My Sister Tried On My Wedding Dress to Stole My Fiancé While I Was Dying in ICU room

The private dining room at Le Bernardin was glowing with candlelight and suffocating with lies.

Derek sat beside me, raising a glass of champagne to the room of our fifty closest friends and family members.

"To Elena," Derek declared, his voice carrying the perfect pitch of fake emotion. "The strongest woman I know. The fact that she will walk down the aisle to me tomorrow is the greatest gift of my life."

The room applauded. Sloane sat across the table, wearing a dress that was entirely too low-cut for a sister of the bride. She caught Derek's eye and smirked into her wine glass.

I smiled, clapping my hands gently. "Thank you, darling," I said loud enough for the table to hear. "I couldn't have survived without you. Or without you, Sloane."

I turned my gaze to my sister.

"You've both been so... close... during my recovery," I said. "It's beautiful how you lean on each other."

Sloane choked slightly on her wine. Derek’s smile tightened.

"Family is everything," Derek recovered quickly.

"It really is," I agreed. I pulled a small velvet box from my lap and placed it on the table. "Actually, I have a gift for both of you. A token of my appreciation."

I slid the box toward Sloane.

She opened it hesitantly. Inside was a pair of diamond earrings. But not just any earrings.

They were the exact earrings she had left on the nightstand of the hotel room she shared with Derek two nights ago. My investigator had paid the maid to retrieve them.

Sloane’s face drained of all color. She stared at the diamonds as if they were venomous spiders.

"Where... where did you get these?" Sloane whispered, her voice trembling.

"I found them," I smiled innocently. "They seemed like your style. Don't you love them, Derek?"

Derek was staring at the box, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. "They're... lovely, Elena."

Before the tension could snap, the maitre d' approached our table.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hale," the man said. "A bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon was just sent to the table. Compliments of a gentleman at the bar."

"Who?" Derek asked, looking relieved for the distraction.

I looked toward the shadowed bar at the back of the restaurant. Julian Vance was standing there, a tailored shadow, raising a crystal glass toward our table.

He didn't say a word. He just drank, turned, and walked out.

Derek's hands started to shake. "That... that was Julian Vance."