Reclaiming My Stolen Heart

Introduction I waited four years for Shawn, only to end up receiving the news of his engagement to my younger sister, Chloe. Four years ago, after he was gravely injured and blinded in an accident, I kept it from my family and stayed by his side in the hospital for six months, reading the daily paper to him every single day. He told me that the very first person he wanted to see after his bandages came off was me. Yet when his sight returned, he mistook Chloe for his savior. I reached out to him twenty-two times, only to be met with humiliation and driven away every single time. In my previous life, I spent an entire lifetime hopelessly entangled with him, ultimately dying cold and alone on an operating table while the live broadcast of his and Chloe's fairy-tale wedding played in the background. Given a second chance at life, I'm done fighting. All I want is to vanish before their wedding day. Skylar's POV I waited four years for Shawn, only to be handed the news of his impending marriage to my younger sister, Chloe. He was entirely convinced that Chloe had been the girl looking after him all those months ago. Four years back, I spent half a year inside that sterile burn unit, sitting by his bedside every day reading the newspaper to him, holding onto the promise that I’d be the first face he saw once the gauze was unwrapped. I tried to talk to him twenty-two separate times, desperately wishing he would remember those six months, but his entourage hauled me away before I could even finish a sentence. Now that I have a second chance at life, I have zero desire to wait for him to turn around. My only goal is to leave the country before their lavish wedding—the sooner, the better. At noon, I was seated at the Sterling family dining table, listening to my mother, Margaret, lay out the travel arrangements she had made for me. "Skylar," Margaret began, not even looking at me, "Chloe and Shawn’s wedding date is set. You need to be out of the country before the ceremony. I’ve already pulled some strings to get your paperwork sorted. Stop throwing yourself at Shawn and embarrassing this family." I merely lifted my eyes. "Okay." The edge of my ceramic bowl burned against my fingertips, making me flinch. The sharp sting finally grounded me, proving I truly was sitting back at this dining table. In my past life, I died on a hospital operating table. Right before my heart stopped, the radio in the OR was blasting live coverage of Shawn and Chloe’s star-studded wedding. The host's voice had been so loud, so sickeningly cheerful. I died carrying the truth that nobody in the world ever cared to hear. When I opened my eyes again, I was back before the wedding, sitting right here in the Sterling home, staring down at a hot meal. In my previous life, hearing Margaret say those exact words had driven me to shatter my dishes in outrage. My father, Robert, and Margaret exchanged a loaded look. Robert slammed his fork onto the table. "You agreed awfully quickly. Are you scheming something again? Let me make one thing clear: if you sabotage your sister's wedding in any way, I will make you pay." I picked up my fork and took a bite of rice. "Nothing will happen." Margaret chimed in, "All your documents are packed away for you. Once you land, buy whatever else you need yourself." Robert glared at me with an icy scowl. I chewed steadily, calm and unbothered, as if I had just agreed to run a quick errand down the street. The moment I was born, my umbilical cord blood was drawn and transfused into Chloe, my sickly, premature twin sister. From that day forward, the entire family treated me like Chloe’s personal maid. Chloe got first pick of everything—food, clothes, affection. Eventually, even the boy I had secretly loved for years became her fiancé. Four years ago, when Shawn was in that horrific car wreck, his face and eyes wrapped completely in bandages, not a single person in the Sterling household was willing to nurse someone who might never recover. So I went behind their backs. Every day right after classes, I ran straight to the hospital, perching beside his bed to read the paper to him. I never dared use my real name, Skylar. I just called myself Mustard. Because he couldn't see, his hand would constantly reach up to touch the little floral hairpin in my hair. "When these bandages come off, you’re the very first person I want to see." I held onto that promise for six long months. The evening before the bandages were scheduled for removal, Margaret stopped me at the door with rimmed, teary eyes. "The doctor had to reschedule last minute. Don't go tomorrow; he needs his rest." I believed her. When I finally hurried to the hospital two days later, Shawn's bandages had already been removed. Chloe was sitting gracefully beside his bed, holding a bowl of warm oatmeal, smiling with angelic poise. The look I had waited six months for had landed square on Chloe's face. From that moment on, Chloe was Mustard. I was cast aside as the shameless, pathetic homewrecker. Every time I went to see him, I’d hear Chloe’s sweet, sugary voice whining behind him: "Skylar, please stop embarrassing yourself." Every single time, I foolishly thought he would hear me out, that he would finally remember those six months. In this life, I won’t be making a twenty-third attempt. