The Cost Of Her Fake Virginity

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My sister went home with her boyfriend every single night, yet she never once worried about birth control.

When I finally asked her why, her answer made my blood run cold. She was using the back doora desperate, reckless loophole to preserve her technical virginity.

I tried to warn her. I told her that the body wasnt designed for that kind of constant trauma, that she was courting infection and permanent damage. I told her that in this day and age, a man who truly loved her wouldn't care about a piece of tissue or a "pure" status.

In my first life, she actually listened. She stopped.

But later, after she and that boyfriend broke up, our mother orchestrated a match with a billionaires heir. On their wedding night, because there was no "bloom on the sheets," the groom turned on her instantly. By the next morning, the scandal was the talk of every high-society gala in the city.

Ruined and humiliated, my sister didnt blame the man or our mothers archaic obsession. She blamed me.

She pinned me down, her face twisted with a primal, jagged hatred, and forced my head into a pot of screaming, boiling water.

"Its your fault," she hissed as the steam scorched my lungs. "If I were still 'pure,' Id be the queen of this city. No one would be laughing at me!"

Then, the world went black.

When I opened my eyes, I was back on that humid afternoon, sitting on the velvet sofa, listening to her brag about her secret for the very first time.

"Jade, seriously, stop worrying. Im not going to get pregnant. Every time Im with Kyle, we... well, we stay off the main road, if you know what I mean."

Bridget shifted on the cushion, a playful, cat-like smirk on her lips.

Looking at her face, I felt a phantom surge of agony, the memory of boiling water scalding my throat. It took every ounce of my willpower to keep my hands from shaking. I took a slow breath and forced a smile.

"Wow," I whispered. "Thats... actually really clever of you."

Bridget leaned in, eager to play the mentor. "Im telling you, Jade, a man can get just as much pleasure that way. You cant keep listening to Moms 'Victorian Era' lectures. Its the twenty-first century. Chasing the high is all that matters." She paused, her eyes scanning my plain sweater with pity. "Maybe thats why you cant keep a boyfriend. Youre too repressed."

I just smiled.

The only reason Bridget was acting so smug was that Kyle, her current flame, was my ex. We had been together for two years. He broke up with me because I refused to sleep with him before I felt ready.

Three days after the breakup, he and Bridget went public on Instagram.

It wasn't until I went to Kyles apartment to pack the last of my things that I realized they had been hooking up long before we ended. The neighbors told me they could hear Bridgets theatrics from two floors away.

At the time, my first instinct wasn't even angerit was fear. I was terrified of what would happen if Mom found out.

Our father died young, leaving Dianeour motherto raise us alone. She was a "Social Consultant" for the ultra-wealthy, a high-end matchmaker who navigated the complex waters of old-money families. Dealing with that echelon of society had hardened her. She knew exactly what those men looked for in a wife.

To them, "purity" wasn't a moral virtue; it was a luxury brand.

"Marriage is your second chance at birth," Mom used to say, her voice like cold steel. "These men might talk about being progressive, but in their hearts, they want a woman who hasn't been touched. Don't you dare lower your market value, or don't bother calling me Mother."

In my previous life, I had spent days agonized over whether to tell Mom about Bridgets behavior. But when Id confronted Bridget, shed laughed and told me she was still a "virgin" because of her little workaround.

Back then, I had been a fool. I was worried about her health. As someone with a nursing degree, I knew the risks. I knew the muscles back there weren't meant for that kind of repetitive, violent strain. I knew about the potential for incontinence, the tearing, the permanent scarring.

I had given her a lecture on anatomy. I had told her, "Someone who loves you won't ask you to hurt yourself. If you want to explore your sexuality, do it the right way. If a man cares about a hymen, hes not worth itand even if it mattered that much, there are surgeries for that."

Bridgets eyes had lit up at the mention of surgery. She had changed her habits immediately.

But then came the billionaires son. Even with the surgery, the "evidence" wasn't there on the wedding night. And when the marriage imploded, she decided it was my advice that had ruined her life.

This time, I looked at her and felt nothing but a cold, hollow space where my sisterly love used to be.

"But doesn't that... hurt?" I asked, feigning concern. "Ive heard it can cause real damage. Infections, tearing..."

Bridget rolled her eyes, golden highlights catching the light. "Not if youre careful. Besides, Jade, I think Im just built differently. Kyle says Im like a siren. I even get... 'wet' back there."

