Chapter 1 Making Love with Her Older Sister's Lover

Tonight, Victoria Windsor climbed into her sister's fiancé's bed.

She stood outside the Crownleigh presidential suite, took a deep breath, and smoothed the silk dress that had belonged to her sister, Anne. She knew Edward Russell was staying at this hotel for a business trip. She didn't fantasize about having him; she just wanted to see him from a distance.

Victoria pushed open the door, thinking it was the ordinary room she'd booked. But the sharp smell of whiskey hit her. Before she could reach the light switch, a strong arm shot out of the darkness and grabbed her wrist.

"Ah!" she cried. Then a rough hand yanked her into a burning embrace. The door slammed shut behind her.

"Anne… my Anne…" The man's voice was hoarse, laced with pain and a crazy possessiveness. Edward's voice.

His solid muscle crushed her against the door.

"Edward? No, you've got the wrong—"

He cut her off with a kiss. He'd lost his mind completely. He smelled that perfume, felt that dress. His hands tore through the thin silk.

"I'm not Anne! Edward, look at me, I'm—"

"Don't talk. Anne, don't leave me." He twisted her arms behind her back and carried her to the bed.

Victoria stopped fighting. If he wanted her body, she'd give it to him. It was what she deserved.

Cloth ripped in the darkness. His mouth burned her nipple, and she began to tremble. He gripped her knees, spread her legs, wedged himself between them. His fingers worked between her thighs.

"You're wet," he whispered.

Then he pushed inside. His thick penis swelled, fitting perfectly as he thrust. Even as her body came apart, she refused to cry out. She wouldn't admit she'd been fucked to orgasm by her own sister's fiancé.

Edward's sweat dripped onto her face. He hissed in her ear over and over: "Anne… my wife… Anne…"

He came deep inside her. The sheets were soaked. Her body convulsed, but her heart stayed cold. Each "Anne" cut her like a knife.

I'm sorry, she thought. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, tears soaking the pillow, until finally she passed out.

---

The next morning, harsh sunlight slipped through the curtains. Every part of Victoria ached. She opened her eyes to a pair of bloodshot ones—furious, shocked.

Edward was already awake. Bare-chested, his pecs and abs still marked with last night's frantic scratches, but his presence now was ice-cold.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was dangerously low.

Victoria pulled the blanket over her bruised body. "Edward, let me explain. I didn't know this was your room. I used the key card—"

"Shut up."

He lunged, one large palm clamping down on her neck. Veins bulged on the back of his hand. He pinned her against the headboard.

"Cough… Edward…" She struggled, her face turning red.

"You think I'm an idiot?" His eyes were red-rimmed, almost bleeding. He looked at Anne's torn dress on the floor and felt sick.

"You cheap whore. Disgusting." Each word hit her face. "That's your own sister's dress. I was your sister's fiancé. Anne's only been dead a few days, and you put on her clothes and crawl into my bed?"

"I didn't… cough… I didn't seduce you…" She tried to pry his fingers off. Tears flowed.

"Then how the hell did you get that key card? You're telling me it wasn't deliberate?"

He tightened his grip. Looking at her face—vaguely like Anne's but now repulsive to him—his eyes held pure destruction.

"Have you no shame? Victoria. Anne died saving you. It should have been you. She took your place. And before her funeral's even over, you spread your legs for her man?" He was hysterical, his voice cracking from grief and rage. "You've poisoned every memory of her. You make me sick."

Victoria stopped fighting. Her hands fell limp on the sheets. His words had pierced through her last defense.

She didn't know how the key cards had been swapped. But it didn't matter. She closed her eyes, and the wedding flashed back—the knife coming at her, Anne's gentle smile, the blood spreading over her white dress.

Anne was dead because of her. Anne's last wish: take care of Edward, revive the Windsor family. "And Victoria, I want you to be happy."

Now she lay naked in the bed of the man her sister had loved. And worse—when he'd held her, when his heartbeat pressed against her chest, that stupid feeling she'd crushed since she was sixteen had stirred again. He was Anne's. Victoria had thought it was a sin just to look at him.

Now that flutter was being ripped out of her, raw and humiliating. She felt filthy. Shameless. She'd wronged Anne. She deserved every bit of his hatred.

So she didn't fight back. Not even when she could barely breathe. She just let the tears run.

Edward looked at her corpse-like stillness, threw her off in disgust. He got up, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and said coldly, "Get out of my sight. Don't let me see you again."

The door closed.

Victoria curled up on the ruined bed and sobbed.

But somewhere in that room, the red light of a tiny camera blinked silently.

Within two hours of Edward storming out, high-definition photos and recordings were anonymously emailed to every major media outlet in Asteria City.

The bomb went off.

#WindsorFamilyScandal – Sister climbs into dead sister's fiancé's bed.

#RussellGroupCEO – Late-night rendezvous with deceased wife's sister. Moral decay or elite family carnival?

The phones of Asteria City's high society rang simultaneously. Everyone saw the pictures. Socialites mocked her in group chats. Rich businessmen made her the crudest joke over drinks.

Victoria became the most shameless woman in the city—the slut who got her sister killed and then seduced her sister's man.

Vicious abuse drowned her.

Everyone thought she would hide in shame.

But three days later, at the cemetery on the outskirts of Asteria City, cold rain fell from the sky.

Black umbrellas formed a sea. Edward stood in a black suit, staring at Anne's tombstone, his eyes bloodshot, devastated.

Just as the priest began the eulogy, a black car screeched to a stop at the edge. The door opened. Victoria stepped out in black heels, walking straight into the rain. No umbrella. She looked as cold as a corpse without warmth.

She ignored the murderous looks from the Windsor couple, ignored the guests' disgust, and walked step by step toward Edward.

At Anne's funeral, in front of everyone, Victoria did something that made their jaws drop and convinced them she'd completely lost her mind—