.

It was just another weapon handed right to Camille so she could keep me under her heel. We had been at each other's throats since middle school. Toxic and irreconcilable.

Barbara dragged Camille right into my childhood home and claimed my family for herself, driving my mother into a deep, suicidal depression. I almost lost my mom to the dark.

Chapter 3 High school rolled around, and we ended up in the same hallways again.

She was one point shy of making the cut for prep school, but my father, Victor, pulled some strings and bought her a seat.

That same year, my mother packed her bags and moved overseas. I was left behind in Victor's house.

I thought if I pushed hard enough, Camille and her mother would finally pack up and leave. My tactics weren't exactly brilliant. Honestly, they were pathetic.

I poured black ink into their water glasses, making sure it was dark and obvious because I was terrified they might actually drink it. I just wanted to scare them.

I wanted to mark my territory. Instead, Camille ran straight to Victor. His face darkened like a thundercloud, his jaw tight as he ripped into me.

I hated them, but I never had the guts to do any real damage. My stupid little pranks only made Victor pity them more. College finally put some distance between us.

We went to different schools. But whatever shred of hope I had left for my father died during my freshman winter break. Victor brought Camille to a highsociety gala.

When people assumed she was his flesh and blood, he didn't correct them. He even brought up changing her last name to match ours. I backed him into a corner.

I told him if he gave her his name, I would legally change mine to my mother’s maiden name the very next day. The air turned hostile.

He raised his hand, aiming a sharp backhand right at my face. A tall silhouette stepped in and gripped his wrist midair. That was Weston. We crossed paths again after graduation.

I spent a solid year throwing myself at him, chasing him down. Right when I was completely burnt out and ready to walk away, he finally caved.

It wasn't until after I put on the ring that I found out Camille was his ex. And worse—Weston had already been to the house to meet Victor. As Camille's boyfriend.

That explained Victor's reaction when I dropped the news about our wedding. The color drained from his face.

He grabbed his chest like he couldn't pull in a breath. "You did this on purpose." He pointed a shaking finger at me. "You knew Weston was Camille's ex, and you married him anyway?" I just stood there, the floor dropping out from under me.

When the holidays rolled around, I refused to go back to Victor's house. Weston dragged me there anyway. It didn't take long for Camille and me to get into it.

Things escalated in the courtyard, and we both lost our footing. Weston lunged forward, closing the distance in two massive strides, and caught Camille. I hit the concrete hard.

Later, in the stark white hospital room, the harsh fluorescent lights stung my eyes.

I stared at Weston, forcing my voice to stay level. "Why didn't you catch me?" He didn't even look up.

He just kept peeling an apple, his face a completely blank mask. "I didn't see you." The second Weston stepped out into the hall, Camille waltzed in.

She stood at the foot of my bed, a sickly sweet smile playing on her lips, and started recounting every detail of their college romance.

She painted a picture of a completely different Weston. A man I had never met. My chest caved in. My fingernails dug deep into my palms until the skin went white.

After I got discharged, Camille and I were right back in each other's orbit. We even ended up at the same firm.

It was a constant, suffocating grind—neither of us willing to give an inch. She flaunted her status as Victor's pseudodaughter, making management bend over backwards for her.

Now she had another crown: the untouchable ex of the Weston heir. The entire office practically kissed the ground she walked on.

I knew my pitch was going straight into the shredder, but I still locked my team in the conference room, burning the midnight oil to finish the damn thing.

A month later, I gripped the final proposal folder and pushed through the heavy glass doors of the boardroom. Every seat was taken. Except for Camille's. The door clicked open.

She walked in, shoulder to shoulder with Weston. Chapter 4 The overhead lights caught them perfectly.

Weston leaned in, dropping his shoulder just a fraction to catch whatever Camille was saying. The harsh lighting carved out the sharp angles of his jaw.

His dark eyes held a faint, easy smile. Our eyes met for a split second across the room. I searched his face for something—a flicker of guilt, a shift in the temperature. Nothing.

Just the same impenetrable sheet of ice. We drew lots for the pitch order. I went first. I smoothed my blazer, stepped up to the podium, and launched the deck.

I walked them through every blueprint, every raw concept. I zoned out the room and just did my job. When I finished, the applause was painfully thin.

Riley, the junior designer who had shadowed me since graduation, was clapping the loudest, practically bruising her palms. Weston just watched me. His face was a total blank.

