My sister slept with every guy I dated until I introduced her to my new boyfriend, who was actually her ex-husband’s divorce lawyer. I’m Maya, and I need you to understand something right now: I’m not the villain in this story. I spent twenty-eight years being the good sister, the responsible one, the one who cleaned up messes and kept quiet about things that would make your skin crawl.
But three months ago, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror at my mother’s birthday party and realized I was done. I was done watching my sister Britney destroy everything I tried to build. The party was still going on downstairs.
I could hear her laugh—that specific, high-pitched, breathy laugh she does when she’s flirting, the one that makes men think they’re the funniest person alive. I knew that laugh because I’d heard it directed at seven different men I’d brought home over the past decade. Seven.
I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection. My mascara was running because I’d just caught Britney in the garage with Mark. Mark, who I’d been dating for six months.
Mark, who told me three weeks ago that he was falling in love with me. Mark, who was currently pressed against my sister between my father’s workbench and his vintage Mustang. That’s when I made the decision.
I went back downstairs, smiled through the rest of the party, and started making calls the next morning. Britney is two years younger than me. Growing up, everyone said she was the pretty one.
Blonde hair that actually looks natural, green eyes, a perfect little figure she maintains without trying. Meanwhile, I got Dad’s darker features and Mom’s tendency to stress-eat. But here’s the thing about having a beautiful sister: it’s not the comparisons that destroy you.
It’s watching her use that beauty like a weapon, and everyone just letting her. The first time it happened, I was nineteen. His name was Connor, my first real boyfriend.
I came home early from my shift at the campus library and found them in my dorm room. In my bed. Britney cried, said she was drunk, that Connor had come on to her.
My parents made me forgive her. “She’s your sister,” my mother said. “Family is forever.
Boys come and go.”
I was twenty-one when it happened with Daniel. Twenty-three with Josh. Twenty-four with Ryan.
After Ryan, I stopped telling Britney when I was dating someone. It didn’t matter. She always found out.
She always made her move. And every single one of them fell for it. Grown men who claimed to care about me would throw it all away for one night with my baby sister.
By the time I was twenty-six, I had stopped dating altogether. I threw myself into my career instead. Then, she got married.
His name was Trevor. He was a sweet, quiet guy who worked in IT and absolutely worshipped her. I wanted to warn him, but what was I supposed to say?
Hey, Trevor, my sister’s going to cheat on you eventually because that’s just what she does. They lasted three years. The divorce was brutal.
Trevor had gotten a promotion and bought them a house. Then Britney got bored. She started sleeping with his boss—a married man with two kids.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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