I have a terrible temper. My brother is the only person in the world who can tolerate it. Everyone around us laughs at him, calling him an obsessively doting fool with a massive sister complex. But he always shrugs it off with absolute pride. "She's my little sister. What's wrong with spoiling her a bit?" But one day, my brother changed. He suddenly drew a sharp line between us, avoiding me at every turn. When I blocked his car in the middle of the street, he wouldn't even roll down the window to look at me. His voice came through the glass, flat and distant. "David, it's time you learned to grow up." I thought my brother didn't want me anymore. Until I caught him drunk, locked inside his room, sobbing in the dark. "System, how much longer until the real son comes back?" "Can I really not be good to my David anymore?" A mechanical voice replied, dripping with exasperated frustration. "Get it through your head. They are the actual blood siblings. You're just an imposter. Can you please wake up?" Listening from outside the door, the corners of my mouth slowly curled into a smile. So, my brother and I aren't related at all. 1 I knew from a very young age that I wasn't normal. When I was five years old, some relatives were teasing me at a family dinner. They pointed to the dish of stewed meat on the table and claimed it was the pet rabbit I had been raising. They laughed, their faces twisted with cruel amusement. "Well? You raised it yourself. Doesn't it taste delicious?" I remained silent for a moment. Then, I picked up the boiling kettle from the side table and poured the scalding water directly over the hand of my uncle, the one laughing the loudest. The skin on his hand turned instantly white. Cooked. As the scent of scalded flesh rose alongside his pig-like shrieks of agony, I blinked innocently. "That's your right hand, the one that grew up with you. Why don't you taste it and tell me if it's delicious?" The dining room erupted into utter chaos. Amidst the frantic shouting of relatives branding me a monster, my father, blind with rage, grabbed a heavy wooden cane to strike me. But the blow never landed on me. My brother had thrown himself over my body, taking the hit. His face was pale, his eyelashes trembling with pain. Yet, he carefully pulled a small, snowy-white ball from his coat. "David," he whispered, his voice incredibly soft and soothing. "Don't worry. Your rabbit is alive. I found him in the storage room." "As long as I'm here, nothing will happen to you or your rabbit." "I promise." My brother was nine years old that year. He silently took a brutal beating for me. In the middle of the night, my mother wept as she applied ointment to his bruised back. "Your father wasn't even trying to hit you. Why did you have to interfere?" "David is a psychopath. Who throws boiling water on an elder over a simple joke?" My brother shook his head, his expression dead serious. "It wasn't a joke. It would have broken her heart." I stood outside his door, listening in the shadows. The dark, violent urge that had flared up inside me because of my mother's harsh words was miraculously put to rest by the gentle sound of his voice. In the dozen years that followed, my temper grew more unpredictable and volatile. My parents looked at me with a mixture of fear and disgust. Only my brother, Ashton, behaved like a stubborn, single-minded machine, firmly believing that I was a fragile little sister who needed his constant protection. He tolerated every single one of my flaws. He even fought with our parents for my sake. "If you had given David a normal, loving environment to grow up in, she wouldn't be like this! My sister has always been the sweetest girl!" His friends couldn't stand it. "We've seen overprotective brothers, but you're just living in denial, Ashton." "Is there any chance your sister is actually the opposite of sweet?" "If you keep enabling her like this, something terrible is going to happen." Ashton only countered with absolute confidence. "David is my sister. What's wrong with spoiling her?" 2 During my senior year of high school, Ashton, who had skipped two grades, graduated from university and began taking over the family business. He was drowning in work, yet he made it a point to drive to my school every single afternoon to pick me up. One day, the school bully tried to corner me to confess his love. I ended up beating him until he fell in line, and he ended up carrying my backpack to the car like a loyal servant. As the car door clicked shut, the interior fell into a dim silence. Ashton adjusted his cuffs, asking in a gentle tone, "David, are you dating someone?" I shook my head, chewing on a strawberry he had just fed me. "Good. It's better not to focus on that right now. Your senior year is the most critical time." He spoke softly, almost to himself. "I don't mean to interfere in your life, but this stage is very important. Besides, that boy who carried your bag earlier, he wasn't very pleasant to look at. You should keep your distance from him." Ashton's personality had always been incredibly mild. This was the first time I had ever heard him use such a sharp, critical word to describe someone else. I bit into the tip of the