Chapter 2

James lit a cigarette, the car window cracked open.

The wind rushed in, making the photo hanging from the mirror sway quietly.

I could barely make out the face of an unfamiliar older girl in the picture.

She was probably around seventeen or eighteen, her skin glowing and her smile absolutely gorgeous.

I didn't dare look at it for too long.

Just one glance, and I lowered my head.

The car was still speeding, the air thick with silent, seething anger.

Bile rose sharply in my throat.

My hands kept clenching, cold sweat soaking my hairline.

Right when I was about to lose it, the car slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt inside an upscale apartment complex.

I threw open the door and bolted out, sprinting to the nearest trash can and vomiting hard.

When I finally finished and turned back, James still hadn't gotten out of the car.

I walked over cautiously.

Through the half-open window, I saw his pale, distant profile.

He was using a clean handkerchief to wipe the photo hanging from the mirror.

She had to be someone really important to him.

He wiped the glossy paper with a soft, gentle expression.

A second later, his face shifted back to stony apathy. He opened the door and stepped out.

I dragged my suitcase, sticking close behind him, careful not to make a sound as we got into the elevator.

When we stepped into the pristine entryway, I quietly kicked off my worn shoes, terrified of dirtying his expensive hardwood floors.

James led me to a spare room tucked away in the darkest corner of the apartment. He didn't even look back at me.

He probably found me repulsive.

"Stay in there," he ordered coldly. "Do not come out unless you absolutely have to, and keep out of my sight."

I nodded right away and reached for the door.

Suddenly, a little girl's voice echoed from the hallway behind me. "James, who is she?"

Her voice was hollow and borderline eerie.

My hand jerked on the suitcase handle.

I turned around and saw a girl with a gaunt, almost ghostly pale face.

She seemed to be around my age.

She was clutching a porcelain doll, her dark eyes locked onto me.

She looked at me like I was a monster invading her territory, her face full of blatant defensiveness and open rejection.

Instinctively terrified, I took two steps back.

James's expression, once icy, suddenly softened.

He took off his expensive suit jacket, walked over, and draped it gently over the girl's frail shoulders.

Then he grabbed a pair of slippers, crouched down, and slipped them onto her bare feet.

I barely caught a glimpse before the little girl wrapped her arms around James's neck, holding him tight.

The look she gave me was freezing cold, but her voice was whiny, dripping with feigned terror. "James, I am scared of her. Can we please make her leave?"

James reached up and gently patted her head.

"She is just a distant relative of mine," he murmured. "She is only staying for a few days, and then I will make her leave."

I had no idea who this little girl was or why he let her speak to him so affectionately.

Overwhelmed by suffocating anxiety, I summoned every ounce of my courage to whisper.

"James, you're my brother. I I really don't have anywhere else to go," I said.

The little girl let out a soft whimper.

James whipped his head around and glared at me with unadulterated fury. "I am not your brother! Didn't I tell you how things work? Get inside! And don't come out!"

I didn't dare say another word.

I turned around, scrambling to open the door, and rushed into the room.

After I closed the door, I could still hear the little girl's crying and James's gentle, comforting words outside.

No one had ever comforted me before.

James's gentle voice was so warm, it made my chest tighten.

It felt like my heart and throat were stuffed with cotton.

It was suffocating, and left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Most of the room was still cluttered with random stuff.

There was a small bed tucked away in the corner, like someone had just shoved it in there.

I lay down on the bed and stared out the window at the pitch-black night.

I couldn't even remember how many places I'd moved to by now.

James hated the Long family. By extension, he hated me simply because I shared their blood.

But the brutal truth was that no one in the Long family had ever liked me or treated me like a human being.

Mom passed away right after I was born.

Dad couldn't accept that I was a girl. He took his absolute rage out on me, beating and scolding me for a solid year.

Then he packed his bags, took his pregnant mistress with him, and never came back.

After that, I was treated like a stray dog.

I was kicked back and forth among relatives who viewed me with nothing but disgust and impatience.

I tried everything I could to show I was worth keeping around.

I hauled boxes and stocked heavy shelves at Uncle Jason's hardware shop. I changed filthy diapers and scrubbed dirty laundry for Aunt Mary's grandson.

On my walk to and from elementary school, I collected crushed cans from the gutter to sell for scrap.

The spare change went straight to buying cheap cigarettes for my uncle.

Every single semester, I shamelessly begged my teachers to put my name on the poverty aid list just so I could have pencils.

Aunt Mary's grandson was completely out of control. Once, he grabbed a kitchen knife and hurled it right at my forehead.

The pain was blinding, and I had to get a dozen stitches.

One of the ER nurses suspected severe abuse and quietly asked if I wanted her to call Child Protective Services.

Even with my face contorted in agony, I gave her a sweet, practiced smile. "I was just playing and got careless."

I went out of my way to please everyone. I survived seven miserable years in my relatives' homes by eating barely anything and spending absolutely zero money.

No matter what I did, I was never wanted.

In the end, they finally had enough of me.

They were so desperate to get rid of me, they even took it all the way to court.

I kept tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable in bed.

Even wrapped tightly in the blanket, I still felt freezing cold and totally hollow.

I always felt like I had forgotten to pack something important. Why else would I feel this crushing emptiness?

Every time I moved to a new place over the years, I got this exact same feeling.

But in reality, all I had to my name was a few tattered, oversized shirts.

I actually used to own a couple of schoolbooks.

But Aunt Mary told me to let my rich brother transfer me to a fancy new school and buy new ones.

Before we even went to family court, she sold my books to a thrift store just to buy expensive candy for her grandson.

I snapped out of my thoughts.

I got out of bed and took out the only two worn-out clothes I had from my suitcase.