Hearing those words, my heart felt like a pile of cold ashes. I couldn’t bear to listen any longer.

I returned to my room and stayed awake the entire night, my mind spinning with what my parents had said in the bathroom.

They must have forgotten how the scar on my face came to be.

When I was five, they locked me inside the house while I was asleep so they could take Charles to an amusement park.

They left without realizing the gas stove was still on, boiling water. The pot boiled dry, causing an explosion that sent sparks flying onto the curtains.

That day, I woke up to thick smoke, coughing and terrified, curled up on the balcony, screaming for help.

If not for our neighbor who rushed over to save me, I might have died in that fire.

But when I escaped the blaze, flames had already burned the side of my face. The scar has remained ever since.

Because of it, I was mocked endlessly by classmates—called ugly, freakish.

What hurt even more was that when my parents came home, they assumed I’d caused the fire myself by playing with matches.

They beat me mercilessly, even though I was trembling with fear.

It wasn’t until the police investigated and confirmed it was their negligence that they reluctantly stopped.

Fifteen years have passed. They never apologized once.

And now, it no longer matters.

The next morning, my phone rang—it was my girlfriend, Emily.

“You’re downstairs at my house?”

I leapt from my blanket, threw on my clothes, and rushed down.

Seeing Emily made the ice around my heart melt just a little.

“Why are you here on New Year’s Day?” I asked.

Her smile warmed me. I brought her inside just as my parents were getting ready to go out.

But when they saw her, both froze in place.

My mother looked Emily up and down, surprised.

“Son, is this… your classmate?”

I nodded. “Emily—my girlfriend.”

Emily greeted them sweetly, “Happy New Year, Uncle, Auntie.”

While I went to get her a glass of water, I noticed my mom whispering something to my dad in the kitchen.

Curious, I moved closer to eavesdrop.

“Dad, that girl is beautiful,” Mom said in a hushed voice. “Why don’t we introduce her to Charles?”

Dad frowned. “She’s our son’s girlfriend. How can you say that?”

Mom waved it off. “Both of them are our sons—flesh of our flesh. What’s the difference?”

“William’s health is poor, and he has that scar. He’s not a good match for her. Charles is handsome and polished—they’d look perfect together.”

“In any case, I like that girl. She has to marry Charles.”

Dad looked uncomfortable, but said nothing more.

I quickly stepped away, pretending I hadn’t heard anything, and returned with the water.

My hand trembled as I handed the glass to Emily.

I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or the growing disappointment that churned inside me.

I couldn’t understand it—why would my own parents try to steal their biological son’s girlfriend for an adopted son who shared no blood with them?

The last warmth I held in my heart cracked and shattered.

I didn’t want to stay home any longer. I took Emily’s hand, intending to take her out to see a movie.

But my mother stopped us, smiling warmly.

“Where are you two going? Stay for lunch.”

I was about to decline, but Emily quickly accepted, eager to make a good impression.

Lunch that day was the most extravagant I’d ever seen at our house—dishes I’d only dreamed of growing up.

During the meal, my mother suddenly suggested shopping with Emily.

When I offered to join them, she smiled and said,

“Why would you come? Let us women shop on our own.”

My father added,

“Son, just stay and help out. It’s New Year’s—relatives will be coming and going all day.”

I nodded reluctantly.

That night, my phone rang. It was Emily, her voice panicked:

“William! Help me! I’m at City KTV, Room 303!”

Without thinking, I ran straight there. The moment I pushed open the door, I saw Charles trying to force drinks on her.

I stepped in and pulled her behind me. Charles looked me up and down and smirked.

“Well, look who it is—the broke loser. What are you doing here? Playing hero?”

I didn’t respond. I just grabbed Emily’s hand and turned to leave. But then he dropped a bombshell that made me stop in my tracks.

“You know who came up with the idea to get her drunk and ‘seal the deal’? Our parents.”

That word—our—hit like a slap. Everyone in the room froze.

I was dressed plainly, shoes scuffed, my coat worn thin. He wore head-to-toe designer brands. The contrast couldn’t have been starker. Yet he’d just called me “brother.”

In that moment, all I felt was a deep, numbing anger.

My own parents… would scheme something like this?