strawberry, quietly studying him. His hair had grown a bit long, falling in soft, messy strands across his forehead. His eyes were wide and luminous, like still water. Because of his corporate meetings, he was dressed in a tailored suit, but he still looked as harmless and soft as a white cloud. I had always known my brother was beautiful. His skin was as fair as delicate porcelain, and the tips of his ears and knuckles carried a faint, rosy tint. When he tilted his head, his soft hair brushed against his neck, revealing the faint blue veins beneath his skin. He looked a lot like the pet rabbit I used to have. The rabbit had died when I was eight. I hadn't shed a single tear while burying it, but Ashton had stood beside me, crying his eyes out. When I asked him why he was crying, he said, "David, I know you're hurting. You just don't know how to express it normally." A strange, familiar warmth bubbled up in my chest. Staring at the delicate pulse in his neck, I asked with a touch of anxiety, "Ashton, will you be my brother forever?" He answered without a moment's hesitation. "Of course." But he lied to me. 3 Just before my twentieth birthday, I realized Ashton was actively avoiding me. My parents had washed their hands of me long ago, so it was Ashton who had moved me into my university dorm. On his very first day in the city, he bought an apartment right next to the campus. "This way, you don't have to worry about getting used to dorm life or dealing with difficult roommates." He thought of everything. In reality, I had already learned how to mask my behavior perfectly over the years, knowing exactly how to make people trust and like me. But I liked the feeling of being shielded by him, so I simply nodded and agreed. My mother was right about one thing. I was a monster. My entire existence was like a thousand invisible threads wrapped tightly around Ashton. As long as he stayed still, I would remain docile and quiet. But the moment he tried to break free, those threads would cut into his flesh, binding us together forever. My brother belonged to me, and me alone. That was a truth that had been rooted in my mind since childhood. Apart from the days when my schedule was packed with classes, I spent almost every night at the apartment. Ashton would usually buy groceries and come home before sunset to cook for me. But on this particular afternoon, I unlocked the door to find a cold, empty dark living room. I checked my phone. It wasn't unusual for him to be delayed by urgent corporate meetings, but he always sent me a detailed text beforehand. Today, my notification bar was entirely blank. Our last chat was from three days ago, when I had sent a brief message: I'm out of pads. He had never replied. I dialed his secretary's number. "Where is my brother?" The secretary stammered, offering vague excuses. I let out a soft laugh. "Should we discuss this in person instead?" The man was terrified of me. Hearing the tone of my voice, he hesitated for only a fraction of a second before cracking. "Mr. Hale isn't avoiding you on purpose. He has an important charity gala tonight, and a major contract to finalize." "The fact that you are the one explaining this to me proves he is avoiding me on purpose," I said flatly. The secretary fell silent, not daring to speak. I hung up, grabbed my keys, and drove toward the venue. As I drove, the sun began to set, painting the horizon in a violent, fiery crimson. For some reason, my mind drifted back to a memory from several years ago. I was fourteen. My mother had taken advantage of Ashton's study-abroad trip to lock me away in a strict behavioral modification school. By the time Ashton rushed back to rescue me, I had already set the main building on fire. "David!" He had held me so tightly his entire body was shaking worse than mine. "Don't be scared. I'm here. I've got you." Actually, I hadn't been scared at all. But wrapped in his warm, trembling embrace, a single tear had escaped my eye. I had blinked it away, mimicking the pathetic, fragile tone of a normal girl. "Ashton, you have to protect me." "I will. I promise you, nothing like this will ever happen again." I had smiled, thoroughly satisfied. Through the dancing flames, I saw my mother cowering behind the police cars, staring at me as if I were a demon incarnate. "Ashton! She isn't your sister, she's a monster!" she had screamed hysterically. "She started the fire! She's only fourteen and she's already doing this! If we don't lock her up for rehabilitation, she'll destroy us all!" Ashton hadn't even looked back at her. He lifted me into his arms, his voice colder than ice. "She doesn't need discipline. She needs love." I had pressed my face against his chest, inhaling his clean, comforting scent. It was different from anyone else's. He was supposed to go back to his studies abroad, but after that day, he changed his plans entirely. He stayed in the country for college, took over the family firm early, and refused to leave my side for more than forty-eight hours. He even accompanied me on my high school graduation trip. So why was he suddenly attending business dinners without telling me? 4 I parked my car across from the grand entrance of the venue. After a few