Harem System: Spending Money On Women For 100% Rebate!

Chapter 368: A Dead Sister!?

Cleopatra had taken her sister to a secluded location on the outskirts of the city. An abandoned warehouse that her organization used for situations requiring discretion. The kind of place where concrete floors made cleanup easy and the nearest neighbors were too far away to hear anything.

Ella stood in the middle of the vast empty space, confusion and growing anxiety warring on her face. She’d gotten into Cleopatra’s car willingly when her sister said she was taking her to Kyle. Said he was in trouble, needed help, that time was critical.

But this wasn’t anywhere near where Kyle would be.

"Where is he?" Ella asked, her voice echoing slightly in the empty warehouse. "You said you were taking me to Kyle."

Cleopatra didn’t respond immediately. She took a long drag from her cigarette, the ember glowing red in the dim light filtering through dirty windows high above. She exhaled slowly, smoke curling around her face as she looked around the space with the casual air of someone completely comfortable in settings like this.

"Ella," Cleopatra finally said, her voice carrying that familiar blend of condescension and cold amusement. "Did you really think you could live a normal life?"

Ella didn’t give a verbal response at first. Just stared at her sister, pieces clicking into place. The isolation of this location. The way Cleopatra’s security had stayed outside. The complete absence of Kyle or any sign he’d ever been here.

She’d been played.

But Ella wasn’t as naive as Cleopatra probably thought. She was aware of their family history even though their parents had tried desperately to hide it from her, to shield her from the truth of what their bloodline really was. Ella wasn’t stupid. She’d put the pieces together years ago.

"I know what you are," Ella finally said, her voice steady despite the fear creeping up her spine.

Cleopatra raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I know what our family did. Father. Mother. All of it." Ella’s hands clenched at her sides. "The business they built. The bodies they buried. The empire of blood and money."

Cleopatra laughed. Actually laughed, the sound sharp and genuine and utterly devoid of warmth. She truly didn’t care about Ella’s opinion on the matter. Didn’t care if her little sister knew the truth or judged her for it or tried to pretend she was somehow above it all.

"Did you really think you could outrun your past?" Cleopatra asked, taking another drag. "That you could play musician, fuck your billionaire boyfriend, live in his nice apartment and pretend you weren’t born into this? That our blood doesn’t run in your veins too?"

"I’m not like you," Ella said.

"No. You’re worse." Cleopatra’s voice turned sharp, cutting. "You’re a fucking embarrassment! Look at your life. A liability made to make me look weak!"

The fury in her voice was real now, not the cold amusement from before. Cleopatra’s eyes blazed with something raw and ugly. Ella had never seen her this furious, this genuinely angry instead of her usual calculated cruelty.

But Ella understood where it was coming from.

Cleopatra couldn’t let her blood be killed even if they weren’t on good terms. It wasn’t because she cared about Ella as a person. It was because she’d be forced to act if someone else did it. After all, they shared the same blood, and if Cleopatra dismissed an attack on family, if she let it slide without retaliation, it would harm the reputation their predecessor had built. It would make her look weak to the other players in the underworld who were always watching for signs of vulnerability.

But if Ella were to just disappear? If she vanished without anyone knowing Cleopatra was involved? That would eliminate the problem entirely. No obligation to avenge. No appearance of weakness. Just one less complication.

Ella smiled despite the situation. She knew Cleopatra was crazy, knew her sister was capable of terrible things. But there were certain rules she put above even her own desires. And one of those was spilling family blood directly.

"Cleopatra, the pale skinned bitch," Ella muttered under her breath.

"What?" Cleopatra asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"That’s what the other kids called you behind your back," Ella said, her voice taking on a strange calm like she’d accepted her fate but wanted to tell her sister things her inner child had carried for years. "When we were in school. They’d whisper it when you walked by."

"Have you lost it?" Cleopatra asked, genuinely confused by the sudden shift in tone.

Ella sat down on the single chair positioned in the middle of the vast empty space. She looked small sitting there, vulnerable, but her expression was more peaceful than Cleopatra had seen in years.