Douglas kept shooting him sideways glances, trying to read the room. Then Camille took the floor. She locked eyes with Weston. A slow, private smile passed between them.

A ripple of whispers and knowing smirks swept through the rows of desks.

Riley leaned in close. "Vesper, are we dead in the water?" I forced the corners of my mouth up into a tight line. Camille wrapped up her pitch, and the room practically exploded.

Douglas clapped so hard I thought his hands would fall off. The corner of Weston’s mouth twitched upward. A thirtyminute recess.

The rumors of Weston and Camille had been suffocating me for weeks. The sheer drop in temperature whenever he looked at me made my chest physically cave in.

The breakroom chatter had filled in all the blanks about their golden years at university. He chased her. Waited outside her dorm in the freezing cold.

Brought her breakfast every single morning. Everyone in their graduating class knew Weston worshipped the ground she walked on. I stayed glued to my chair.

I watched their shoulders brush as they walked out the double doors together. A sharp, stinging heat crawled up my throat.

The man I had bled to win over was busy carrying a torch for the one person I despised most in the world. The room emptied out until it was just me and Riley.

She squeezed my wrist tight. The break ended. The verdict was in. Weston and his suits from Weston Group had already cleared out.

Douglas stood at the front of the room to deliver the news. Three votes total. A clean sweep for Camille. The fluorescent lights overhead suddenly felt blinding.

I dug my nails into the fabric of my skirt until my knuckles went white, forcing the moisture back down. Douglas gave Camille a solid, approving nod.

The usual crowd swarmed her desk. "Camille, you absolutely killed it." I grabbed my things and headed for the exit.

Camille’s heels clicked sharply on the tile behind me. "Vesper." I stopped.

Her eyes crinkled in amusement. "You might wear his ring, but I'll always be his number one." She stepped into my personal space. "Everything you hustle and bleed for?

I snap my fingers and it's mine." She wasn't wrong. At fourteen, she snapped her fingers and walked away with Victor's affection. Now, she was squatting rentfree in Weston's head.

Down the hall, Douglas was ushering Weston into the executive elevator. Weston leaned against the back panel, his posture completely relaxed, untouched by the chaos.

A crushing, heavy exhaustion settled deep into my bones. The fight drained right out of me. I didn't want to play this game with Camille anymore. I was done with Weston.

The elevator doors held open. Douglas, ever the sycophant, frantically waved Camille and me inside to join them. The metal doors slid shut. The car started its descent.

Chapter 5 Douglas couldn't stop kissing up. "Mr. Weston, you and Camille make a stunning couple." "An absolute perfect match." A few of the other suits chimed right in. "Exactly.

We heard you and Camille secretly tied the knot. You're such a devoted husband, Mr. Weston, picking our firm just for her." I let the suffocating wave of compliments wash over me.

A heavy numbness had already coated my nerves. A sharp, burning gaze dug into the side of my face. I turned my head. Weston's jaw was locked tight.

The muscles in his neck had gone completely rigid. Douglas nudged my arm, clearly desperate for me to join the choir. "Right, Vesper? Aren't Mr.

Weston and Camille the perfect pair?" The elevator doors slid open with a sharp, metallic chime. I met Weston's eyes.

I didn't blink. "A perfect match." The ice in his dark eyes fractured. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his thin lips parting slightly like he was trying to force a word out.

I stepped out of the car. "Vesper." His voice was low, hitting the air a little too fast behind me. I didn't pause. I didn't break my stride.

I just kept walking, leaving the crowd and the claustrophobia behind. The burning in my throat finally choked me. My vision completely blurred out.

At fourteen, I stood outside a sterile ICU room after my mother swallowed a bottle of pills, right around the time I found out Victor was busy sleeping with another woman.

I was a lost, terrified kid. When Weston caught Victor's wrist midair and stopped that backhand from hitting my face, I thought he was my absolute salvation.

But every single thing I bled for, everything I clawed the dirt to keep, always slipped right through my fingers. It always flowed straight into Camille's lap.

My luck just always ran a little too short. I locked myself in my car in the underground parking garage.

My hands gripped the leather steering wheel until my knuckles turned white, and my chest heaved with ragged, ugly gasps.

When the air finally hit my lungs again, the crushing pressure behind my ribs cracked. I wiped my face.

Through the windshield, Weston's tall frame emerged from the shadows of the concrete pillars. He picked up his pace, his long strides rapidly eating up the distance between us.

