Chapter 3
The car pulled up in front of a luxurious villa.
It seemed like Thomas's business had been booming these past five years since I left.
Before I could even get a proper look, Thomas dragged me down to the basement.
With a heavy bang, he slammed the door. I heard the unmistakable sound of a key twisting in the lock.
"Thomas! Let me out!" I yelled.
I hurled myself at the door, pounding it hard with both fists.
From the other side, his voice came through—cold, without a hint of warmth. "Stay in there and think about what you've done. You can come out when you finally admit you messed up."
I was trapped in that basement for a whole day and night.
No food, no water—just endless darkness all around me.
I curled up on the cold cement floor, shivering one moment, burning up the next.
I knew my condition was getting out of control.
My medication was gone.
Every joint ached so much that even curling up became impossible.
Just when I was about to pass out, the basement door creaked open.
Thomas strode in.
Pain clawed at my stomach and I couldn't fight it anymore—I doubled over on the floor, gagging and heaving desperately.
He stared down at me, miserable and crumpled on the ground, not a trace of pity in his eyes. When I finally dragged myself upright, there was pure contempt in his voice.
He said, "Ember, are you pregnant? No wonder the doctor said your results were off last night."
I froze, staring at him in utter disbelief.
He took my shock as silent confession.
"Spill it—whose bastard is it?" he demanded.
He crouched down, seizing my jaw and forcing me to meet his gaze.
He added, "How many months are you along? Who's the guy? Someone from your band? Or that bar owner?"
I was shaking with rage.
"Shut up," I snapped.
He said, "Who do you think you're fooling, looking like this? Just say it—whose bastard is it? Or have you been whoring around, so much you don't even remember who you slept with?"
I stared at his face, twisted with anger, and suddenly, I felt like laughing.
He was my brother, the only family I had in the whole world.
A tear slid down my cheek before I even realized it. "Yeah, I'm pregnant. I'm worthless and shameless—does that make you happy?"
He was finally infuriated by my stubbornness. "Fine. You've got guts.
"From now on, stay here and reflect. When you're ready to go to the hospital and get rid of that bastard baby, then you can come out."
*****
I had no idea how much time had passed.
Bright light streamed in once more, and I instinctively raised my hand to shield my eyes.
It wasn't Thomas who came in this time—just Liam Huffman, the family's old butler.
Following close behind him was a middle-aged man.
Liam set a tray down on the floor, its only contents a bowl of plain cereal and a glass of water.
He gave me a look full of sympathy, but didn't dare say much—just bowed his head humbly.
"Miss Foley, Mr. Foley asked Professor Kane Garrison to tutor you in business management," Liam stated.
I glanced up at the man.
Kane adjusted his glasses, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. "Miss Foley, Mr. Foley said I'll be responsible for your studies from today onward. We'll begin with the basics of macroeconomics."
He placed a thick textbook in front of me as he spoke.
His eyes landed on my exposed wrist, lingering on the angry red splotches marring my skin.
Kane's brow creased faintly, a glimmer of unease and suspicion flickering in his expression.
I'd seen that look a thousand times before. The corners of my mouth twitched in a halfhearted smile, my tone utterly flat.
"Don't worry, it's not contagious. And it's not an STD," I added.
Kane looked instantly awkward, dropping his gaze and fussing with his glasses in silence.
The textbook was crammed full of complicated business terms and confusing diagrams.
Just looking at all this made my stomach twist even worse.
Everything in front of me started to blur together, and suddenly it took me straight back to that afternoon five years ago.
Back then, I'd finally scraped together enough cash to buy the electric guitar I'd always dreamed of.
Our band was about to play our first real gig. We'd been rehearsing non-stop, everyone fired up, honestly believing the future was ours.
But on the day of the show, Thomas snitched on us—claiming our band was doing drugs together.
It was ridiculous.
My brother had no proof, but out of pure spite, he turned me in for drugs.
At the police station, Thomas glared down at us like we were just a bunch of losers. Then he fixed his eyes on me.
He said, "Ember, this is your final warning. Break up the band and come home.
"I've already set it up. You're going to university abroad, studying finance and management."
"Why do I have to?" I shouted back at him. "It's my life. You don't get to run it for me."
"Because I'm your brother," Thomas snapped. "Mom and Dad died early, and I swore I'd watch over you. You must listen to me. If I say jump, you jump. No questions."
That day, we had the biggest blow-up we'd ever had.
The next day, he hired a finance tutor and stacked a ton of economics textbooks right in front of me.
I looked at all those dry formulas and theories and just knew my life wasn't meant to be this boring.
That was when I started acting out, deliberately doing the opposite of whatever Thomas wanted.
The most ruthless thing I ever did? I handed over the core code he'd slaved over for half a year to his top rival.
That day, he locked me up in the music room and told me to reflect on my actions.
Inside was the antique piano Mom left behind.
It was the one thing Thomas valued more than anything.
Sitting in the dark, staring at that so-called symbol of elegance and purity, all I felt was bitter irony.