"I don’t mind you killing me," Ella said quietly. "But there’s something I need you to know before you do. My last words."

Cleopatra wanted to laugh, to dismiss this as manipulation or desperation. But this was the first time she’d seen Ella so calm in years. Not angry, not rebellious, not running. Just... present.

It got her curious despite herself.

"I always thought you were cool," Ella said, her voice soft. "My cool big sister, Cleo. I began to act like you not to mock you, but because I wanted to become like you."

"What nonsense are you spewing?" Cleopatra’s voice hardened with skepticism. "You hated me."

"Did I?" Ella met her eyes. "I admired you. But I thought by acting like a delinquent, I could become closer to you. I wanted to take away the responsibility, show our parents I was more of a problem than you were. So they’d focus on me instead."

Cleopatra removed her gun from its holster, the movement smooth and practiced. She adjusted the silencer with methodical precision, her face giving nothing away.

"Is that so? You did a piss poor job then." Cleopatra’s voice dripped with venom. "All I remember is a sister who looked at me like I didn’t deserve to exist. Who abandoned me when I needed even a little support."

The words came out harsh, angry, and Cleopatra paused. She had no idea where that came from. It was almost like the words had escaped her mouth without her thinking about them, pulled from somewhere deep she usually kept locked away.

Ella chuckled faintly, the sound surprisingly warm.

"I’m tired of hating you, Cleopatra," she confessed. "I finally experienced real love with Kyle. There’s no space in my heart for hate anymore."

She knew Cleopatra had lied about Kyle being in danger. Or at least, it wasn’t entirely true. Cleopatra might be crazy, might be capable of terrible things, but she had never directly harmed an innocent person. That was a line she didn’t cross.

"But I also know you won’t go through with this," Ella said, staring her sister right in the eyes. "And that’s why I’m not fighting against it."

Cleopatra scoffed, a harsh sound. She cocked the gun and pointed it directly at Ella’s head, the barrel steady despite the distance between them.

"You think too highly of me, little El-El," Cleopatra said.

The nickname slipped out without thought, and something shifted in the air between them.

A memory hit Cleopatra like a physical blow.

She saw herself at seven years old, crying silently in her room after witnessing something she was too young to understand. Trying to muffle the sound so Ella wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t see her weak. But Ella had woken up anyway. Had padded across the room in her little pajamas. Had wrapped her small arms around Cleopatra without saying a word and fallen asleep there, warm and solid and safe.

And what Cleopatra had seen that night, the thing that made her cry, was their father pulling a trigger on someone in their home. Blood on expensive carpet. The casual way he’d lit a cigar afterward.

"Huh?" Cleopatra’s hand wavered slightly.

Another memory crashed in. Their father screaming at Cleopatra for some perceived failure, his face red with rage. And little Ella stepping between them like a human shield despite being half his size, telling him to stop screaming at her sister. Taking his anger onto herself instead.

More memories flooded in rapid succession.

School. Kids calling her names. "Pale skinned bitch." "Weirdo." "Freak." And then suddenly the bullying stopping a few days later. Ella coming home with bruises she claimed were from falling, but Cleopatra had seen the scraped knuckles, the defensive wounds. Ella had fought them. Multiple kids, probably. Got her ass kicked defending a sister who’d never asked for it.

And then it hit Cleopatra with devastating clarity.

Ella had never abandoned her.

All those years, all those memories Cleopatra had twisted and rewritten to fit her narrative of betrayal and isolation. They were wrong. Ella had been there. Had protected her. Had taken hits meant for her, both literal and figurative.

The abandoned one hadn’t been Cleopatra.

It had been Ella. Abandoned by parents who only saw her as a tool or a burden. Abandoned by a sister who’d turned cold and cruel to survive in a world that rewarded neither warmth nor weakness.

"You don’t know me," Cleopatra said, but her voice lacked its usual certainty.

Ella was waiting. Hoping. Believing somewhere deep down that her sister wasn’t completely a monster, that she could step back from the brink of this leap into something irreversible.

But unfortunately for her, she was wrong.

Cleopatra pulled the trigger.