Charles stepped closer, a twisted smile on his lips.

“You disgusting freak. Even your own parents can’t stand you. Just disappear, why don’t you?”

“I’m up here,” he sneered, gesturing to himself, “and you? You’re crawling in the dirt. If both of us were in trouble, want to bet who they’d save?”

I thought he was just bluffing. But seconds later, the door burst open.

A group of men in black stormed in.

Charles froze.

“Who are you?!”

They didn’t answer. Without a word, they grabbed us both, tied us up, and shoved us into a van. One of them turned to Emily.

“Go home. Tell his parents.”

When they finally removed our hoods, we were at an abandoned construction site. Charles’s face was pale. Our hands and feet were tied to chairs.

A masked man paced in front of us, chuckling.

“Charles, you love flaunting your money. We’ve been watching you for a while.”

He raised a phone, recorded a quick video of us, then made a call.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pierce,” he said coldly, “we’ve got both your sons. Be smart—pay the ransom. Don’t call the police unless you want two corpses.”

The moment my parents saw the video, their act dropped. My mother’s voice shook:

“Please don’t hurt them! How much do you want? We’ll pay!”

Before the kidnapper could answer, Charles burst into sobs.

“Mom! Dad! Help me! I’m scared!”

I tried to speak, to shout, but his crying drowned me out.

Then the masked man said flatly,

“Five million per person. You’ve got thirty minutes. No delays. Or you’ll be identifying bodies.”

My parents panicked.

“Please don’t kill them! We’ll give you the money! But… five million each is a lot. Can’t you let both go for five million total?”

The kidnapper laughed coldly and looked between us.

“I’ve been watching both your sons. One of them lives lavishly, spends money like it’s air. The other looks like a ghost, juggling two jobs just to survive. You clearly favor one.”

“So I’ll make it easy. Five million—choose one.”

Dad hesitated, visibly torn. I could hear my mother’s voice faintly through the phone, whispering urgently.

“The company’s cash flow is tight. We can’t pull out ten million that fast. Let’s just rescue one first. I don’t think they’ll really kill the other.”

Although her words were quiet, Charles and I heard them clearly.

A flicker of hope sparked in my chest.

Charles panicked and immediately pleaded,

“Dad, Mom! Save me! Save me first! You love me—please, you have to choose me!”

The kidnapper didn’t give them much time to think. He started counting.

“Three...”

“Two...”

With each count, my hope surged. Deep down, I wanted to believe they'd choose me. I was their real son. Surely, they wouldn’t abandon me.

But just as the final second came, both of them spoke in unison:

“We choose Charles!”

The words hit me like a bolt of lightning. My mind went blank.

The kidnapper gave a knowing smirk.

“Alright. Go prepare the money. You’ve got thirty minutes.”

My parents quickly agreed, then made a request.

“Can we speak to William privately for a moment?”

The kidnapper allowed it, assuming they wouldn’t dare try anything with both sons in their hands.

They held the phone to my ear. I wanted to call them “Mom” and “Dad,” but my throat locked up.

Then my father’s voice came through gently.

“William, don’t be afraid. They won’t hurt you. Once we pay, they’ll release you both. You’ll be home safe.”

My mother chimed in.

“Your dad’s right, son. Be strong. We’ll definitely bring you back.”

Tears welled up in my eyes.

Even in their words of comfort, it was obvious: in their hearts, Charles mattered most.

In the end, I lost to him—again.

They couldn’t risk Charles’s life. They gave him the money without hesitation. But with me, they were gambling, betting the kidnappers wouldn’t actually follow through on their threats.

Choking on emotion, I responded,

“Dad... Mom... your duty of raising me ends here in this life.”

They both froze, panic rising in their voices.

“Son! Don’t say that—what nonsense are you talking about? You’ll be fine—”

Before he finished, I nodded at the kidnapper to take the phone away. He paused, looked at me, and in his eyes, I saw something unexpected—pity.

Half an hour later, the kidnappers confirmed the ransom had arrived.

They masked Charles, shoved him into a van, and drove off. I was left behind.

My parents, relieved, asked through the phone,

“What about William? Is our other son okay?”

But instead of a response, what they heard was a loud, ear-splitting gunshot.