The very night my mother took her own life after discovering my father’s affair, he brought his first love’s sickly daughter, Deborah, into our home. At the time, my three older brothers stood in front of me like a protective wall, their voices thick with defiance. "Autumn is our only sister!" they shouted at him. But it took less than a week for their loyalty to shatter. "If you hadn't encouraged Mom to go through with the divorce, she would never have run to that roof," Chris, my oldest brother, had snarled at me. "Deborah's health is only this bad because you terrified her," Jordan, the second oldest, added. To make me a viable donor for Deborah, they forced me to eat, keeping me heavily overweight, hovering near two hundred pounds. It was as if they wanted to replicate Deborah's physical misery onto me, tenfold, as a form of penance. Then came Deborah's eighteenth birthday party. Alex Pierce, the youngest son of the prominent Pierce family, was the only one who stood up for me. "Don't be afraid," he had whispered, stepping between me and my brothers' glares. "You didn't do anything wrong." He became my savior. He listened to me, encouraged me to start losing weight safely, and gently guided me out of the darkness. I truly believed he was the man I would spend the rest of my life with. But the night before our engagement party, I saw a group chat open on his laptop. It was a thread with my brothers, titled "Project Pig Pen". "Weight loss successful, physical exam cleared," Alex had texted. "We're on track for the bone marrow transplant for Deborah next week." Jordan replied with a thumbs-up emoji: "Being able to say 'I love you' to all that blubber... respect, man. Have you actually touched her yet?" "Her skin is all loose and saggy now," Alex wrote back. "It's repulsive. I can't bring myself to do it." Staring at the screen filled with laughing emojis, my chest went completely numb, cold as ice. I closed the laptop, picked up my phone, and called my mentor. "Professor Reynolds... that three-year residency program," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'll take it." … On my computer screen, the wedding planner’s final email was still open, showing the master track for our engagement party. I had spent two weeks perfecting it. Alex used to love hearing me sing. When he proposed, he promised he would play the piano for me for the rest of our lives. "Autumn's voice was kissed by angels," he’d say. But now, his messages in the chat read: "When she runs, she wheezes like a broken accordion. I'm honestly terrified she's going to drop dead of a heart attack right in front of me." "It's wild how a girl can just let herself go like that. No self-control whatsoever." "All that fat jiggling around, and the sweat... God, the smell. Jesus." My third brother, Dylan, chimed in: "Got any videos?" Alex immediately forwarded a thread. [Alex & Deborah: 36 Shared Media Files] "Watch at your own risk," he wrote. I clicked it. It was full of photos and videos Alex had taken of me during my workouts. At the very bottom of the thread, Deborah had reacted with a giggling emoji. My fingers trembled so violently I could barely hold my phone. He had turned my agonizing struggle into a running joke just to keep Deborah entertained. In the videos, my face was tomato-red, drenched in sweat, utterly pathetic. Yet, my eyes looking at the camera had been so full of hope and light. His words of encouragement echoed in my ears, suddenly sounding like a mockery. "Keep going, Autumn! If you fall, I'll be right here to catch you." "You're cute when you're chubby, but I want my sweet girl to be healthy. We need to live long, healthy lives so we can grow old together." When I was too exhausted to take another step, he would grab my hand and pull me forward. When I tried to pull away because my palms were sweaty, he only squeezed tighter. "So what? This sweat is proof of how hard you’re fighting. Let me share some of that strength." The wind had blown the hair from my forehead as I struggled to keep up with him, telling myself, "just one more step. Just one more." I had pushed myself to lose over a hundred pounds in six months for him. How had I been so blind? The affection in his eyes wasn't for me. It was for the healthy body I was building—a perfect vessel to harvest bone marrow for Deborah. He was no different from my brothers. Jordan typed: "Are you guys seriously getting engaged tomorrow?" The chat went silent for a moment. Then Alex replied: "It's just an engagement. Think of it as a dress rehearsal for Deborah. Good practice." "Won't Autumn be pissed?" I held my breath, waiting. The next message popped up. "If Deborah really minds, I'll just make up an excuse and not show up tomorrow. I'll hire some stand-in or have someone fill in. Autumn is easy to fool. I'll just pretend to be sick later, and she'll be too busy worrying about me to care." The glow of the screen cast a hollow, self-deprecating smile across my face. What was I even hoping for? None of them cared about my feelings. It had always been about Deborah. It was never about me. A text from the wedding planner flashed on my screen: "Hi Autumn, are