Shameless, My Sister Stole My Father and My Boyfriend

I am a professional race car driver. Unfortunately. On my twentyfifth birthday, a horrific crash nearly claimed my life. And all because I went behind everyone's back, secretly entering a highstakes illegal street race to win a cash prize for my boyfriend—who had recently declared bankruptcy.

Based on my years of racing experience, I was confident I could take first place. The prize? Three million dollars. More than enough to help him get back on his feet and recover from his financial disaster. But I never expected what happened on the final turn of the last lap.

As I sped toward the finish line, something on the massive LED screen of the luxury hotel perched atop a nearby hill caught my eye. A marriage proposal video. My boyfriend was in it. And he wasn’t proposing to me.

My sister had orchestrated an extravagant display—hundreds of drones painting vibrant fireworks across the daytime sky—to propose to him.

I had risked my life for him, but he was up there, basking in my sister’s love.

For a split second, my grip on the steering wheel faltered. My heart, my mind, my very soul shattered. And in that moment of distraction, my car skidded off the track and hurtled off the cliff’s edge.

As I plummeted, everything made sense. The whispers in his sleep, the soft name he always murmured—Quinn. I had believed he was calling for me. But in truth, he had been dreaming of her all along.

And the bankruptcy? It was a lie. A carefully crafted deception to push me away. Now Luke Mason, you got what you wanted—I’m gone. So why won’t you let me go?

——

The impact was devastating. It felt as though my organs had rearranged themselves. My bones screamed in protest. Pain, excruciating and unrelenting, engulfed me. But none of it compared to the agony that twisted my heart when I saw that proposal video.

Blood soaked my racing suit. My calf bone had shattered, its jagged edge piercing through my skin. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to endure. With sheer willpower, I yanked the broken piece free, the fresh wave of pain nearly knocking me unconscious.

Behind me, flames roared, devouring what was left of my car. Fingers trembling, nails torn and bloodied, I clawed my way out of the wreckage. Then, everything went dark.

Memories flickered through my mind like scenes from a cruel movie. The dazzling display of fireworks. Luke’s gentle smile. My sister’s tearful joy. And that name—Quinn. My surname. But not meant for me.

I had been nothing but a standin. A poor imitation of the woman he truly loved. I had risked everything for him—entered a deadly race, put my life on the line—all while he stood atop that hill, proposing to someone else in the grandest way possible. I was nothing to him.

I don’t know how long I lay there. Maybe hours. Maybe days. But eventually, I forced myself to move. Limping. Crawling. Using every ounce of strength I had left. For half a month, I struggled to make my way back home.

When I finally stood in front of my apartment, my body was battered, but my heart felt emptier than ever.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door. A thick wave of dust greeted me. Silence. The place was abandoned.

Once, this had been our little haven. Every piece of furniture, every decoration—we had chosen together. A framed photograph still hung on the wall. In it, we were smiling, our faces filled with love and promise. Now, the room felt lifeless. Cold. Devoid of warmth.

My chest tightened as I turned away. I ran downstairs, searching for a public phone booth. With shaking hands, I dialed Luke’s number.

“Duu—duu—”

The waiting tone stretched endlessly, each ring carving into me like a dull blade. No answer. I hung up. Dialed again. Still nothing. A familiar voice broke through my haze of despair.

“Ah, you’re back!” Aunt Wendy, my elderly neighbor, greeted me cheerfully as she returned from the market.

Desperate, I turned to her. “Auntie, have you seen Luke recently?”

She frowned, shaking her head. “Luke? No, dear. He hasn’t been around for quite some time.”

A cold, bitter laugh bubbled in my throat. He had already moved on. Disappeared. I had survived. Dragged myself from the brink of death. And for what? Clutching the last few bills in my pocket, I bought a new phone and a SIM card. Because one thing was clear—I wasn’t done yet.

Logging into the social media platform, I braced myself, expecting to see countless messages from Luke. He would ask where I had been, worry about my wellbeing, beg me to come back. But there was nothing. Not a single message.

Even if I had died, I doubted he would have cared. Like a madwoman, I scrolled through my feed, desperate for anything, any sign that he still thought of me. And then—I found it.

A post from my sister. A photo. The backdrop was breathtaking—the majestic, golden glow of the Snowy Mountains at sunrise. And beside her stood a familiar figure, his back turned to the camera. Luke.

The caption read.

[Thank you for remembering my original wish after so many years!]

My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. I had told him—countless times—that I wanted him to take me to see the Snowy Mountains. He would always brush it off, saying he was too busy with work, that he didn’t have time.

Turns out, it wasn’t about time. It was about who he wanted to see the Snowy Mountains with. And that person had never been me.

With trembling fingers, I typed out a message to him. Accusations, pain, betrayal—I poured my heart into it. Every word a wound. Every sentence a cry for the love he had so easily cast aside. Then, one by one, I deleted them all. What was the point?

In the end, only one line remained:

[Let's break up. Where should I leave your things?]