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Shawn. Just one cold line: *Southern Heights Lounge tonight. Come by.*Skylar's POV In my last life, I went. When I pushed open the door, he had Chloe pulled tightly into his lap on the leather sofa, kissing her. He looked up at me with a sneer: "Are you that desperate for a man? You’d even stoop to stealing your own sister's fiancé?" I had fled in tears. Chloe snapped photos of my humiliating retreat and posted them all over group chats, turning me into the biggest laughingstock in our social circle. I remembered every agonizing detail of that night. I would still go this time, though. I would give them my congratulations straight to their faces, and then cut all ties forever. I typed back a single word: *Okay.* That evening, I pushed open the heavy door to the VIP lounge at Southern Heights. Shawn was sitting in the middle of the plush sofa, Chloe snuggled comfortably against his chest. The moment I walked in, Shawn tightened his arm around Chloe’s waist, leaning down to press a kiss into her hair. He cast a cold glance my way. "Perfect timing. Let me formally introduce myself: I'm Chloe's fiancé. Next time you see me, remember your manners." Chloe shrank further into his hold, her voice dripping with practiced innocence. "Shawn, don't be so harsh on Skylar. She... she probably just hasn't accepted it yet." Shawn chuckled mockingly. "Accepted what? If she had an ounce of shame, she wouldn't keep throwing herself at me." I spent six months nursing him at his bedside, and in his eyes, I was merely a girl with no shame. I listened quietly and gave a simple nod. "Congratulations." The private lounge fell dead silent. The smirk on Shawn's face froze. "That's all you have to say?" I looked straight at him. "It’s what I should have said earlier. I tried to tell you that outside your office building, but you refused to listen to a single word." Shawn's face darkened instantly. Chloe bit her lip, clutching his designer sleeve. Shawn grabbed an elegant card from the glass table and tossed it carelessly at my feet. "Here's your wedding invitation." In my last life, my hands had trembled so hard I couldn't even pick it up. This time, I calmly bent down, scooped it up, slid it into my purse, and met Shawn's gaze. "I wish you both a happy marriage." With that, I turned around to leave. I heard Chloe pipe up behind me, "Shawn, let's head out too." The three of us walked toward the club's main exit, one after the other, only to find chaos unfolding out front. A drunk man was aggressively shoving one of the bouncers. As the bouncer moved to grab him, the man whipped out a spring-loaded switchblade from his jacket and began slashing wildly. Pedestrians screamed, scattering in every direction. I had just taken a step down the concrete stairs when Chloe let out a piercing shriek. Shawn instantly yanked Chloe behind him, wrapping her into a protective embrace. And just like that, I was left completely stranded, standing face-to-face with the wildly swinging blade. The cold edge carved a brutal line from my left shoulder down across my back. The pain was so blinding I couldn't even manage a scream. Warm blood erupted, soaking through my white dress in seconds. The security guards swarmed forward, tackling the drunkard to the pavement. Someone shouted in a panic, "This girl is bleeding out! Call 911!" My back slid down against the entryway pillar, leaving a horrific smear of crimson along the concrete. My vision went black around the edges from the agony. I forced my eyes open and looked ahead. Shawn was cradling a weeping Chloe, gently stroking her back. "It's okay, Chloe. You're safe. I'm right here." During those six months, I ran to the burn ward every single day. He had sworn that the first thing he saw after the bandages were off would be me. I foolishly believed that meant I held a place in his heart. Now I saw the brutal truth. He only had one pair of hands, and when he reached out, his eyes were never on me. I was never someone he intended to protect. I didn't need to ask myself that question a second time. With the tiny shred of strength I had left, only one thought crossed my mind: *The flight needs to be booked as early as possible.* I looked at the two of them, my lips twitching into a faint, bitter smile. Then my head fell to the side, and darkness swallowed me whole.Skylar's POV When I finally woke up, a young nurse was leaning over my bed, adjusting the IV drip. Seeing my eyes flutter open, she let out an exasperated sigh. "You’re finally awake. While you were unconscious, I had to redress your wounds three times. Honestly, I've never seen a family like yours. Your sister only suffered a mild scare, yet your entire family swarmed her room like she was dying. You’ve got dozens of stitches across your shoulder and back, and not a single soul came to fetch you a glass of water. As for your boyfriend? Completely missing in action." I stared blankly at the white ceiling tiles, offering no response. The nurse sighed again, reminded me to keep the dressings dry, and stepped out. The gashes on my back throbbed with white-hot pain. I threw a thin cardigan over my shoulders and used the wall for support, inching my way toward the dressing room. As I passed the VIP suite at the far end of the hallway, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. Laughter