(Yvette's POV)
The room felt colder once Joseph left.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, as if he might suddenly return and say something, anything, that would make this easier.
But the door remained shut.
Slowly, I exhaled and pressed a hand to my chest. My heart was beating far too fast, as though it was protesting the decision I had just made.
You can't hesitate now.
If I did, I would lose.
I turned and walked toward the wardrobe, opening it quietly. Inside were rows of dresses, some elegant, some simple, all chosen for me over the years. Clothes meant for banquets, for social appearances, for a role I was expected to play.
I reached past them and pulled out the few outfits I had prepared in advance.
Comfortable. Plain. Mine.
I folded them neatly and placed them into the suitcase waiting by the corner of the room. Brent had arranged everything efficiently, without questions, as if he already understood that this was not a whim but a necessity.
As I packed, memories surfaced against my will.
Joseph teaching me how to ride a bike.
Joseph shielding me when Father scolded us.
Joseph standing beside me at the altar in my previous life, his eyes cold, distant, resentful.
My hands trembled.
"I can't relive that again," I whispered.
No matter how gentle he seemed now… no matter how different this Joseph was…
I had already learned how this story could end.
And I refused to walk toward that ending again.
Once I finished packing, I changed into a simple dress and tied my hair back. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
Not the timid girl who clung to love.
Not the broken wife who waited in silence.
Just… Yvette.
A soft knock echoed.
"Ms. Hamilton," Jullie called gently. "The car is ready."
"Thank you," I replied. "I'll be right there."
I took one last look around the room.
This was where I had grown up. Where I had cried. Where I had once believed love would be enough.
I picked up the suitcase handle and walked out.
The manor lights glowed softly as I descended the stairs. Every step felt heavy, yet strangely liberating.
At the entrance, Joseph stood waiting.
He must have come down while I was packing.
Our eyes met.
Neither of us spoke.
"I'll be staying at one of the city residences," I said finally, keeping my voice calm. "Brent will handle the arrangements."
Joseph nodded once.
"I know."
Silence followed again.
"…Take care," he said.
I paused, then inclined my head slightly.
"You too, Seph."
That was all.
I stepped past him and walked out into the night.
As the car door closed and the vehicle began to move, the Hamilton manor slowly disappeared from view.
My fingers tightened in my lap.
"This time," I told myself quietly, "I won't let my heart decide my fate."
The city lights stretched endlessly ahead.
And for the first time since my rebirth.
I was moving forward.
(Joseph's POV)
The manor had never felt this empty before.
I stood at the entrance long after the car carrying Yvette disappeared into the night, my hands clenched tightly at my sides. The echo of the engine lingered in my ears like a cruel reminder.
She was gone.
The thought refused to settle in my mind, as if my heart rejected it outright.
I turned and walked back inside, my footsteps resounding sharply against the marble floor. Every corner of the manor felt unfamiliar, stripped of warmth, as though something vital had been taken away without warning.
I passed by the living room.
The couch where Yvette used to curl up while reading.
The small table where she often placed her tea, always forgetting to drink it before it went cold.
I stopped.
My chest tightened painfully.
When did I start noticing these things?
I continued upstairs, my steps unconsciously carrying me toward her room. I stopped in front of the closed door, my hand hovering inches away from the handle.
I didn't open it.
I didn't need to.
I already knew it would feel emptier than anywhere else.
I leaned my forehead against the door, exhaling slowly.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," I muttered.
Things had changed so quickly that I couldn't even pinpoint where it all went wrong.
One moment, she was still here, quiet, gentle, always yielding.
The next, she was looking at me with a calm resolve that made my chest ache.
Since when did Yvette look at me like that?
My thoughts drifted back to earlier that night.
Her refusal to stay.
The way she asked me to let her go.
The restraint in her voice, far more painful than anger.
Did I push her too far?
Or was I already too late?
I straightened and stepped away from the door.
For years, I had told myself that Yvette was my little sister.
The girl I protected.
The girl Father entrusted to me.
The girl who looked at me with unwavering trust.
That was all.
Or so I believed.
But when I imagined the manor without her laughter…
When I realized she might not come back…
My chest felt unbearably heavy.
"This is ridiculous," I scoffed under my breath.
She was just taking space.
That was what she said.
Yet the unease twisting in my heart told me otherwise.
I walked into my study and poured myself a drink, downing it in one go. The burn did nothing to ease the ache in my chest.
I stared at my reflection in the darkened window.
"When did you start looking at her differently?" I asked myself.
There were moments, small, fleeting moments, that now resurfaced against my will.
The way my gaze lingered on her when she smiled.
The irritation I felt whenever someone stood too close to her.
The strange discomfort I experienced whenever Dianne mentioned Yvette's name.
I clenched my jaw.
No.
That couldn't be it.
She was my sister.
But the word felt… insufficient.
If she was only my sister, why did it feel like something had been ripped out of me when she left?
Why did the thought of her relying on someone else make my chest tighten with something dangerously close to jealousy?
I slammed my glass down on the table.
"Get a grip, Joseph."
This confusion, this weakness, had to stop.
Yet no matter how much I tried to reason with myself, one truth remained undeniable.
Yvette's absence weighed on me more heavily than I ever imagined.
And for the first time, a terrifying question surfaced in my mind, one I had never allowed myself to consider before.
What if she was never just my little sister to begin with?
The thought lingered.
Unwelcome.
Unanswerable.
And utterly impossible to ignore.