"Mom, the new boss sexually harassed me. I want to quit."

"Things are tight right now though. Can you lend me some money to get by? I promise I'll pay you back as soon as I find a new job."

Mahjong tiles clattered in the background. Her tone was flat.

"Don't even think about it. No work, no food. I spoiled you too much. Get back out there, keep your eyes on the paycheck, and stop being so sensitive."

"That's just how the workplace is—same everywhere. Men are all horny like that. Since this boss likes you, why not play it smart? Milk it for what you can."

Her mahjong friends laughed, teasing her for being so open-minded. My heart went cold. I swallowed my anger and decided to wait for my year-end bonus before making any moves.

But the night of the company party, my boss got drunk and told me to help him upstairs to rest.

I tried everything to refuse. No one dared to help me.

I carefully helped him into the room. The moment I turned to leave, he pounced—hands everywhere.

I thrashed, desperate, until my fingers found an ashtray. I swung it hard against his skull.

I bolted out the door, shaking so violently I couldn't think straight. I didn't save any evidence.

Days later, he sued me for intentional injury.

No cameras in that room to prove what he did. He hired the best lawyer money could buy and refused to settle.

I stared at my bank balance and called my parents, crying, begging them to lend me money for legal fees.

Before I could finish, Mom's voice shot up.

"What? Thirty thousand? Your dad and I get just over two thousand a month in retirement! Where do you expect us to pull that kind of money from?"

"Did the big city teach you to go bad? Our family can't afford your fancy spending habits!"

I was so panicked I couldn't form words. Then Dad's voice cut through.

"She needs to be cured of this! Thinks she's some rich princess!"

"Starve her for a month. Once she's hungry enough, she'll learn. Don't pay her any attention."

The line went dead. When I called back, I'd already been blocked.

My coworkers were too scared of getting dragged down with me. I had no one. No money for a lawyer. I lost the case fast and got sentenced to a year.

So even with Ryan's high scores, having a sister with a criminal record meant he'd never pass the background check.

How ridiculous.

A year ago, their refusal to spare me a single penny had finally boomeranged right into their precious son.

Aunt Patricia's eyes darted around, and she stepped forward to smooth things over.

"A friend of mine owns a restaurant, and she's been swamped lately. Since Alex doesn't have a job, she could work there for now."

"Big brother, just remember—when we need to ask Ryan for favors down the road, you'll need to return the kindness."

Her scheming was written all over her face, but Mom latched onto her arm gratefully.

"Family really does come through. Alex has been stubborn since she was little. Tell your friend to be patient with her."

But they don't remember—before Ryan was born, my grades were in the top ten of our entire school. Every single year.

Shortly after he was born, my parents said they had to work during the day and couldn't stay up at night. So they told me to step up and be an older sister.

They slept soundly while I mixed formula, patted his back, and coaxed him to sleep. Some nights I got maybe two hours.

Anything at school that cost money—workbooks, field trips—got cut. No matter how much I cried or begged, Dad just hardened his face and said one thing.

"Money's tight. If we can save somewhere, we save. You're the older sister—stop being so immature."

When Ryan wanted to go out and play, they'd pull me out of class. Even if I missed lessons, I still had to wander aimlessly around the apartment complex with him.

After a while, my grades tanked.

I begged them, practically on my knees.

"I'm still a student—how can I spend all my time taking care of a kid? If this keeps up, what about my future? I still have to take the college entrance exam!"

Mom just looked at me.

"Alex, I knew a long time ago you're not cut out for studying. If you really wanted to learn, you could learn in any environment. It's fine. When you're an adult, Mom will ask relatives to find you a good match. Your priority right now is taking care of your little brother."

Under those conditions, I still managed to get into a four-year university, working part-time to put myself through.

I never expected that because of them, I'd end up back in this dump working as a server again.

My stomach churned, but I kept my face blank. "Thank you, Aunt Patricia."

With a criminal record, finding work was hard. Rent cost money. I had to take every chance to save up and get out of this place.

The next day, the owner looked me over like I was dirt.

"If we weren't short-handed, I wouldn't hire someone with no experience. Two hundred a day. You stay until cleanup's done. Take it or leave it."

They called it serving, but really I did everything.

Taking orders, running food, helping in the kitchen, scrubbing toilets—by closing I hadn't even had a sip of water.

There was no room for me at home. Every night I lay on the narrow couch, muscles aching so bad I couldn't sleep.