drifted out from inside. The entire Sterling family was there. Margaret sat by the edge of the bed, blowing on a bowl of creamy chowder, patiently spoon-feeding Chloe. "Take your time, honey, don't burn your tongue." Chloe leaned against her plush pillows, tilting affectionately toward Shawn. Robert stood nearby holding several high-end shopping bags filled with expensive tonics and supplements for Chloe. Shawn sat on the chair beside her, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. Robert was the first to notice me standing at the door. His brow furrowed in immediate irritation. "What are you doing here? Your sister just went through a terrifying ordeal. Don't you dare come in here and upset her." Margaret’s spoon paused in mid-air. She shot me an indifferent glance, then went right back to feeding Chloe. Shawn lifted his chin. The moment he saw me, his expression turned freezing cold. "Chloe is completely traumatized, and you're just wandering around like nothing happened? You really are heartless, aren't you? Can't stand seeing your sister doing well?" I gripped the doorframe, waves of sickening pain radiating down my spine. I was the one who took the blade. I was the one stitched together like a rag doll. Yet the entire room was fussing over Chloe, who hadn't sustained a single scratch. When I was little, I foolishly believed that if I ever got hurt badly enough, someone in this family would finally look at me first. Now, covered in blood and stitches, the very first thing my father said to me was to stay away from my sister. I was allergic to mangoes. Growing up, Chloe loved waving mango slices in front of my face, intentionally smearing the juice across my skin. When hives broke out across my arms, she would giggle to our parents, "Skylar is so fragile." And Margaret’s response had always been the exact same: "She's just little, Skylar. Be the bigger person." In my past life, I fought with my family over these injustices for over a decade. But after all those screaming matches, not once did anyone ever stand in my corner. What was the point of arguing? There was never any room carved out for me in this family to begin with. I let go of the doorframe and turned around. When the doctor peeled back the gauze to clean the wounds, cold sweat soaked my hairline. I clutched the rough hospital bedsheet, refusing to make a sound. After getting the dressings changed, I limped down to the pharmacy counter to collect my painkillers, hugging the paper bag against my chest as I cut across the hospital courtyard. Light, hurried footsteps came pattering up behind me. I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. Chloe dashed ahead and spread her arms wide, blocking my path. "Skylar, you saw it with your own eyes, didn't you? Mom and Dad, Shawn—they all choose me. You should understand your place by now. Even if you talk until your throat bleeds, nobody will ever believe you. You will never, ever beat me." She was right about that. I fought with all my might until the day I died in my previous life, and I ended up with nothing. I looked at her calmly. "I don't want Shawn anymore. Whatever else you want, take it." Chloe froze for a second, then tilted her chin up arrogantly. "He was mine to begin with! Everything you've ever had in your life was just my leftovers. You’ve never won against me, and you never will." She puffed out her chest as if she had just won some grand prize. Yet listening to her words now, I felt completely numb. All I cared about was getting my paperwork finalized so I could get on that plane. I took a step to the side and walked right past her. Behind me, Chloe burst into a smug, mocking laugh that echoed across the lawn. I tightened my grip on the paper bag and kept walking, never once looking back.Skylar's POV Just as I reached the top of the concrete stairs, a hand clamped down hard on my sleeve from behind. Chloe was gripping my arm with astonishing force. I turned my head and saw her eyes flick down toward the bottom of the staircase. Shawn’s sleek town car was parked right at the curb. The door was half-open, and he was stepping out. In the very next second, Chloe let out a bloodcurdling scream and threw herself backward down the stairs—without letting go of my sleeve. She dragged me down with her. More than a dozen stone steps. We both tumbled violently all the way to the pavement. Chloe's knees scraped harshly against the concrete edges, peeling away a patch of skin. Tears spilled down her cheeks instantly. Shawn bolted up the walkway, dropping to his knees to gather Chloe into his arms, his fingers carefully avoiding her scraped knee. "Chloe?! Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Let me see!" Chloe sobbed hysterically, burying her face into his chest. "Don't blame Skylar... I just lost my balance... It wasn't her fault..." Shawn snapped his head up, glaring murderously at me as I lay crumpled at the bottom of the steps. "Skylar! Is your jealousy so twisted that you’d shove your own flesh and blood down the stairs?! If anything happens to her, I swear to God I'll ruin you!" My own knees were bruised and bloody. The shock of the fall rendered me paralyzed on the cold concrete. Margaret came rushing over right behind him. The sight of blood on Chloe’s knee sent her into a feral rage, pointing a finger right in my face. "You wretched girl! Did you do this on purpose? Were you trying to cripple your sister so you could steal Shawn for yourself?! How on earth did I give birth to someone so vile?!" The stitches across my back tore wide open. Cold sweat dripped down my temples. Chloe was the one who grabbed me. Chloe was the one who threw herself down. Yet she was the one being cradled and comforted. For all these years, I had kept the truth bottled up inside me, waiting for the day someone would finally be willing to believe me. I was done waiting. I raised my head and locked eyes with Margaret. "Back at the hospital four years ago, the one who stayed by Shawn's side was me." Margaret's face went completely pale. Her eyes nervously darted toward Shawn. Robert charged forward, raised his palm, and delivered a blistering slap right across my face. "Shut your lying mouth!" The blow whipped my head to the side. Copper-tasting blood welled up in the corner of my mouth. Robert pointed a trembling finger at me. "Your mother and I raised you! Whatever this family says is the truth, and you accept it! If you ever dare spread these vile lies again, I’ll break your legs!" I had once dreamed of telling Shawn the truth with my family standing there, hoping that just one of them would have the decency to vouch for me. Yet here they were: one slapping me across the face, the other turning pale and looking away in cowardice. I would never mention it again. Shawn approached, carrying Chloe in his arms. He had only caught the tail end of the commotion and frowned at Margaret. "What were you all talking about?" Margaret forced an overly bright, flattering smile onto her face. "Oh, nothing! We were just confronting her about pushing Chloe down the stairs, and she still refuses to admit it. Shawn, don't let her ruin your mood." Shawn glanced coldly at the droplets of blood on the stone steps. "Since you pushed her, you’re going to scrub every single drop of blood off these stairs. When you’re finished, maybe then I’ll ask if you’re ready to apologize." He flagged down a security guard, who brought over a bucket of dirty water and a rough rag, dumping them carelessly at my feet. Water splashed across my ankles. Shawn carried Chloe into the hospital building, with Robert and Margaret trailing close behind, throwing one last glare over their shoulders at me. I pushed myself up from the ground. The blood from my torn stitches had already soaked through the back of my hospital gown. The bucket was heavy. I had to drag it up the stairs step by step, resting every few feet, before finally reaching the top. Bending over, I began scrubbing the bloodstains away, one step at a time. Every time I bent my torso, the wounds tore a little deeper. Blood dripped down my back, landing directly on the steps I had just cleaned, forcing me to turn around and wipe them all over again. Halfway down, I rested my trembling palms against the concrete, struggling to catch my breath. My mind drifted back to that sterile burn unit. Shawn had been swathed in thick bandages, stuck in bed all day, yet he loved to sing. He was entirely tone-deaf, singing so terribly out of key that I couldn't help but laugh out loud. He never got mad. He just chuckled along with me. "Just you wait. Once I'm healed, I'll practice until I can sing it properly for you." During those six months, I was utterly convinced of one thing: this man would be mine. And now, here I was on my knees, scrubbing my sister's blood off the pavement, waiting for him to come down and demand an apology. Those six months were real. But the man waiting upstairs was a stranger. By the time I wiped down the very last step, the sky had turned completely dark. I straightened my posture, the agonizing throbbing in my back nearly causing my knees to buckle. Shawn walked out of the building, supporting Chloe, whose knee was now wrapped in thick, neat layers of white gauze. Seeing the spotless stone stairs, Shawn hesitated for a brief second. "Do you know what you did wrong?" I stood at the bottom of the steps, my hair a tangled mess, the red handprint still stark against my cheek. "Yes." Wherever he went demanding apologies in the future, I wouldn't be there. Shawn’s brow furrowed. His lips parted as if to say something, but in the end, he just let out a cold grunt and helped Chloe into the waiting car. Chloe settled into the passenger seat and offered me a triumphant smile through the tinted glass. The car sped away into the night. I sat down on the newly cleaned concrete steps, staying there until pitch darkness swallowed the street. Only when the night guard came over to shoo me away did I finally rise. I returned the empty bucket to the guard and trudged back to my room, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through my torn skin. Those twenty-two visits—I shouldn't have made a single one.Skylar's POV The day of my discharge, nobody came to pick me up. I took a cab back to the Sterling residence by myself, clutching a bag of prescribed medication. The very first thing I did when I got upstairs was purge my room. Anything remotely connected to Shawn, I dug it all out: the candid photos of him playing high school basketball, which I had carefully clipped from the school paper; a handful of movie stubs from films I had dreamed of watching with him once his