Right as he reached for the hood, I slammed my foot on the gas and tore out of the lot. I drove straight to Victor's estate. Victor, Camille, and Barbara were all out.

The massive house felt hollow, occupied only by a few housekeepers. I walked down the hall to my childhood bedroom.

It was completely scrubbed of my existence, claimed and redecorated as Camille's territory.

I grabbed my passport, my birth certificate, and whatever jewelry actually belonged to me. Every corner of this house reeked of Camille and her mother.

A framed photo of Camille's college graduation sat dead center on the study desk. I looked away. When Victor first found out I married Weston, he exploded.

He was entirely convinced I threw my life away just to spite Camille.

If I had known Weston was her exboyfriend from the start, I would have just thought the guy had absolute garbage taste. I would have tossed him in the exact same trash bin as her.

I walked out the front doors and almost collided with Camille. Amusement danced in her eyes. "Vesper. It's getting kind of boring competing with you.

Whatever you want, I just snap my fingers and take. Your mother couldn't hold onto this house, and you can't hold onto him." She sneered. "Losing just runs in the family.

I heard you were the one who chased Weston down. A lot of girls threw themselves at him in college." "But he was pure ice.

Totally unreachable." She crossed her arms. "I never had to lift a single finger. He always gravitated right back to me.

Four years ago, and today." The Weston she knew was gentle and fiercely devoted. The Weston I got was ruthless and hollow.

Scrolling through her old Twitter account felt like dragging myself over broken glass.

Once you see how a man acts when he’s truly in love, it hits you like a freight train—he never felt a damn thing for me. Camille lived for the validation on social media.

We only added each other on Instagram after we started at the same firm. Weston would casually doubletap her random, mundane story updates. Sometimes he even left a comment.

I used to scream at him over it. Chapter 6 The memory of our old arguments played on a loop.

His brow would furrow tight, his face carved from ice as he demanded, "Vesper, why do you have to target her like this?" The memory squeezed my chest until I couldn't pull in a full breath.

Didn't he comprehend the concept of boundaries with an ex? I just wanted my husband to pick me. To stand in my corner, just once.

Camille's voice snapped me back to the driveway. "Vesper, you can't beat me." She tilted her head, observing me like a science experiment. "The man you're obsessed with?

I broke him in." She lowered her voice to a soft hum. "Even his first kiss was mine." I didn't argue. I just gave her a flat, empty smile.

I headed back to the office that afternoon. Camille had ordered high tea for the entire department.

Expensive pastries and iced lattes lined the breakroom counters. "Thanks, Camille!" She soaked up the praise effortlessly. "You guys work so hard.

I can't wait to tackle this project with all of you." The whole floor operated on the absolute certainty that without Camille, we would never have landed Weston's capital.

Whenever she stepped away from her desk, the gossip hit overdrive. "Mr.

Weston literally dropped millions just to make her smile." The younger girls had stars in their eyes, completely buying into the fantasy. "All the good ones are taken off the market early." "They were together in college." "And he was the one who chased her." Someone tossed a wrench into the fairy tale. "Wait, isn't Mr.

Weston married?" The room practically exploded. "Holy crap, that means Camille is his wife." "He's here backing up his girl." My phone vibrated against my desk.

Weston's caller ID flashed on the screen. The buzzing was relentless. I hit decline. He called right back. I swiped the screen into 'Do Not Disturb' and flipped the device over.

The screen went black. The silence returned. Riley leaned into my cubicle, her brow creased with worry.

She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Vesper, don't let it get to you." She glanced over her shoulder. "I know this sucks to hear, but Camille is Mr. Weston's wife.

She has his total backing." She leaned in closer. "And rumor has it, Victor is her real dad." My father and my husband. She had stripped me of both.

The corner of my mouth twitched up into a dry smile. "Don't worry. I'm not upset." I locked myself in a bathroom stall and dialed my mother halfway across the globe.

She always backed my plays.

Her voice came through the speaker, soft and completely free of judgment. "Baby, I respect whatever you decide to do." She sighed softly. "Some things you just have to burn your own hands on to learn." I ended the call.

I marched back to my desk, opened a blank document, and typed out my resignation letter. The second I hit print, a massive, suffocating weight lifted off my chest.

Douglas stared at the paper in his hands, his jaw practically hitting his desk. "Vesper, what is this? Is this because Mr.

Weston didn't pick your pitch?" He leaned forward, exasperated. "You need to realize he came here specifically for Camille. Throwing a tantrum right now is beyond petty.

