For eighteen years, I lived as the Ashford family’s son, the heir apparent. Then the real son came back. And he set his sights on me. I looked at Ethan Miller, fresh from some small town upstate. His clothes were simple, plain even, but his face? Anything but ordinary. Those cool, almond-shaped eyes were calm, intelligent. He managed to impress the usual crowd of trust-fund kids with just a few quiet words. Mr. and Mrs. Ashford – Dad and Mom, as I used to call them – praised him too. Said that even though he grew up poor, he still had that unmistakable Ashford grace. It was laughable, really. They had no idea their precious biological son snuck into my room every night. Like a stray dog you couldn't shoo away. 1. My eighteenth birthday party. That’s when Ethan Miller showed up, stunning everyone. The resemblance to Mr. and Mrs. Ashford was uncanny. And to top it off, he’d scored number one in the country on his SATs, personally recruited by the dean of a top university. My parents took his hands. Their smiles were warm, satisfied in a way I’d never seen directed at me. "This is our son, the one who was lost to us," Mrs. Ashford announced. "He didn't have our guidance, but he’s turned out exceptionally well." The pride in her voice was a stark contrast to the usual বিরক্ত annoyance I received. All eyes turned to me, standing on the staircase. Suddenly, I felt like a pathetic clown. I tried to hold my head high, telling myself it didn't matter. Ethan didn't look intimidated like I expected. Dressed simply, he carried himself with a quiet confidence. He looked up at me, offered a small smile, and congratulated me on turning eighteen. But today was his eighteenth birthday too. A birthday he’d spent the last eighteen years in obscurity because I, the imposter, had taken his place. I tried to force a smile, walk down to him, calmly state that I was the one who belonged, the one raised as their son. But even fate seemed to despise me. A nearby champagne tower chose that exact moment to crash down. Champagne drenched me, sticking my hair to my face, dripping stickily from my chin. Utterly humiliating. Ethan offered me a napkin, his hand steady, the overhead lights catching the angles of his face, making him seem almost radiant. I heard the whispers around me. “No wonder he always acted out, none of the Ashford class.” “Serves him right.” “Always knew something was off.” I looked at his clear eyes, then at the undisguised disgust on my parents' faces. Shoving his hand away, I snarled, "Get lost! I don’t need your fake sympathy!" The crow had shown its ragged feathers. The swan, by contrast, looked even purer, more noble. Everything was ruined. My eighteenth birthday. 2. My spectacular meltdown became the talk of the party. Humiliated, I went out drinking. My best friend, Ryan, watched me with an amused smirk. "This isn't like you, Alex," he said. "So some kid from the sticks shows up? Even if he is the real Ashford heir, so what?" He had a point. The Ashfords had invested eighteen years in raising me. They didn't love me, not really, but they wouldn't waste that investment easily. Not until they were sure Ethan could bring them tangible benefits. They wouldn't kick me out just yet. I downed my drink, the alcohol burning my throat, staining my lips red. Ryan watched me, his gaze lingering on my mouth for a fraction too long. Suddenly, a drunk guy stumbled towards me, grabbing my chin. "Well, look what we have here," he slurred. "Pretty thing like you should have a drink with me." His fingers moved towards my lips. I frowned, annoyed. "Get lost if you don't want trouble." He scoffed. "Do you know who I am? Don't be stuck up. I tell you to drink, you drink." I almost laughed. The moment my fake identity was exposed, every nobody thought they could take a shot at me, humiliate the fallen prince. I tilted my head, a small, dangerous smile playing on my lips. "Have a drink, you say?" Expressionless, I picked up his glass and moved to smash it over his head. But a hand intercepted mine. The glass shattered, shards embedding themselves in a forearm covered by a white shirt sleeve. Ethan. He calmly picked out the glass, dabbing at the blood with a napkin, his eyes catching the dim bar lights. "Mother asked me to bring you home," he said, his voice even. Everyone stared. Amidst the bar's usual chaos, he looked so clean-cut, almost vulnerable, like a rabbit thrown to wolves. The drunk guy, emboldened by alcohol and maybe Ethan’s looks, grabbed Ethan’s arm, then reached for me again. "How much to have both of you for the night?" Caught off guard, I stumbled forward, right towards the scattered shards of broken glass on the floor. My face— 3. Ethan grabbed my other arm, yanking me sideways. Instead of falling onto the glass, I landed on my knees. Directly in front of him. Just like at the party, he looked down at me calmly, making me feel like a fool all over again. I clenched my fists. Getting up, I undid the top two buttons of my shirt. "Hey, asshole," I called to the drunk. He blinked at me blearily. "You want to pay for me, right? So, who’s better looking? Me or him?" Ethan frowned, probably finding the whole scene pathetic. But my pride was raw. I refused to be second best to him, not here, not anywhere. The drunk looked back and forth between us. I leaned closer to the drunk, lowering my voice, adding