Forced to be my sisters lover in a reverse world-Chapter 12: do any Sara fans exist?

"And then she started crying 'cause an OnlyFans model rated her pussy a one out of ten," I laughed my ass off as Elara told me the story, something about one of her coworkers trying to get a model to hook up with her.
"Dang, I still can't believe that — seventy dollars for a pussy rating? That's wild..." I said, wiping the pizza sauce from the corner of my mouth with a napkin.
Elara chuckled, shaking her head as she picked up her soda. "Yeah, she paid it anyway. She really thought she had a chance with him... she learned her lesson though — well, I hope at least." She took a sip, her eyes rolling playfully before setting the cup back down.
Then the door to the restaurant swung open with a loud bang, drawing everyone's attention. A tall, broad-shouldered woman stomped inside, her expression twisted with anger. Behind her stumbled a smaller boy — her boyfriend, I guessed — his wrist caught tightly in her grip.
She yanked him forward by the hair, dragging him up to the counter. The whole place went quiet, the hum of conversation fading into uneasy silence. I exchanged a glance with Elara, both of us frozen in disbelief, while even the elderly couple beside us paused mid-bite to stare.
"Here, since you're so hungry, get us something, bitch," the woman snapped, shoving him toward the counter. His stomach hit the edge with a dull thud that made me wince.
"O-One p-pizza..." the boy stammered, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting a slap at any second.
The cashier stood frozen for a moment, clearly unsure what to do, before quietly ringing up the order. "Ten dollars," he said, his voice almost cautious.
The woman dug into her pocket, pulled out her wallet, and slammed a crumpled bill onto the counter so hard the sound echoed through the restaurant. A few people flinched; even the air felt heavier after that.
"At least she had the decency to pay," Elara muttered under her breath, her tone half amused, half uneasy.
"Should we call the cops?" I whispered, taking a sip of my soda to calm my nerves.
Elara's eyes stayed locked on the scene. "No... it'll only make things worse," she said quietly. "People like her always twist it around."
The logic made sense, but it didn't make it any easier to watch. My stomach turned as the boy stood there, shoulders trembling, afraid to even move.
"Damn it," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "I can't just let this slide, Elara."
I pulled my phone out, hesitating — not sure what I'd even do yet, but feeling like I had to do something.
An idea sparked in my head, and I started recording discreetly, making sure the lady wouldn't notice me.
"Jesus Christ, Noah," Elara hissed under her breath beside me. I knew this was going to be so worth it in the end, I’d save his life possibly.
The lady clutched the boy's arm, the one holding his soda cup, and marched him over to the soda fountain. He still looked rattled, his movements jerky. The boy reached for the Coke nozzle, but the lady yanked his hand back, her grip tight on his wrist.
"You drink Pepsi, not Coke," she snapped at him. I had to stifle a laugh—honestly, it was kind of hilarious. She knew him so well that she even knew his soda preference.
As they took their seats, a mix of disappointment and relief tugged at me. I was glad he wasn't being harmed right then, but deep down, I knew the abuse wasn't over. I had to this to the police—having video evidence would make the process smoother and more damning.
Just as I was about to stop recording, a sharp, resounding slap echoed through the restaurant. The woman's hand struck the boy hard across the face, and his sobs immediately followed, raw and heart-wrenching. The sound silenced nearby chatter for a split second. This was it—more than enough to get her arrested.
"Order 71, ready!" the cashier's voice cut through the tension, pulling the boy and the woman's attention toward the counter.
The woman and the boy made their way to the counter. She grabbed the pizza box with one hand and yanked him along with the other. "Let's go, bitch," she spat, dragging him out of the restaurant.
As soon as the door closed behind them, the air shifted — all that tension seemed to vanish in an instant.
"She's definitely getting arrested..." Elara muttered.
I turned off the recording, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. This is solid evidence. I'll send it to the local PD tonight."
The restaurant's energy gradually returned to normal — the low hum of chatter, the clatter from the kitchen, the hiss of the oven. Then, the door chimed again, and this time a mother and her daughter stepped inside, both looking gloomy and depressed.
I hadn't paid much attention at first, but when I looked closer, my stomach tightened. It was Sara and her mother, walking in to have dinner.
I quickly shoved the leftover pizza into the box they had given us. Elara's brow furrowed in confusion.
"What's wrong, Noah?" she asked.
I leaned closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "We need to leave... now. Sara's here."
Before I could process it, Sara plopped down to the table beside us, completely oblivious to our presence as she scrolled through her phone. I glanced at Elara, and we exchanged a subtle nod, a silent agreement passing between us.
We started to get up, thinking for a split second that we might slip away unnoticed. But then Sara's voice cut through the air, low and possessive, her eyes still glued to her screen. "You're mine, Noah."
Elara froze for a heartbeat before snapping. She stomped over to Sara, grabbing the collar of her shirt with a sharp tug. "He's off limits, got it? Only for me. He doesn't want some desperate, stinking loser like you that tried to force herself on him." Her voice was venomous, each word dripping with barely contained rage.
"Noah knows where home is... he promised to marry me, after all," she muttered, her eyes fixed on my sister.
I froze. What was she talking about? I couldn't remember ever promising her anything — except splitting our project in half, and even that wasn't happening anymore.
"First grade. September 28," she said, her voice soft but insistent. "We were playing in the sand. We were practically boyfriend and girlfriend... we even held hands."
"I asked if you wanted to marry me and have kids," she continued, her tone almost wistful. "And you said yes."
Elara's eyes narrowed, and with a sharp movement, she pressed Sara back against the cushion of the seat. "He was made for me," she snapped. "He'd never love you."
"Come on, Noah. Let's go," she said, stepping toward me and clasping my hand tightly — a clear sign we were together.
Sara's voice followed us as we headed for the door. "This isn't over, Elara... he'll come back to me..."
By the time we pushed outside, her words had faded into the background, but the weight of them lingered, a reminder that this confrontation was far from finished.
I slid into the passenger seat of Elara's car, sliding the box of leftover pizza to the back seat. The moment she settled in beside me, she leaned over and pressed her lips to mine — hard, urgent, and full of heat. My breath caught, my chest tightening as the world outside the car seemed to vanish.
"Mine... only fucking mine..." she whispered against my lips, her hot breath sending shivers down my spine as a hard bulge strained against my pants.
We pulled apart, a thin thread of saliva still linking our mouths. Her eyes flicked down to the obvious tent in my jeans, a wicked, hungry smirk curling her lips.
"Gods, I can't fucking wait to get home,"