we locked in on this version?" "No," I typed back. "I'll bring the final cut to the venue tomorrow myself." I closed the window and redialed my mentor's number. "Professor Reynolds... about the fellowship. I'll go. I'll see you at the airport on Saturday." Professor Reynolds’ voice swelled with relief. "Wonderful, wonderful! I'm so glad you've finally seen reason, Autumn. I'll arrange for someone to pick you up." The National Opera Fellowship for Emerging Artists was a prestigious, highly selective three-year residency. It required total seclusion and had strict confidentiality clauses. I had turned it down once. For Alex. But Alex had taught me well. I still remembered what he told me a year ago: "You did nothing wrong." He was right. I hadn't. Which meant they were the ones in the wrong. And actions have consequences. When I woke up the next morning, the house was empty. I tried calling each of my brothers, then Alex. None of them answered. It turned out my ears hadn't played tricks on me the night before. I remembered overhearing a whispered conversation in the hallway: "Deborah is upset about the engagement. Let's agree—no one drives Autumn tomorrow. Let her walk down the mountain." The estate was tucked deep into the hills, miles away from any main road where I could easily hail a cab. I had no choice but to take off my heels and walk. Five miles. On foot. Just as another blister on my heel burst, the purr of Alex's sports car echoed behind me. The window rolled down, revealing Deborah sitting in the passenger seat. She was wearing Alex's jacket, and a custom plushie—one I knew Alex had flown to Tokyo to get for her—was clipped to her seatbelt. Meanwhile, the hand-crocheted sunflower plushie I had spent a month making for him was tossed carelessly on the floor mat of the backseat, dirty and forgotten. "Autumn, why didn't you wait for us?" Deborah asked, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "You're going to make it look like we're bullying you again." I said nothing. I just got into the back seat, picked up the filthy sunflower, and tried to wipe a muddy footprint off its petals. My finger accidentally brushed the hidden button inside. The toy began to sway, but the recorded voice inside—my voice—stuttered out a distorted, broken "I... l-love... y-you..." Alex had practically begged me to make that for him. He said he wanted my voice recorded so he could feel close to me whenever he was driving. Deborah giggled, leaning her head onto Alex's shoulder. "Autumn, are you seriously still into stuff like that? It looks so cheap..." Alex frowned, looking at me through the rearview mirror. "Are you deaf? Deborah asked you a question." "I heard her," I replied quietly. "I just don't want to answer." He sighed, his impatience flaring. "What is your problem today? You're her older sister. Why can't you act like it and take a page out of Deborah's book?" I let out a dry, sharp laugh. "Take a page out of her book? You mean learn how to throw myself at my sister's fiancé? Or maybe how to call another girl's boyfriend in the middle of the night to beg him to soothe me to sleep? Or perhaps how to strip off my clothes when I'm drunk and crawl into his lap?" Alex's face went white, then flushed red with anger. "Autumn! Why do you always have to be so paranoid, just like your mother was? Stop projecting your sick fantasies onto everyone! Leave Deborah out of your bitter drama!" I clenched my teeth, a sharp pain radiating through my chest. He had defended me with that same righteous fury once. Only now did I realize how much hypocrisy had been masked beneath his handsome face. They kicked me out of the car. It was pouring on the highway overpass. "Calm down and think about what you've done!" Alex yelled before speeding off. I pulled out my phone to call a cab, but the trending headlines on social media nearly made my knees buckle. [EXCLUSIVE: The Cornell Family Tragedy! How a Ruthless Daughter Drove Her Own Mother to Jump!] [The Dark Secret of a Prestigious Dynasty: Jealous Sister Steals Younger Sister's Fiancé!] The gossip blogs had twisted the narrative, stitching together selective facts to paint my mother’s suicide as my fault. According to them, I was a tyrannical monster at home, and this entire engagement was forced upon Alex because I had blackmailed him using Deborah’s medical condition. Though the photos in the articles were blurred, I recognized them instantly. They were candid shots Alex had taken of me. The comment sections were a feeding frenzy of vitriol. - What a poisonous snake. She literally drove her own mother to suicide." - I'm not one to judge by appearances, but with all that fat, she looks like a high school bully." - The younger sister and the boyfriend are the real victims here. How tragic." - Her brothers are saints for not disowning her. She destroyed a perfect family." By the time I reached the venue, a crowd of self-righteous onlookers and reporters had gathered at the entrance. They swarmed me like piranhas catching the scent of blood, shoving cameras into my face and screaming accusations. I covered my face, trying to shield myself from the flashing lights. Security