After enduring three years of being mistreated by her boyfriend, Isabel Taylor's stepbrother, Royce, came back home. The first thing he did was insist she break up with Johan Rice and took her back to their family home. The second thing was making her dinner.

As Isabel finished her meal and looked up, she noticed Royce had been standing silently in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a belt held loosely in his hand. "What do you think you did wrong?" he asked, his voice carrying the same authority it did when they were kids.

Unfazed, Isabel asked, "What did I do wrong?"

Royce suddenly pressed her against the door with a determined look. "I treated you with the care of handling fragile glass, yet you let yourself be walked over by that guy?! If it's like that—" he kept one hand pinning her as he slowly began undoing his belt with the other. "Better it's me than someone else, right, 'little sister'?"

---

When Isabel returned to her apartment, she discovered her white silk nightgown missing from the balcony. The bedroom was silent, so she assumed Johan hadn't come back yet. She turned the doorknob and flipped the light switch. Johan was sprawled across the large bed, asleep beside someone. The sudden light made him furrow his brows and open his eyes, irritation apparent. He blinked in surprise when he saw her. "Isabel? Why are you back?"

The girl next to Johan awoke from the disturbance and sat up, still groggy. Isabel finally noticed the girl was wearing her white nightgown, the strap draped delicately over her shoulder, intertwined with her dark brown hair. Isabel recognized her as Persephone Mills, a DJ at Johan's bar, who had been there less than a month. Upon seeing Isabel, Persephone seemed nervous, quickly snuggling back into Johan’s embrace.

Unbothered, Isabel quietly closed the door and took her suitcase to the couch. Outside, the vibrant city lights blurred by the heavy rain painted a surreal tapestry of colors.

Time seemed to drag before the bedroom door opened again. Persephone came out, now wearing Johan's oversized white shirt, barely covering her thighs. She offered Isabel an insincere smile. "Sorry, Isabel, I tore my dress, so I borrowed your nightgown."

She handed it back. "My bust was a bit bigger, you see, stretched it out. I'll buy you a new one."

Isabel took the gown and promptly threw it into the trash without saying a word. Persephone's smile faltered. Johan appeared, shirtless, in gray lounge pants and slippers, leaning against the doorframe, a cigarette in his hand, and shot Persephone a disapproving look. "Didn't I tell you to leave?"

Persephone blushed and clung to Johan's arm, ignoring Isabel. "But you tore my clothes to shreds. How can I leave like this?"

Johan scoffed, exhaling smoke. "Your usual outfits are barely there anyway. And now you care about modesty?"

He blew out a smoke ring and pushed her away gently, his tone sharp. "Enough. Go."

Realizing Johan was serious, Persephone pouted but didn't dare provoke Isabel further. She grabbed her coat and headed for the door, blowing Johan an air-kiss. "Call me anytime."

Once the door closed, silence settled over the room. Johan walked over, stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table, and draped an arm around Isabel. "Why are you back so early? Didn't you say it would be a few more days?"

His smell of fresh soap and cologne now seemed nauseating. "The meeting ended early," Isabel paused, knowing this wasn't the whole truth. She’d come back early because it was Johan's birthday and had endured a long economy flight just to wish him in person. She had even chosen a special gift.

Johan, noticing her hesitation, reached into Isabel's pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box. Inside was a necklace—a blue sapphire set elegantly, its facets glinting like stars. Isabel had discovered the gem in Italy, carefully selecting and polishing it with skilled craftsmen.

Johan arched an eyebrow, examining the box. "Is this for me?"

Isabel held onto the necklace, looking into Johan's eyes. His pupils were dark, full of smug satisfaction. She suddenly realized he didn't deserve the gemstone she had so carefully chosen. "It's not for you."

Johan shrugged, unfazed, with a smirk. "Really upset, huh?"

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, hooking a finger through the necklace, drawing closer. "I admit it. I messed up. The party went wild, and—she insisted on dropping me off. Things just spiraled, okay?"

In a rare attempt to make amends, Johan tried to soothe her, "I won't bring anyone home again. Don't be mad. Help me put this on?"

This wasn’t the first time. Isabel knew it wouldn’t be the last. But it was the first time Johan had brought someone home, someone wearing her things. Disgust overwhelmed her. She tugged on the necklace, pulling hard. Johan did not relent, and the delicate platinum chain snapped, the pendant clattering to the floor.

Johan’s expression turned sour. "Isabel, that's enough."

She let the broken necklace fall, whispering, "I'm tired. I'm going to rest."

In the guest room, she listened as silence filled the air. Then the front door slammed shut, its echo jarring in the night. Johan was furious.

He was never the patient type, probably thinking he'd already done his part in trying to placate her. She was too tired to care about his mood. Isabel had been sick in Italy, suffering from food poisoning for three days. Barely recovered, she endured a long flight, her body now burning with fever.

If Johan had taken a moment to truly look at her, he'd see the dark circles under her eyes, the unhealthy flush on her cheeks. But he hadn't noticed at all. No one had since Royce left.

Huddled under the cold covers, Isabel withdrew a photo from her phone case. In it, a teenage boy lifted her pink Hello Kitty backpack with one hand, the wind tousling his black hair. She could almost remember his fresh, soapy scent, hear the rustling of the oak trees in the breeze. He squinted at the camera, his smile brighter than the sun. His eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to Johan's.

Isabel Taylor first met Johan Rice at a friend's party. He mentioned that a buddy of his, a wealthy entrepreneur, had just opened a new bar that was absolutely swanky and insisted they check it out. Isabel wasn't very keen, but she decided to go along out of politeness.