Almost instantly, he replied.

[Are you sure you want to break up? Then as you wish.]

No hesitation. No explanation. Just cold, indifferent words. Not even the slightest attempt to make me stay. Because his true love had returned and I was nothing more than an unwanted afterthought.

My phone buzzed with new messages. This time, it wasn’t him. It was my racing team.

[Lyra Quinn, where have you been?]

[Why haven’t we been able to reach you?]

[Are you alright? Please reply!]

I stared at the messages through blurred vision, my tears threatening to spill over again. Their concern, their worry—it was like a ray of sunlight in the middle of winter.But the one person I had needed it from the most had been too stingy to give me even a shred of warmth. I let out a bitter laugh.

Once, we had been happy. He would hold me close and call me baby over and over again. He would cook for me, even if it was just a simple plate of scrambled eggs and tomatoes. When I got hurt during training, he would cradle me in his arms, kissing my wounds as if he could take the pain away.

“Baby, don’t push yourself so hard. I can’t bear to see you hurt.” His eyes back then had been full of love. Or so I thought.

I wanted to make his life easier. I wanted to support him so he wouldn’t have to bear everything alone.

But the harder I worked, the more impatient he became. He didn’t like me racing. Said it was too dangerous. Said he didn’t want me to get hurt. Said he would take care of me, that I didn’t need to push myself so hard. But he forgot something important. Racing wasn’t just a job to me. It was my dream. The dream I had cherished since I was a child. I loved him, but I also loved racing.

The final argument between us came without warning. He came home late, exhausted. He tossed a bank card onto the table in front of me.

“Lyra, I’m broke. We have no money. Stop racing. I can’t afford to support you anymore.”

I froze. Stared at him. And for the first time, something inside me went cold. He had forgotten that I made money from racing. That I had never once asked him for anything. He had never been the one supporting me. I had been the one supporting him.

Even more painful than his lies was the truth he refused to see— I never wanted his money. I only ever wanted his support. I hadn’t told him that I secretly entered that private racing competition. I wanted to win. I wanted to prove that I was strong enough, that I could take care of myself and him.

That prize money—it wasn’t for me. It was for him, to help him rebuild his business, to give him another chance. And then I crashed off a cliff. The team didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t even care if I lived or died. All he cared about was getting rid of the burden I had become—the dead weight that stood in the way of his happiness.

The funniest thing? He cried about being broke.And yet, that diamond ring, those flowers, the extravagant snowy mountain proposal—every single thing he gave her cost money. His socalled bankruptcy was nothing more than an excuse. An excuse to discard me.

I could no longer hold back the tears burning behind my eyes. They spilled down my face as I dragged my broken body to the one place I had once called home—Dad’s house. I needed comfort. A sliver of warmth. Anything. But the door wasn’t opened by Dad. It was his exwife—my sister’s mother.

The moment she saw me, disgust filled her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Dad appeared behind her, his brows furrowing as he looked me up and down.

"Lyra, why do you look like this? What happened?"

I opened my mouth, but I had no words.

"Why did you come back so suddenly? Haven’t you always preferred roaming free? What are you doing here now?"

Dad’s voice was cold. Distant.

"It’s not because you found out your sister is back and want to fight over the family inheritance, is it?"

His exwife’s voice was laced with mockery. My heart turned to ice.So that’s how they saw me. Not as family. Not as Dad’s daughter. Just an outsider. A threat. They forgot that I was also his flesh and blood. They forgot that after my mother died, I had been left alone, aching for even a shred of love.

I took a deep breath, forcing my emotions down, pushing away the lump in my throat.

"I just came to check on you. That’s all."

I turned around and walked away. I didn’t want to stay a second longer. I was afraid I would break. Afraid that I would cry and beg them—beg them to love me, even just a little. Just as I reached the door, I froze. Luke and my sister. They were standing there, hand in hand. He was dressed in a tailored suit. She wore a flowing white dress. They looked perfect together. Happy. Like they belonged.

My mind went blank. My feet felt like they were nailed to the ground. Luke’s gaze flickered away from mine, guilt flashing in his eyes.

"Lyra…" His voice was dry, hesitant.

Before he could say anything more, my sister let go of his hand and rushed toward me.

She wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight.

"Lyra, it’s been so long. Are you alright?"

Her voice was gentle. Full of concern. My body trembled. The tears I had been holding back slipped silently down my cheeks.

"Luke! Nancy Quinn! You’re back!". Dad’s voice rang out, filled with warmth and excitement—the kind of warmth he had never given me.

"Come in, come in! I made all your favorite dishes!". His exwife—my sister’s mother—clutched Luke’s arm with one hand, while the other held onto my sister.

The four of them. Smiling. Laughing. Like a real family. And me? I stood at the threshold. An abandoned orphan. It was then that I realized the cruelest truth of all. Dad had known all along. He had known about Luke and my sister. And he had never once thought to tell me.