guards eventually pushed through to clear a path. My second brother, Jordan, grabbed my wrist and dragged me inside. "Autumn, are you completely brainless?!" Jordan hissed as soon as we were behind closed doors. "Did you not see the news? Why the hell did you let them spot you at the front entrance? Are you trying to remind the whole world that you're the murderer who killed Mom? You've humiliated this family!" I yanked my arm out of his grip, my throat raw. "It wasn't me. I didn't kill her. I didn't make Mom jump." Jordan stared at me, letting out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Oh, outstanding. Now that you've got Alex wrapped around your finger, you think you can rewrite history? Let me remind you, Autumn—you owe this family a life. You will always owe us." I took a deep breath, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat. I unlocked my phone and pointed to the username of the "anonymous insider" leaking the stories. "That is Deborah's burner account. Are you really too blind to see that?" My oldest brother, Chris, walked into the dressing room, his brow furrowed in disapproval. "Enough. Stop shouting, Autumn. Even if it is her account, is there a single lie in those articles? If you had the nerve to do it, don't play the victim now." His eyes were heavy with a cold, familiar disappointment. "Or is fleeing from reality the only thing you managed to learn from Mom?" I stared into Chris’s eyes. There was only resentment. I couldn't find a single trace of the boy who used to sing me to sleep when I was afraid of the dark. When our parents’ marriage fell apart, my brothers had dismissed our father’s affair as a temporary lapse in judgment. I was the only one who stood firmly by my mother's side, urging her to file for divorce and free herself. After she jumped, my father couldn't handle the guilt. He brought Deborah into our home, took our mother's ashes, and retreated into a monastery, cutting off all contact. For years, my brothers blamed me. They believed that if I hadn't encouraged her, Mom would never have given up, and our family wouldn't have shattered. "I did nothing wrong," I said, each word deliberate, my voice rising. "The ones who are wrong are Deborah, Dad, and all of you!" "Slap." A sharp sting erupted across my cheek, forcing my head to the side. Alex stood there, looking at me with a mixture of disgust and pity, while Deborah lurked behind his shoulder, a smug, fleeting smirk on her lips. "Look at yourself," Alex said, his voice dripping with disappointment. "You look manic. You're in no state to go out there. Stay in this room and think about what you've done. Deborah will stand in for you to complete the ceremony." The designer gown was brought in—and it fit Deborah perfectly. It was the dress my mother had left for me. When Alex had taken me to get it tailored, he had held me close, noting down the adjustments. "Just three more months, Autumn. By then, you’ll be down to this size anyway," he had whispered. How blind I had been. The dress was never meant for me. It had been measured for Deborah from the very beginning. In the mirror, Deborah’s cheeks were flushed pink with health, showing no sign of her supposed frailty. "Autumn," she cooed, "I saw the bridal makeup look you practiced last week. It was gorgeous. Why don't you do my makeup for me? Your dress, your makeup design, your fiancé... if you think about it, it's basically you walking down the aisle." My eyes burned. "Take it off. That belongs to my mother." It was the only tangible piece of her I had left. Jordan grabbed my shoulders, forcing me down into the chair in front of Deborah. His grip dug painfully into my collarbone. "It's just a dress, Autumn. She's doing you a favor so you don't humiliate us out there. Don't be ungrateful. Hurry up and do her makeup. Deborah's health is delicate; she doesn't have time to tolerate your tantrums." Alex offered a warm, gentle smile to Deborah. "Thank you for doing this, Deborah." I closed my eyes, my nails biting deep into my palms. "Just wait," I told myself. "Wait until the ceremony starts. Wait until the live streams are running." "Fine," I whispered. Once the door clicked shut, leaving only the two of us in the dressing room, Deborah stared at me with a venomous smirk. "Autumn, don't you ever feel like an utter failure? If I were you, I would have jumped off that roof right along with your mother." My hand froze mid-air. My voice went cold as steel. "Shut your mouth. You don't have the right to speak her name." Deborah chuckled, entirely unfazed. "Your mother lost to mine, and now you've lost to me. Alex never loved you. Do you want to know why he actually proposed?" She leaned in close, her breath hot against my ear, her words winding around my neck like a venomous snake. "Because he couldn't let you accept that fellowship abroad. He had to keep you here. You're nothing but my backup organ bank, Autumn." "You and your mother are identical—stepping stones for me. Honestly, I should thank her. If she hadn't been stupid enough to believe me and jump, I wouldn't have moved into the Cornell estate so quickly." "And don't worry, I don't care