The Resented Sister

Ethan was my brother.

But for the past 21 years, he had harbored nothing but hatred for me. In his eyes, I was the one who killed our parents.

It happened on my fifth birthday.

Mom and Dad were away on business in a nearby province, but they hadn't forgotten me. As soon as they wrapped up work, they called to ask what I wanted as a gift.

Young and naive, I only wished to celebrate with them and my brother—to share my birthday cake, to share that simple joy.

To make that wish come true, they jumped in the car and rushed home through the night.

But instead of a birthday, it became a day of mourning. My birthday marked the day they died.

After they were gone, the family tore itself apart, fighting tooth and nail for custody of me and Ethan. None of them cared for us—it was all about getting their hands on our parents' wealth.

Finally, my maternal uncle stepped in, beating them all to win custody.

When he brought us home, his eyes were red with grief. He promised that every penny of the inheritance would stay safe for us, untouched.

My cousin Hannah, who was just a child herself, gripped Ethan's hand and promised, "Don't cry, Ethan. I'll protect you from now on."

From then on, I realized my brother's capacity for kindness.

He remembered every little thing Hannah liked, waited for her after school, and rushed to defend her if anyone dared to pick on her.

Every holiday, he would craft a perfect surprise just to make her smile.

That was how a brother should treat his sister. But all I ever saw in his eyes was resentment toward me.

This grudge had stretched on, undisturbed, from my fifth birthday to the present day.

…

The next day, when I arrived at the office, something felt off.

People gave me sidelong glances as if they had something to say but couldn't bring themselves to speak.

I shrugged it off until I reached my office—and found my things tossed out in a chaotic heap on the floor.

My belongings lay strewn across the floor, my designs shredded, torn nearly in two.

I couldn't keep the edge out of my voice. "What's going on here?"

A familiar chuckle answered from inside the office.

Hannah appeared in the doorway, flashing me a bright "Oh, hey, Emilia," she said, voice dripping with false innocence.

"Sorry about this. Ethan says I'm now the official designer of Eternal Dawn and the company's head embroiderer. So this office will be mine now."

She raised her brows with a smirk. "Guess you'll have to join the common workspace."

The room went still, tension hanging heavy in the air.

"Have you no shame?" My assistant, Melody, stormed over, standing protectively in front of me, her face red with anger. "Everyone knows Emilia is the maker of Eternal Dawn! Don't you feel an ounce of shame, stealing it like this?"

Hannah's eyes welled up immediately, turning her into the perfect picture of wounded innocence. Her red-rimmed eyes and trembling nose played to the crowd with flawless ease, winning sympathy, as always.

And sure enough, as soon as her sobs began, Ethan's furious voice thundered through the silence, splitting the air like a crack of lightning.

"Emilia Perry, get in here!"

The Outcast

I patted Melody on the shoulder, whose face was pale with fear, and walked into the room. Hannah followed closely behind.

Ethan sat at his desk, his expression as cold as a winter's day, eyes sharp with suppressed anger.

People used to say that despite him and I sharing the same womb, we only looked alike in the eyes—that sharp upward tilt that gave us both a natural, aloof chill.

Neither of us had ever been much for smiling. And after I turned five, he never smiled at me again.

"Emilia." He called my name with a frown. "How could you let your assistant insult Hannah? Is cruelty just part of your nature?"

I turned and met Hannah's gaze.

Her eyes, slightly red and glistening with unshed tears, sparkled with the innocence she had perfected so well, making her look delicate and fragile. It was a skill I could never master.

"Are you even listening to me?" Ethan snapped, losing patience as I stayed silent.

He hurled a folder from the desk at me, and its sharp edge sliced across my cheek.

Blood immediately beaded along the cut.

He froze, his lips parting, eyes widening in something close to surprise as he instinctively said my name, softer this time, "Emilia, you—"

"I'll resign and apologize to her," I interrupted, my tone steady, each word deliberate. "Is that enough to make you happy?"

He was taken aback; his fury momentarily paused before roaring back like a wildfire. "Emilia! Are you a child?" His voice rose, filled with disdain, as he gritted out, "Throwing a fit like this… You don't have the right!"

I knew that already. I had known for a long time. Only children who were cherished could afford to throw tantrums.

"I'll go to HR myself." With that, I shut the door behind me, leaving his angry shouts muffled on the other side.

On the way home, a sudden, sharp pain knotted in my stomach.

Curled up in the backseat of the cab, I felt the ache spread, yet my mind remained clear, replaying every look of disgust Ethan had thrown my way.