At the bar, Isabel didn't plan on drinking much. Her fiancé, Royce Taylor, never liked her drinking alcohol. Throughout her life, she'd only managed to sneak a few sips here and there. So, she casually ordered a cocktail, not expecting it to be so potent. After one sip, she was coughing uncontrollably.

Suddenly, a long, slender hand appeared next to her, offering a napkin. She looked up to see a man in a crisp white shirt, holding a glass of whiskey. He wore no accessories except for a watch, giving him a clean yet captivating look. The lighting made shadows dance from his long eyelashes onto his face.

Their eyes met, and his starry eyes curved into a subtle smile. "Not much of a drinker, are you? Take it slow." Isabel stood frozen, ears buzzing. For a moment, she seemed to see a 19-year-old Royce, standing at the school gates with a helpless smile. "Take your time after school. Don’t trip."

Her heart pounded violently, unsure if it was the alcohol or something else, as a sour warmth spread through her chest. Later, she would learn that this man was Johan Rice, the very entrepreneur her friend had mentioned.

Johan, besides being wealthy, was the center of attention with his looks alone, with women constantly approaching him for his contact information. Isabel, blushing, gathered the courage to ask for his number. Her friend warned her, "He's got women all around him. If you're just in it for fun, that's fine, but don't get too serious."

Isabel didn't heed the warning and pursued him for a year, visiting the bar daily, bringing him meals when it was sunny and an umbrella when it rained. Whether he wanted to chat or drink, she was there for him. She took care of him when he was sick, eventually persuading him to be with her. However, Johan's flirtatious nature never changed. His phone was flooded with calls and messages from new admirers who seemed to pop up at the VIP booths every week.

In less than six months, Isabel caught him cheating. She confronted him, and at first, he apologized and made promises. But over time, he simply stated, "Isabel, you know I can't just be with one person forever. I chose you because you're more understanding than others. Whether you accept that or not doesn’t matter." He shrugged, "We can break up."

Looking into eyes too similar to Royce's, Isabel was silent for a while before saying, "I accept."

Her friends were exasperated, calling her lovesick and foolish, but Isabel just smiled. Was she angry? Yes. Did she care? Sure. But not enough to leave—just seeing those eyes was enough for her.

Morning came, and Johan hadn't returned. Isabel called him and sent messages, but got no response. Returning home, she found her belongings tossed outside. Johan sat on the couch, one leg crossed, with Persephone Mills leaning against him. The two shared a passionate kiss right in front of her. "Didn’t you always complain when I brought people home?" Johan smirked, "Then you should move out. Problem solved."

It wasn't the first time Johan had kicked Isabel out. They had fought once before during a blizzard. He’d also kicked her out then, and she had sat outside until morning, catching a fever. Dizzy, she’d waited for him to open the door, where he stood, looking down at her. "Have you learned your lesson?"

In that moment, she should have been furious. But seeing him standing there with his arms crossed, she was reminded of a younger Royce. Even though he was only a year older, he had the air of a protector. Whenever she would sneak out with friends past curfew, he would stand there similarly, asking, "Have you learned your lesson?"

Slowly, she approached him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and sobbed, "I know I was wrong. Please forgive me."

Forgive me, brother.

Johan's face softened, but as his hand touched her forehead, he frowned and scooped her up. "Why didn’t you knock if you were sick? Just sitting there like a fool!" Isabel buried her face in his chest, clutching his shirt.

That day, Johan was unusually gentle, even cooking a comforting stew for her. Their arguments always ended with Isabel conceding. She knew he wasn't really trying to kick her out—he just wanted her to admit she was wrong.

As she was about to speak, her eyes landed on the coffee table. "Where's the bracelet I left there?"

"What bracelet?"

"The one I've always worn," she gestured nervously. "I left it on the table before leaving. Where is it?"

The bracelet was a gift from Royce for her eighteenth birthday. That year, a fortune teller had said she was in harm's way, and Royce had given her the bracelet for protection. She had worn it ever since. That morning, it had broken, so she’d left it at home, planning to buy a new string that week to mend it. But now, the table was empty.

"Oh, that," Persephone smiled, her red lips curving. "Johan had me tidy up. It looked so old and worn, I thought it was trash and threw it out. It's probably in the garbage truck by now."

Without a word, Isabel dashed outside. It was pouring rain. Without an umbrella, she ignored the filth, searching the garbage bins. No. No. The thin, worn bracelet was nowhere to be found.

Her vision blurred, and she wiped her face, unsure if it was rain or tears. It felt as if a hole had opened in her chest, leaving her gasping for air that wouldn't come.

That bracelet was the only thing Royce had left her, the last connection she had with him. She could still remember how serious he’d been when fastening it on her wrist, despite not believing in such things, saying, "May God bless our Isabel, always safe and healthy."

Now it was gone. Even this last bit of nostalgia seemed denied by fate.

"Are you crazy?!"

Her wrist was suddenly seized, and a black umbrella appeared above her head. Johan, gritting his teeth, said, "It's just a bracelet. Is it that important?!"

Turning to face him, for the first time, Isabel found the man she’d loved for so long repulsive. Without hesitation, she slapped him.

Johan's head turned, eyes wide in shock. In their three years together, she had never raised a hand to him, nor spoken harshly. He stood stunned, unmoving for a long moment.

The umbrella fell to the ground, scattering droplets. A car passed by, headlights catching Johan’s eyes, and a cold light flashed across them. His smile was strained, yet his eyes held no mirth. He reached for her, and she thought he would hit back, but instead, he grabbed her chin so tightly it felt like it might break.

"You've got some nerve, Isabel. You're the first to slap me." He wiped his lip with his thumb. "Who the hell gave you that bracelet? Is it that important to you?!"

Facing him blankly, she replied, "My first love."

Johan's pupils constricted sharply!

Without another word, Isabel shoved him away and walked off.