Everyone knew. Everyone except me. I was the only fool left in the dark, the only one who didn't see the joke—the cruel, twisted joke that was my life. I turned to leave, swallowing down the humiliation clawing at my throat.

"Lyra, you came all this way. Stay for dinner, at least."

My sister's voice was as gentle as ever, as if she hadn't just shattered my world.

"Yes, Lyra," Dad chimed in, though his tone felt more like an empty gesture than genuine care. "You’re already here. You might as well eat before you go."

Eat? I wasn’t sure I could even breathe properly, let alone swallow food. But I stayed. Because I wasn’t done. Not yet. I needed to hear it from Luke’s own lips. The dining table was set with an array of dishes, a feast laid out like a celebration. Braised pork. Steamed fish. Sweet and sour spare ribs. Every dish—my sister’s favorite. Not a single thing I liked.

Luke sat beside her, his every movement filled with tenderness as he piled food onto her plate.

"Smiley, eat more. You’re too thin," he murmured, his voice dripping with affection.

She smiled sweetly, picking up a piece of braised pork and placing it in his bowl.

"You eat too, Luke. You’ve been working so hard."

They acted as if I weren’t even there. As if I were nothing more than a shadow in the background. Then my sister pulled out her phone, scrolling through her photo album before turning the screen toward me.

"Lyra, look! This was taken at the snowy mountains. Isn’t it beautiful?"

In the photo, Luke had his arm around her, his smile beaming as they stood against a backdrop of snowcapped peaks. So breathtaking. So blinding. I felt something twist violently inside me. My stomach lurched. I bolted from the table, barely making it to the bathroom before collapsing to my knees. I retched, but there was nothing left inside me to throw up—only empty, gutwrenching heaves that wracked my body.

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the bitter bile in my throat. A shadow loomed at the doorway. Luke. His expression was unreadable as he stared at me, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

"What’s wrong?" His voice was softer than before. Almost... cautious. "Are you pregnant?"

Pregnant? The word sent a shudder through me. I hadn’t had my period in a long time.

My heart sank, cold dread creeping into my veins. Could I really be…? I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to feel

Just as I struggled to find my voice, another presence appeared.

"Luke? What’s wrong?", My sister’s voice.

She walked up beside him, slipping her arm through his possessively, her eyes wary—like she was claiming her territory. Her gaze flickered to me, sharp and searching. I clenched my fists, something inside me snapping. I couldn’t do this anymore.

"Sister," I whispered, my voice shaking, "Did you know that Luke was my boyfriend?"

Her body stiffened. The warmth in her expression faded, replaced by a flicker of something else. Something unreadable.

"You always act so noble. How could you take your own sister’s boyfriend?" My voice cracked, my vision blurred by fresh tears. For a moment, my sister looked pale—shocked. She took a step back, shaking her head.

"Lyra, what… what are you saying?". Her voice trembled, laced with panic. "I didn’t know. I really didn’t know…". She covered her face with her hands and turned, running toward the bedroom.

With a loud bang, the door slammed shut. From inside, muffled sobs echoed through the house. Then came the storm. Dad’s face twisted in anger as he stormed toward me.

"Lyra! What did you say to your sister?!". His voice was sharp, filled with fury. "Did you bully her again?!"

His wife—my sister’s mother—pointed an accusing finger at me.

"You wretched girl! Ever since you came back, this house has been nothing but chaos!"

Luke took a step forward, his eyes now cold and full of warning. "Lyra, watch your mouth.". His voice was low, but the threat in it was unmistakable. "No matter what happens, if you dare tell Nancy anything else… I won’t let you go."

I stared at him, my heart twisting like a knife plunged deep into my chest.

"Luke, how on earth do you plan on keeping me?" I lifted my head, locking eyes with him. "Are you going to kill me?"

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips before I continued. "Or... are you just going to throw me away like garbage?". My voice was hoarse, raw with desperation. I needed to know. I needed to understand what I truly meant to him. But he refused to answer.

From the other room, my sister's sobs rang out, her cries shaking the walls.

"I'm sorry, Lyra... I didn't know... I really didn't know..."

She repeated it over and over, her voice trembling with grief. The sharp sound of her palm striking her own cheek echoed through the house. Slap. Slap. Again and again. Dad and Nancy's mother were devastated, their voices thick with concern as they rushed to console her.

"Nancy , it's not your fault. Don’t do this to yourself..."

"It's that cursed girl! She just couldn’t stand to see you happy!"

They surrounded her, comforting her, pampering her, treating her like the most fragile thing in the world. And me? I stood alone in the living room, an outsider in my own home.

I reached into my pocket, fingers trembling and pulled out the pregnancy test I had secretly bought.

Holding my breath, I took the test. Two bars. Bright. Red. Unmistakable. I was pregnant. I was really pregnant. I stared at the results, my lips curling into a laugh—harsh, bitter, broken. Tears spilled down my face as I laughed harder.

Fine. If they wanted to put on a show, then I would play along. Let’s see how long they can keep up this act. Let’s see how my sister plans to continue playing the innocent victim.