about playing pretend today. What I want—what I'm going to get—is a wedding that is entirely mine." She smiled, a chilling, deliberate expression. Before I could recoil, her hand shot out, clamping down on my jaw with surprising strength. A burning, acrid liquid was forced down my throat. Agony exploded in my chest. I fell to the floor, clutching my neck as my vision went dark and tears streamed down my face. I tried to scream, to call for help, but only a dry, raspy wheeze escaped my throat. Deborah smiled as she picked up an eyebrow razor, scoring a shallow, bleeding line across her own collarbone. Then she began tearing at the delicate silk of my mother's dress, ripping the hand-stitched embroidery to shreds and trampling it under her heels. My mind went blank. Every ounce of sanity evaporated. I threw myself forward to stop her, letting out a horrific, animalistic screech from my ruined throat. "Stop! Stop! That's all I have left of her!" Deborah didn't fight back. She simply let herself fall backward onto the floor, screaming in terror. "Autumn, you've lost your mind!" The door burst open. Alex rushed in, shoving me hard against the vanity, and pulled Deborah into his arms. She trembled against his chest, her face pale, sobbing hysterically. "Alex... I'm okay... It's my fault. I shouldn't have worn her dress. I don't deserve it..." Alex’s face was dark with fury. "Autumn, apologize to her. Now!" I stared at his hand resting protectively on her waist. My voice was gone. My throat felt like it was lined with broken glass. How was I going to sing? What was I going to tell my mentor? I pointed to my neck, tears streaming down my face as I shook my head, begging him with my eyes to look at me. To believe me just this once. If he couldn't hear me, couldn't he at least see my despair? But there was only cold disgust in his eyes. "Autumn, it's a simple apology. Are you really going to play dumb and pretend you can't speak just to get out of it? I'm so disappointed in you. Is a stupid ceremony really worth losing your sanity over?" Dylan strode into the room. He kicked the back of my knees, forcing me down. Ignoring the shattered glass bottles scattered across the floor, he shoved my shoulders, forcing me to kneel. Sharp shards of glass bit deep into my skin. A sickening pain shot up my legs. Alex flinched slightly, but before he could speak, Deborah clutched her chest, gasping for air. "Alex... I can't breathe... Am I going to die?" Alex instantly tore the remnants of my mother's dress away from her, wrapped his suit jacket around her shoulders, and lifted her into his arms. "You're going to be fine," he muttered, his voice shaking. "The engagement is off," he barked at my brothers. "Jordan, Dylan, bring Autumn. We're going to the hospital. Now." I shook my head in terror, trying to crawl backward away from them. Alex looked down at me, letting out a heavy, weary sigh. "Autumn, please. Just cooperate for once. Deborah can't wait. You're the older sister, yet you're always so incredibly selfish. You have no idea how much you owe her. Donating your marrow is the bare minimum. Stop throwing these childish tantrums. If you want a wedding, I'll give you one after the surgery. We'll give the townhouse to Deborah as an apology, and we'll figure out how to make things right with her later." Jordan and Dylan exchanged a glance, then stepped forward, grabbing my arms and dragging me to my feet. "Autumn, you've gone way too far this time," Dylan muttered. Chris had the car waiting at the exit. They threw me into the back seat and escorted me directly to the private wing of the hospital, straight toward the operating rooms. "Ignore her bleeding knees!" Jordan yelled at the nurses. "Prep Deborah first! She's the priority!" Just before the surgical curtains were drawn, I caught a glimpse of Deborah's face. She was smiling. The cold sting of the anesthetic flowed into my veins, and the world began to slip away into darkness... Meanwhile, in the adjoining prep room, Deborah sat casually on the edge of the examination table, swinging her legs. Her phone was pressed to her ear. "Yeah, Mom, it's almost done," she laughed softly. "This family... God, they're so incredibly stupid. You could combine all of their brains and still not make a single functioning one." She tilted her head, her tone dripping with lazy amusement. "Her mother was a weak, pathetic fool when I pushed her off that ledge, and Autumn was born to be my plaything. I fed her brothers a couple of sob stories, and they ate it right up. Now she has nothing left. And with her throat ruined, let's see how she plans on leaving the country." Hanging up, Deborah let out a soft, mocking sigh. "Oh, Autumn. Your mother was a brainless dog, your brothers are rabid mutts who would bite their own family for a scrap of bone, and you... well, you're not even an animal. You're just a beautifully wrapped, self-delivering organ container." Outside the half-open door, the medical consent forms slipped from Chris’s fingers, fluttering onto the linoleum floor. Alex’s face had gone entirely bloodless, white as paper.
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