I knew Kyle was lying to her. That area doesn't have secretory glands. If there was fluid, it meant one thing: inflammation. Or worse.

The realization gave me a dark, flicking sense of satisfaction.

"Is that why Kyle is so obsessed with you?" I asked, looking down as if I were envious. Meanwhile, under the coffee table, I opened a burner account on an adult boutique site. I found Kyles profilehe was a frequent browser of "specialty" toys.

I sent him a direct message from the shops account: [Hey handsome, looking for some new gear? Disguised shipping, top-tier quality.]

Bridget noticed my "sadness" and her ego puffed up. She had always loved stealing things from meclothes, attention, boyfriends. "Of course it is. But don't get any ideas, Jade. Youre not the type. Kyle has tasted the best now; hed never go back to someone as vanilla as you. You should probably just move on."

I lowered my head, playing the part of the defeated sister perfectly.

My phone buzzed. Kyle had replied. He was interested in some of the more... aggressive, oversized equipment. I recommended a few "heavy-duty" items, processed his payment, and placed the order for local same-day delivery.

A moment later, Bridgets phone chimed. She looked at the screen and her face went scarlet.

She stood up abruptly, grabbing her Prada bag. "Anyway, I have to go. Kyles waiting. And remembernot a word to Mom."

Bridget didn't come home that night.

When she crawled back the next morning, she walked with a pronounced, gingerly limp.

Over the next week, Kyle became my best customer on the burner account. He ordered increasingly "experimental" toys. And every day, Bridgets posture became more distorted, her face paler.

I knew she couldn't take much more of this. I just didn't realize how quickly the breaking point would come.

On a rainy Saturday, Bridget grabbed my arm, her voice a trembling whisper. "Jade... I think Im torn. Im bleeding."

I kept my voice flat, clinical. "Where?"

"You know where." She looked around frantically, then locked the bedroom door. She dropped her leggings, and I had to suppress a gag. It was a mess of bruising and raw tissue.

"Should I go to the hospital?" she sobbed. "Every time I sneeze, I... I can't hold it in. Things just... leak."

The revulsion was almost physical now. "The hospital?" I frowned. "Do you want Mom to find out? You know she has friends in every clinic in the city. If she hears her 'perfect daughter' has been doing this, shell disown you before the lab results are in."

Mom had been getting suspicious lately because of Bridget's frequent absences.

"Then what do I do?" Bridget cried.

I shrugged. "It doesn't look that bad. Just go to a pharmacy, get some over-the-counter cream and some heavy-duty pads. Just keep it quiet."

She was too embarrassed to even go to a clinic. She ended up ordering random ointments online, slathering herself in chemicals that probably only made the inflammation worse.

Once the initial pain subsided, she went right back to Kyle. But the damage was done. The muscles were shot.

And then, she started to smell. A faint, unmistakable scent of rot and waste that she tried to drown in expensive Chanel perfume.

Finally, the day arrived.

Mom burst through the door, her face glowing with the kind of predatory joy she only felt when a massive commission was in sight.

"Bridget! Get dressed. Were going to dinner with the Steven-Vane family. Their son, Pierce, is home from London. Hes a billionaire twice over in his own right, Ivy League, and perfectly disciplined." Mom patted Bridgets cheek, oblivious to the way her daughter winced. "He has only one requirement for a wife: she must be 'untarnished.' Bridget, your golden ticket is finally here."

I expected Bridget to jump at it. In my last life, she had.

But this time, she turned pale. "Mom... I can't."

Mom and I both froze.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Moms voice dropped an octave, dangerous and low. "Marriage is a business, Bridget. Youve complained your whole life that I didn't give you enough. Well, here is the world on a silver platter."

Bridget folded her arms over her stomach. "I have a boyfriend. I love Kyle."

"Break up with him," Mom snapped. "Wait... you didn't, did you? You didn't let that low-life touch you?"

Bridgets face went white. "No! Of course not, Mom. Im just... Im not ready to get married. Why don't you send Jade? Let her go to the dinner."

Mom turned to me, her gaze sweeping over me with pure, unadulterated disdain. "Jade? Do you think shes even in his league? Shed be a charity case."

The words stung like a needle to the heart. It wasn't new, but the casual cruelty of it never stopped hurting.