minutes, a familiar black luxury sedan pulled up to the valet. The window rolled down, revealing Ashton's strikingly handsome, pale face. He gave a polite nod to the security guard, handing over his invitation. Over the years, he had learned how to project a cold, commanding authority in public. But the soft, yielding, and gentle sides of him were reserved for me alone. Seeing him eased the tension in my chest. I smiled, preparing to step out of my car. But then, the rear passenger window rolled down. A beautiful woman leaned slightly forward, her lips curved into an elegant smile. Her fingers, resting casually against the car door, were long and slender. And on her middle finger sat a simple white-gold band, identical to the one I wore. 5 My mind went completely blank, a loud ringing filling my ears. My fingers instinctively moved to trace the middle finger of my own hand, where an identical white-gold band rested. It was the gift I had made him pick out with me on my eighteenth birthday. I remembered his friend asking him in disbelief after we bought them, "Ashton, do you actually know what a ring on the middle finger represents? You guys are siblings!" Ashton had simply given him a puzzled look. "David wanted it. Why wouldn't I listen to her?" His friend had been left entirely speechless. Now, looking across the street, I watched Ashton step out of the car. As he adjusted his cuffs, his bare fingers were fully visible. He had taken the ring off. The ring he had promised me he would never remove. I pushed my car door open and walked toward him. 6 "Ashton." He froze at the sound of my voice. He didn't turn around, keeping his back to me as he spoke in a muffled, strained voice. "David? Why are you here? Go home." His broad shoulders under the tailored suit were incredibly rigid. Because he refused to face me, I had to crane my neck to catch the tight, strained line of his jaw. He was running from me. Before I could say anything else, the woman from the car walked over, her silk dress rustling. She brushed a stray curl past her shoulder, offering a warm smile. "So this is David? Your sister?" "Yes," Ashton muttered. "Since she's here, why don't we bring her inside to grab a bite?" She offered her hand to me, the white-gold ring on her finger catching the streetlights, sending a sharp stab of irritation through my chest. Before my hand could move, Ashton suddenly spun around and slapped her hand down. "She can't go in," he said, his brow furrowing with a strange, nervous tension. He remained silent for several seconds before looking at me. "David, go back to the apartment. I'll have Arthur order some takeout for you. I'm going to be very busy for the next few weeks, so I won't be able to come home. Take care of yourself." Without waiting for my response, he turned and walked briskly into the banquet hall. The woman lingered for a second, looking at me with an amused glint in her eyes. She pulled a pen from her clutch, scribbling a number on a card before handing it to me. "Don't be sad. If you want to see your brother, call me anytime." Sad? I climbed back into my car, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. In the rearview mirror, my lips were bitten raw, bleeding slightly. In the quiet, confined space, a flood of dark, chaotic emotions rushed through me. It wasn't sadness. It was a violent, suffocating possessiveness. Anger. And a dark, thrilling excitement. Had Ashton finally realized what a monster I was? Was he trying to run away from me because of it? Did that mean... I finally had a reason to lock him away in my apartment, so he could never leave my side again? 7 When I got back to the apartment, it was pitch black. Ashton hadn't been home in three days, and even his scent on the pillows had faded. I decided to head back to the university dorms. My roommates were surprised to see me. "David! You don't have any classes for the next two days. Aren't you spending the weekend with your brother?" I tilted my head, offering a rare, slight smile. "I missed you guys. Is that a crime?" Three pairs of eyes stared at me in absolute shock. "Just kidding." I tossed my bag onto my desk and opened my laptop. My roommate, Harper, walked over to offer me some fruit, but her eyes froze when she caught sight of my screen. "David... what is that?" I turned to look at her. "What's wrong?" "Did... did someone make you mad?" I rested my chin in my hand, thinking about it seriously. "Not exactly. My brother is just being difficult." Harper's voice dropped to a nervous whisper. "David, look, I don't mean anything by this, but we live in a civilized society. If someone's bothering you, you can talk to them. Or you can have your brother handle it, right? Some lines shouldn't be crossed." I stared into her eyes, completely serious. "What if the person who made me angry is my brother?" "Haha, no way. Your brother is the king of overprotective siblings. We've only met him a few times and we could tell he worships the ground you walk on." She paused, swallowing hard as she looked back at the search results for industrial-grade locks on my screen. "Wait... you're not planning on using those on him, are you?"
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