It hadn't always been like this.

Once, there was some faint warmth between us. He still resented me, but back then, there were fleeting moments when he showed me concern.

I thought that if I could just be good enough, if I could prove myself, we could be family again.

But everything changed in junior high, the day Hannah came home crying, claiming I had bullied her at school.

After a pause, he struck me without hesitation, a hard slap that stung long after the moment passed. The disgust in his eyes was unmistakable as he spat out, "You're nothing but trouble—a born devil!"

That night, he left me outside in the bitter cold.

I huddled in the corner of the porch, the reality sinking in slowly and painfully. My brother, my only family, despised me with a hatred that ran to the bone.

…

Night had already fallen by the time I returned home. My front door was wide open, light spilling onto the street.

My heart raced as I stepped inside, only to be met with a scene of complete chaos.

My belongings lay scattered across the floor, overturned and broken, while the landlord directed a few men to haul everything out.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, anger surging through me.

The landlord glanced back at me with a smirk. "Ah, you're back just in time. Go on, gather your stuff. You're moving out tonight."

"Why?" I shot back, the fury tightening in my chest. "You have no right to barge in and touch my stuff without permission—"

"Look, it's nothing personal." He raised a hand, cutting me off with a sigh. "Your brother, the chairman of Perry Holdings, paid me to kick you out. With money like that, what choice do I have?"

His words stuck like a thorn in my throat as he shrugged and left with his crew, calling back, "Pack up quickly, yeah?"

I stood amid the wreckage of my home, breathing hard to keep the pain from showing, and dialed Ethan.

Hearing the reason for my call, he scoffed. "Come back and apologize to Hannah, or I have a hundred other ways to make your life miserable."

A Night to Remember

Each day passed, my health slipping with the sands of time.

Ethan had berated me with biting sarcasm over the phone that day, and since then, he hadn't reached out.

The silence was a blessing. Alone in my tiny hideaway, I flipped through my calendar, savoring the quiet, tracking how little time I had left.

Suddenly, I received a message from Hannah.

She was inviting me to the exhibition party for Eternal Dawn. At the end of her message, she added a pointed line, 'Emilia, I'm sure Aunt Eleanor would want you to see her life's work come to life.'

I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. I had to see it for myself.

…

The grand hall was bright and brimming with noise. Clinking glasses, lively chatter, and laughter swirled in the air.

It was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the solitude I had become accustomed to.

My fingers clenched instinctively at my side.

Across the room, I spotted Ethan walking beside Hannah, introducing her with a smile to the guests. It felt surreal, almost like they were the true siblings.

Caught off guard, I stood frozen until his gaze shifted to me, and his expression darkened. That familiar disgust crept back into his eyes, so vivid and piercing.

Hannah noticed his reaction and followed his gaze, her face lighting up with her practiced smile as she began making her way toward me.

However, I turned sharply and headed out of the hall without a second thought.

I could already guess what she would say—her usual veiled mockery, twisting the knife over my inability to protect my mother's legacy. Today, I wasn't in the mood for her barbed remarks.

I found refuge on the second-floor balcony.

The wind was biting but refreshing, clearing the turmoil clouding my mind. Leaning against the rail, I let the cold air dispel my tension.

Just as my breathing steadied, someone suddenly wrapped their arms around me from behind, pulling me back into a tight embrace. The thick smell of cigarettes hit me, and a wave of nausea surged.

I wrenched myself free, ready to lash out, but then I saw Hannah standing there, watching with a sly smile.

"Emilia, this is my friend, Chad Fisher," she said, adjusting the skirt of her gleaming dress. She flashed me a quick wink. "He's a great guy. I'm sure you two will get along famously."

Chad's gaze trailed over me, lingering with a smirk. "Don't worry, Miss Perry," he said, his tone dripping with lust. "I'll treat you real nice."

Before I could react, he seized me and shoved me down onto the couch behind us. His hands gripped me tightly, his weight pressing against me.

Panic flared. I thrashed, desperate to break free.

"Get lost! Don't you dare touch me!"

Summoning all my strength, I rammed my knee into him.

He stumbled back with a curse, clutching himself in pain.

I scrambled up, my hand over my mouth as nausea overtook me, bile rising.

Seizing the moment, I snatched a fruit knife from a nearby table, my hands shaking as I held it in front of me. I swung it wildly, the blade cutting across their skin.

Blood bloomed, staining the room as my world blurred in a haze of red.