Look at the history between them." He pointed a thick finger at me. "You've been in the corporate world long enough to understand how this works. Without Camille, Mr.

Weston wouldn't have given us a dime." He shoved the paper back toward the edge of the desk. "I'm going to pretend I never saw this. Take it back." I didn't move a muscle.

A dry laugh slipped out of me. "Douglas, I put it in writing specifically so you couldn't ignore it." I met his stare dead on. "I want out as fast as possible.

My current projects are wrapped. I can hand over my files in a week." I wasn't sticking around for the Weston Group collaboration to officially kick off.

I simply didn't have the stomach to sit in a cubicle and watch my husband play house with the woman I despised, forced to swallow their office romance rumors every single day.

I pushed the letter back across the desk.

Chapter 7 Douglas stared at me, his brow furrowed with a messy mix of pity and frustration. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" He leaned back in his leather chair. "I know you have the talent, Vesper, but raw talent doesn't run the corporate world." He tapped his silver pen against the desk. "Camille has the heir to the Weston empire standing right behind her.

If you walk out now, you'll be blacklisted." He paused, dropping his voice to a hushed whisper. "You won't be able to move an inch in this industry. Plus, she's Victor's daughter.

You don't mess with the CEO of Vanguard Corp." I let out a soft breath, a faint smile touching my lips.

I wasn't about to blow Camille's cover story. "Douglas, I'm completely sure." I met his gaze deadon. "And I won't regret it." He let out a heavy sigh and scrawled his signature across the bottom of the page.

My exit was officially in motion. My mother divorced Victor years ago. Victor was a ruthless shark, sure, but he built his entire empire riding on my mother's family connections.

Back when I was fourteen, after my mother survived her stint in the ICU, she finally signed the divorce papers.

She only had one ironclad condition: every single asset in Victor's name had to be legally bound to me. Victor must have really been head over heels for Barbara.

He was desperate enough to marry her that he actually signed the airtight agreement. When he dies, every red cent is mine.

And even if I divorce Weston right now, I'm legally entitled to half his net worth, too. Camille got Victor's affection and Weston's heart. That was fine. I got the money.

I marched back to my cubicle and immediately started outlining my handover files. Riley mentioned a department party this Friday to celebrate Camille bagging the Weston account.

I had zero plans to show up. The entire floor watched me pack my desk into cardboard boxes. Camille's team whispered loudly that I was just a sore loser.

I didn't blame them for picking a side. Camille was holding the reins now. Everyone was just trying to pay their rent, and you follow the person holding the biggest checkbook.

I couldn't be bothered to care. Riley tugged at the sleeve of my blouse. "Vesper, are you actually leaving?" I stopped wrapping my coffee mug and pulled her into a quick hug. "Yeah.

I'm out." I stepped back. "The paperwork is already processing. I just need to hand off my files and take my trash with me." Corporate bloodsports were in full swing.

One of Camille's junior designers leaned against a file cabinet, projecting her voice across the room. "Someone bombs one pitch and completely ragequits." She smirked. "Obviously she's too embarrassed to show her face at the victory party." The girl inspected her manicure. "I guess not everyone can be like Camille, right?

A billionaire dad and a CEO husband." A cold, sharp scoff escaped my lips. Too bad the billionaire dad was biologically mine.

And my name was the one stamped on Weston's marriage certificate. I ended up going to the Friday party. It was my last official day at the firm.

Without me, management was scrambling to find a senior designer experienced enough to execute Camille's flashy concepts. Her team was visibly pissed about my exit.

They pushed their luck all night, acting like I was just being petty and vindictive. The tension in the private lounge was thick enough to choke on.

The passiveaggressive jabs kept flying across the table. Three rounds of drinks in, the same loudmouth junior designer took it upon herself to pull out her phone and dial Weston.

Perfect. If she didn't call him, I was going to. She tapped the screen to hang up and shot me a smug, triumphant look. "Mr. Weston found out Camille was drinking.

He's on his way right now." She took a slow sip of her cocktail. "Some people really need a reality check on where they stand." Half an hour later, a tall silhouette pushed through the crowded club and zeroed in on our booth.

Weston stood by the table, his sharp features cutting through the dim, neon lighting. "Mr. Weston, you came to pick up Camille?" Weston kept his expression completely flat.

His baritone cut through the heavy bass. "Yeah. Where is she?" Chapter 8