My only hope was the apartment I'd found online. The landlord agreed—once my paycheck hit, I'd sign the lease.

But on the fifteenth, I waited until midnight. No deposit notification.

I called the owner, furious. She tore into me.

"Are you insane? Didn't your Aunt Patricia tell me to transfer your wages straight to your mom? You two teaming up to scam me? I'll call the cops!"

My blood went cold. I stormed home and shoved the door open.

Mom was putting a new cashmere coat on Ryan. She froze when she saw me.

"It's the middle of the night—what are you doing?"

I steadied my breathing. "Where's my paycheck?"

She exchanged a look with Dad, her tone matter-of-fact.

"Getting your brother into classes and pulling strings—your dad and I borrowed a lot. We have monthly payments. How else would we afford it? We're family. Don't be petty. Call it rent."

Dad snorted. "We raised you this big and never touched a cent of yours. You've got nerve making a fuss. Taking your paycheck is only right."

I looked at Ryan, barely hiding his smirk.

Head to toe in new clothes—Gucci shoes, Burberry coat—his pampered face round and smug.

And me? I hadn't dared replace clothes I'd worn for ten years. Hair dry and brittle, nothing but skin and bones. A walking corpse.

While I cleaned up vomit and filth for a few hundred dollars, their precious son blew money in luxury stores like it was nothing.

I stared at them coldly.

"You know the last step of the civil service exam is a background check, right?"

Mom and Dad's faces changed instantly. Ryan's eyes flickered.

"What do you mean?"

I sneered, picking up the fruit knife from the table and lowering my voice.

"First, give me back my wages. Second, I want a written guarantee stating clearly that the debt is yours—it has nothing to do with me. Third, I'm moving out tomorrow. Whatever happens after, I won't come looking for you. Just pretend I don't exist."

"Otherwise, I'll go out and do something stupid, and Ryan won't pass his background check. Ever."

"If you won't let me live in peace, none of us will."

They clearly didn't expect me—the girl who only ever cried and caved—to suddenly snap. Ryan shot to his feet, then looked at Dad in panic.

Dad was shocked and furious. He reached out to hit me. "You're rebelling!"

I'd seen truly ruthless people inside. I knew he was all bark and no bite. I pointed the knife at him.

"Take one more step. Find out if I dare."

He froze. Mom clutched her phone, voice trembling. "Fine, fine! It's just a few thousand dollars. I'll transfer it now, okay?"

"Ungrateful wretch. Your brother making something of himself benefits the whole family! Don't come crying to us later!"

Making something of himself? You already destroyed your precious son's chances yourselves.

I kept my guard up. "The written guarantee too. Write it. Now."

When it was done, Mom and Dad's eyes burned with hatred.

I tucked the paper carefully into my pocket, turned, and walked toward the door.

I only made it a few steps before sharp pain exploded at the back of my skull.

I spun around. Ryan stood there holding a vase, his face twisted.

"We can't let her go. Words mean nothing—she's already had this idea. She'll sabotage me!"

"I worked so hard for this exam. I'm one step away! If she ruins it, I'd rather die!"

I struggled to run, but Dad reacted instantly, slamming me to the ground.

My face smashed into the floor. The bridge of my nose felt shattered. Blood dripped onto the tile.

"He's right! This damn girl stays under our roof until it's over."

"Once results are out, we throw her out. Wherever she dies is her problem."

They dragged me by my hair. My vision went black.

When I woke, I was in the basement. My phone was gone.

At mealtimes, the door cracked open. I gathered every ounce of strength and rushed it.

But Ryan was ready. He shoved me hard. I hit the ground and my ankle twisted—the pain was blinding.

He tossed several steamed buns and a water bottle at my feet.

"Still alive? Gone crazy from jealousy?"

"Relax. Once I'm in, I'll let you out. Be smart and disappear. My record can't have a stain like you."

I lifted my head and smiled.

I couldn't wait to see that stupid face when he learned the truth.

I lost track of how many days I spent in that basement. The wounds on my foot and head had gone numb. The fever burned so hot even my bones ached.

As long as Ryan saw I was still breathing, he didn't care. I forced myself to hold on, fighting to stay conscious.

Finally, I got what I'd been waiting for.

The house had thin walls. The phone's ring was crystal clear.

Ryan's voice trembled with excitement. "Yes, yes—I'm Ryan Gilbert. The review results are out?"

A long silence. Over a minute.

His tone plummeted.