a smirk. "What's wrong? Don't I look good enough?" Ever since the truth came out, the rivals I grew up with loved using my looks as a weapon against me. "Even if you're not an Ashford heir, Alex, you could always make a living standing on a street corner, hahaha!" Their sneering echoed in my mind. I wouldn't back down. I grabbed the drunk's tie, pulling him closer. Today, I needed to win this stupid comparison. Ryan grabbed my arm. "Alex, stop it! Your father will hear about this and be furious." People were staring, their eyes drifting towards my open collar. Ethan stepped in front of me, blocking their view. "Come home with me." His voice was cool, detached, like he was dealing with a child throwing a tantrum over a toy. I scoffed, suddenly losing interest. "Forget it. Let's go." I released the drunk's tie, my face blank. "If I hear one word about tonight gets out," I warned the onlookers, my voice low and cold, "remember I'm still an Ashford, for now. And I won't let it go." Ethan followed me silently out of the bar. The cool night air hit my exposed chest, making me shiver. His quiet voice came from behind me. "Button your shirt." I ignored him, pulling the collar wider. I turned to retort, but hands shot out from behind, gripping my neck. Suddenly, his face was inches from mine, those cool eyes intense. He stared at the skin revealed by my open shirt, his gaze finally settling on my lips. A strange feeling fluttered in my chest. I pushed him away, eyeing him suspiciously. "What, are you into guys?" 4. Ethan didn’t answer. He just pulled me towards a nearby convenience store and bought antiseptic wipes and bandages. My mind was racing, annoyed with myself. Why had I acted so crazy back there? What was wrong with me tonight? I snapped back to reality. Ethan was kneeling in front of me. I stopped his hand. "What are you doing?" "Your knee," he said calmly. "You scraped it on some glass." I looked at him, then at the antiseptic. I'd assumed he bought it for his own arm. "You don't actually like me, do you?" I asked again, suspicious. This guy was weird. I’d stolen his life, his fortune, yet here he was, patching up my knee, claiming Mrs. Ashford sent him – a woman who couldn't care less if I lived or died. I brushed his hand away, lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling between us. "Look, whatever your game is, I don't care about the Ashford money or status anymore. You don't need to watch me or test me." Ever since they brought me into this house at eight years old, I knew they only cared about value and profit. I never expected genuine affection. His face blurred behind the smoke. I felt a wave of exhaustion. "You're good enough," I told him tiredly. "But you better stay this good. Because the Ashfords will drop you just as easily if you stop being useful." Ethan picked up a fresh wipe. "Are you tired?" he asked softly. I didn't answer for a moment. Then, a quiet sound escaped me. "Yeah." I wasn't raised by them from the start. Before I turned eight, I lived with my grandma in her small house out in the country. The scent of lilacs filled the air. That was my last real memory of peace. And there was the little kid who always followed me around, calling me "Alex! Alex!" I rubbed my temples. Tonight had dredged up too many feelings. I felt this crazy longing for everything I'd lost. Just then, my phone rang. It was City General Hospital, miles away. The doctor’s voice was clinical. My grandma was dead. 5. I begged the Ashfords to go see her. Just to pay respects. Even just to see her remains. They were dressed impeccably, ready for some gala, dripping in expensive jewelry. Mr. Ashford’s parting words were ice cold. "She's dead, so what? This party tonight is worth millions." Beneath the polished surface, pure, chilling indifference. I mocked myself silently. I knew it was hopeless, why did I even ask? I got on the plane alone. Just like when I was eight, brought back to this cold house, my small, childish face reflected in the window. Still alone. Grandma was my only anchor. Now she was gone, there was no reason left for me to stay with the Ashfords. The seat next to me was suddenly occupied. Ethan. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his breathing slightly ragged, like he’d run to catch the flight. "Why are you on this flight?" I asked, startled. He looked out the window, then murmured, "It’s kind of like how I imagined it when I was a kid." He'd just returned to the Ashfords. I couldn't fathom why he'd follow me to see my grandma. "What are you talking about? Are you following me?" The plane started to move. I looked at Ethan’s perpetually calm face and felt a surge of irritation. "Are you deaf? You keep showing up out of nowhere, saying nothing." If the Ashfords weren't so calculating, I'd almost suspect he wasn't their real son at all. He always seemed to have some hidden motive. I was about to press him further when the plane lurched violently. Turbulence. Severe turbulence. We were crashing. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Ethan was in the same hospital. A nurse told me he was still in the ICU. If the Ashfords found out I'd dragged their precious son into this mess... I didn't want to think about it. I walked over to the window overlooking his room. Another nurse stopped me. "You know him, right?" she asked, gesturing towards Ethan’s still form. I nodded. She pulled out a worn photograph. The boy in it looked strikingly like me, maybe five or six years younger. "We found this in his clothes. Looked like you. When they brought him in, covered in blood, he kept telling us to save you first." I stared at the photo. It was me. Me, before I turned eight. How... how did he have a picture of me from my childhood? 6. The photo was clearly me as a little kid. But I didn't remember ever having that picture taken. I didn't even have photos with Grandma from back then. Where did Ethan get it? He definitely had a hidden agenda. Ethan and I spent months recovering in the hospital. Once we were well enough, we went back to Grandma's little house. It looked just like I remembered. Our old neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was much older now. When he saw us walk into the yard, his eyes lit up with faint recognition. "Alex? Is that you?" His gaze was hazy, uncertain. Then he looked at Ethan behind me, hesitating. "And you... you're..." Mr. Henderson's son came out of the house then, interrupting him, saying his dad got confused easily these days. I smiled politely, shaking my head. But inside, the strange feeling grew stronger. I hadn't changed that much since I was eight, but Mr. Henderson recognized me instantly. Yet he seemed unsure about Ethan. There was definitely something I didn't know. I glanced sideways at Ethan. Was this guy really the Ashford heir? I went into Grandma's room. Looking at the simple, dusty furniture, fragments of memory returned. I was sent here right after I was born. My parents – the Ashfords – even though they didn't know I wasn't theirs biologically back then, had still basically abandoned me for their ambition and money. Grandma was already old. Besides the checks they sent occasionally, she didn't have much energy to look after me. I grew up wild, mostly alone. The first word I learned wasn't 'Mom' or 'Dad' or even 'Grandma'. It was 'cat'. There was a white cat that always slept under a big tree nearby. I’d sit there, dirty and small, holding the cat, trying to make sounds. 'Cat' was the word I practiced for a year. Until I met him. He was even dirtier than me. When I first saw him, he was holding the white cat, a fierce look on his face. I thought he was going to hurt it, so I ran up and punched him. He immediately burst into tears. I stood there awkwardly. The other kids in the area avoided me. I didn't know how to talk to kids my own age. What finally broke the ice was a piece of candy that fell out of my pocket. He was an orphan from nearby. His parents used to beat him. Then they died in an accident, leaving him alone. He drifted around, surviving somehow. He told me he didn't know his name. I didn't talk much either, so I just started calling him 'Buddy'. He only ever called me 'Alex'. For those eight years of my life, Buddy was more present than Grandma ever was. I wonder... is he still alive? 7. After visiting Grandma's empty house, we returned to the Ashfords. They threw a huge party to formally introduce Ethan as their son. I watched him, now the center of attention, a faint smile on my lips. Ryan appeared beside me, his eyes scanning my face. "You can still smile? Alex, we grew up with these guys." He gestured towards the crowd surrounding Ethan. "Now look at them, all kissing up to him." I shrugged, genuinely indifferent. "So what? I don't care about anything the Ashfords have." Ryan paused. "Anything? What about... me?" I didn't quite catch that. I leaned closer, asking him what he said, my cheek brushing against his lips. We both froze. Ryan's eyes flickered with something unspoken. He seemed about to say more, but Ethan walked over, interrupting us. "Someone's looking for you," Ethan said to Ryan. Ryan walked away. I stared at the wine glass in Ethan's hand, a knowing look in my eyes. "Having fun tonight?" I asked him lightly. He nodded curtly. "It's fine." Good. Because tonight was going to get interesting. After the party, I headed back to my room, but made a detour towards Ethan's. He was the new golden boy now. The other rich kids were being polite to his face, but I knew they wouldn't let an outsider steal their spotlight without a fight. As I approached his door, it swung open suddenly. A hand shot out and pulled me inside. 8. "Are you crazy? Let me go!" Ethan had dragged me into his room. Before I could even process what was happening, he'd tied my hands. He stood there, looking physically fine but strangely vacant, his eyes glazed over. "Did you hear me? Untie me!" He stumbled towards me, muttering, "So beautiful." I frowned. "What's beautiful?" His fingers, cool to the touch, traced my eyebrows, slid down past the corners of my eyes, lingered near my lips. "All of it. Beautiful." Was he talking about... me? The idea was absurd. I shifted, trying to sit up, tilting my head. "You really are into guys, aren't you?" He didn't answer, just stared at me blankly. Okay, arguing with a drugged guy was pointless. I focused on trying to get free from the ropes. As I struggled, twisting my wrists, my shirt collar loosened. The knot was impossible. Frustration mounted. With a final, desperate tug, I lost my balance and tumbled off the bed. I looked up. Right into Ethan’s lap. My face was inches from his crotch.
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