sight returned. Everything went straight into a large black trash bag. I had hidden those slips of paper in the deepest corner of my closet for four whole years, fiercely guarding them from anyone's touch. I had kept them only for the day he would finally recognize me, so I could show him the memories we shared. I hauled the heavy bag out to the curb and dumped it straight into the garbage can. The only thing I kept was the little hairpin. It was the last gift my grandmother gave me before she passed, and the only physical keepsake left from those six months in the ward. Just as I straightened my back, a luxury car pulled up to the gate. Chloe stepped out, her arm intimately looped through Shawn’s as they chatted and laughed their way up the driveway. Chloe’s sharp eyes caught sight of the photo peeking out from the top of the trash bag—a profile shot of Shawn. She leaned in close to Shawn’s ear, speaking just loudly enough for me to hear from the porch: "Look, Shawn... Skylar must have really given up this time. She even threw away your pictures." Shawn glanced dismissively at the bin. "She should have given up a long time ago." In the past, a single cold remark from him would have brought me to tears. This time, standing on the steps, the words washed over me with quiet clarity: *He's right. I should have given up a long time ago.* I dusted off my hands, turned around, walked upstairs, and shut my bedroom door. The next day marked our joint birthday. Naturally, the Sterling family threw a lavish celebration solely for their younger daughter. The banquet took over the grandest ballroom at Southern Heights, filled to the brim with high-society elites. I was placed at an isolated table in the farthest, darkest corner of the hall. I ate quietly. Since I was already here, there was no reason to leave on an empty stomach. Muffled whispers from nearby tables drifted into my ears like venomous darts. "Look at Skylar. How does she even have the nerve to show her face? Trying to seduce her own sister’s fiancé... completely shameless." "Mr. Crawford adores Chloe. He bought her a luxury villa, custom diamonds, you name it. And Skylar still tried to claw her way in." "I heard that just a few days ago, she pushed Chloe down a flight of concrete stairs..." I swallowed another bite of food. Up on the brightly lit stage, Robert, Margaret, and Shawn gathered closely around Chloe, singing "Happy Birthday" beside a towering, multi-tiered confection. Chloe wore a delicate tiara, leaning happily against Shawn's chest. Watching the flickering candles, my mind wandered back to that one birthday in the hospital. Shawn was still blind and bandaged. I had sneaked into the hospital staff kitchen to whip up a bowl of creamy mushroom pasta for him. He fumbled with his fork, sharing that simple bowl of pasta with me bite by bite. "When I get better, I'll buy you the biggest cake in the city. I'll make up for every single birthday you ever missed." That was the first time in my entire life anyone had ever celebrated my birthday. In over twenty years, that was the only celebration I ever had. And today, nobody in this room remembered it was my birthday, too. As the song ended, Robert took the microphone. "Today is the birthday of my beloved younger daughter, Chloe. Taking advantage of this wonderful occasion, I’d like to officially announce that all assets and business operations of the Sterling family will be passed entirely to Chloe. She has always been the pride of this family, and I couldn't be more confident placing our legacy in her capable hands." The ballroom erupted in thundering applause. Not a single soul mentioned that the Sterling family had an elder daughter, or that today was my birthday as well. Shawn stepped forward, holding a velvet jewelry box and a champagne-gold key. Inside the box rested a massive diamond ring. He gazed down at Chloe. "Chloe, will you marry me?" Chloe covered her mouth as tears spilled over her cheeks, nodding furiously. Amidst the roaring cheers, I quietly calculated the timeline: *I’ll be boarding my flight before the wedding ever takes place.* I set my fork down and prepared to slip away unnoticed. Just as I stood up, Chloe's voice echoed through the microphone: "Skylar, don't rush off! Today is my birthday, and you haven't shown everyone the gift you brought for me yet." Every pair of eyes in the ballroom pivoted toward me. I paused for two seconds, pulled a small gift box from my purse, and walked up the stage stairs to hand it over. It was a silk scarf I had picked up while passing through a department store yesterday. Just as Chloe reached out to take it, Shawn's gaze locked onto the hairpin in my hair. It was crafted from silver, adorned with a tiny, delicate mustard blossom at its tip. Back in that dark hospital room, when he was completely blind, that was the very hairpin his fingers had traced every single day. He closed the distance between us in two strides, his fingers clamping down on my forearm with bruising force. I froze. Chloe’s hand froze mid-air. Shawn stared intently at the tiny blossom, his Adam's apple bobbing. He slowly opened his mouth. "That hairpin..." He had touched that little flower for six months. Of course he recognized it. Yet the person who had worn it while sitting faithfully by his bedside remained an invisible ghost to him.