Mom treated me like a prisoner of war; she treated Bridget like a prize thoroughbred.

If I didn't finish my homework, shed shred my books. If Bridget didn't finish hers, she got a gentle reminder. If I broke a dish, I was forced to kneel on the cold kitchen tiles for hours. If Bridget broke one, it was just an accident.

I used to wonder if I was even her biological child. Id even done a DNA test in secret once I turned eighteen. The results were clear: I was hers.

In my previous life, as I lay dying from the boiling water, Mom hadn't even looked at my mangled face. She had only reached out to check if Bridgets hands were burnt.

Id used my last breath to ask why she hated me so much.

Shed looked at me with boredom. "I don't hate you. Youre just sensitive and small-minded. Bridget never complains about my 'favoritism.' Maybe the problem is you."

But I knew the real reason. Bridget was beautiful. Beauty was a resource, a currency. Mom had bet everything on Bridgets face, and she wasn't about to let her investment go to waste.

Despite her fury, Mom didn't force the issue that night. She couldn't risk Bridget showing up to a dinner looking miserable.

But she didn't want the opportunity to slip away. So, she dragged me to see Pierce instead.

"Don't you dare mention your past dating life," Mom hissed in the car. "Youre already starting at a disadvantage with those looks. If you act like a slut, hell smell it on you."

Sometimes I wondered if Mom was blind. Bridget was the one sneaking out every night, and I was the one who never missed a curfew, yet she still saw me as the "loose" one.

Surprisingly, Pierce didn't seem to care about my "average" looks.

Id had a bad impression of him in my last life because of the way hed treated Bridget after the wedding night. But meeting him now, away from the drama, I realized he was actually... decent. Polished, well-traveled, and intelligent.

His obsession with "purity" was purely a result of his familys archaic expectations. He held himself to the same standardhe was a virgin himself, a rarity in his world.

We actually clicked. We went on several dates. He was a gentleman.

For a fleeting moment, I wondered if my rebirth wasn't just about revenge. Maybe it was about a second chance at happiness. Maybe being with Pierce was the life I was supposed to have.

But then, the hammer dropped.

The moment Pierce asked to make things official and move toward an engagement, Bridget dumped Kyle.

She saw Pierces photo on my phone. She saw the designer bags hed bought me. And she decided she wanted him.

One night, after a long "private talk" with Mom, the decision was made.

The next morning, Mom sat me down. "You need to break up with Pierce. Bridget is going to be with him now."

It felt like a physical blow. "Are you serious? Is she actually pathological? She stole Kyle, and now that Pierce is actually a good man, she wants him too? Is she addicted to being the 'other woman' in my life?"

Slap.

The force of Moms hand sent my head spinning.

"Bridget is your sister! How dare you speak of her like that? This match was always meant for her. You were just a placeholder. Youre the one who tried to steal what belonged to her."

My cheek burned, but the fire in my chest was hotter. That slap killed the last lingering shred of love I had for my mother.

"Fine," I spat, my voice trembling with rage. "If she wants him, she can try. But Pierce isn't Kyle. Hes not a dog who follows whoever has the best treats."

I grabbed my bag and ran out of the house.

I spent the day wandering the city, my mind a blur of past and present trauma. I told myself Pierce would stay loyal. He wasn't like the others.

But a few hours later, my phone rang. It was Pierce.

"Jade," he said, his voice sounding clipped, professional. "We need to end this."

The pain was so sharp I couldn't breathe. "Why? Is it because of Bridget?"

There was a long silence. Then, he spoke with the chilling pragmatism of his class. "Jade, youre a smart woman. You know how this works. In my world, a wife is a reflection of her husband. Bridget is... well, shes a masterpiece. If all other factors are equal, Im going to choose the superior aesthetic."

"Im sorry. Ill send a settlement for your time. But please, don't make this difficult. Let's remain 'friends.'"

Friends.

I hung up and smashed my phone against the pavement. I leaned against a brick wall and sobbed until my throat was raw.

When I finally pulled myself together, I took out my backup tablet to start deleting the photos of us. I scrolled through the cloud, my eyes blurry.

Then, I stopped. I saw a folder I hadn't noticed before.

Within minutes, my despair vanished, replaced by a cold, jagged smile.

If they wanted to play this game, Id make sure they felt every single move.