My little sister has been bullying me, both openly and covertly.

My parents are fully aware of what she's doing, but they turn a blind eye.

Their indulgence has only made her behavior worse, and she's become even more vicious.

And yet, this works perfectly in my favor. To bring someone down, you first need to push them to the edge of madness!

...

In reality, the people I call "Mom" and "Dad" aren’t my biological parents. They’re Uncle John and Aunt Annie. My little sister isn’t actually my sister; she’s my cousin.

I’m an orphan.

When I was fourteen, a car accident took my real parents from me. Most people probably think these things only happen in the news or on TV.

But this tragedy happened in my own life, on my birthday, no less.

My parents had been out of town on a business trip, and they made the long drive home just to celebrate my birthday with me.

On the way back, a large truck carrying coal collided with a small car, and the truck overturned.

My parents’ car happened to be passing by when the truck tipped over, and the pile of coal crashed down on top of their car, crushing it instantly.

My father died on the spot, and my mother was severely injured and rushed to the hospital. By the time I arrived, she was barely holding on to life.

All our relatives had passed away long ago, and the only close family I had were my paternal Aunt Madge and Uncle John. If no one was willing to take me in, I’d have to go to an orphanage.

Aunt Madge, who was divorced and raising her own child, was too busy to take me in.

Before she died, my mother entrusted my guardianship to Uncle John. He held my hand and promised he would take better care of me than he did of his own daughter.

My mother, eyes filled with tears, took her final breath right then.

From that moment on, my birthday became the anniversary of my parents’ death.

I thought that was the worst thing I’d ever go through, but it turned out to be just the beginning of something much worse.

After we held a simple funeral for my parents, Uncle John presented the guardianship agreement my mother had signed in her final moments and said, “Susan, from now on, you’ll stay with me. Aunt Annie and I will always protect you and take care of you.”

To make it feel more familiar, they insisted I start calling them “Mom” and “Dad” in front of others.

Just three days after my parents’ death, Uncle John’s family moved into our home under the pretense of helping me adjust.

Our house was a small two-bedroom apartment—nothing luxurious, but located in the city center in a prestigious school district, which made it valuable.

As Aunt Annie stepped inside, she looked around the house with greed in her eyes. "I never noticed how well this place is kept. It’s really nice. With the housing market doing so well, this could sell for a pretty penny."

Sitting on the sofa, Uncle John immediately pulled up an app to check property prices in our neighborhood. "Susan, why don’t you sell the house? I’ll pitch in some money, and we can buy a bigger one. What do you think?"

Then Aunt Annie’s glittering eyes turned toward me.

At that moment, I froze. My body trembled. I never imagined they would have such plans for adopting me!

And just a day after burying my parents, they were already thinking about this!

My nails dug into my palms, and after a long pause, my eyes began to water. I couldn’t hold back my tears. "Uncle John, I miss my mom and dad. This house is all they left me. I don’t want to leave it."

Seeing me crying, burying my face in my hands, Uncle John softened a bit. He realized this couldn’t be rushed. “Don’t worry, take your time to think it over,” he said.

Aunt Annie, who was standing nearby, snorted and muttered under her breath, “What are you crying for? You look like a messenger of death.”

I sniffled, wiped my tears with my sleeve, and lowered my head, hiding the anger in my eyes.

At that age, I had no way to fight back. Pretending to be weak was the only weapon I had left.

I watched as Uncle John and Aunt Annie moved into my parents' master bedroom, while Kristen, who was just a few months younger than me, took over my room.

That night, when Uncle John went out, Aunt Annie called me into the master bedroom. She was sitting on my mother’s bed, wearing my mother’s silk nightgown, casually applying her skincare products.

"Susan, you have to understand Kristen. She needs space for her piano, so there’s no room for your bed. From now on, you’ll sleep on the couch in the living room. You’re still small, so the couch should be fine for you."

That silk nightgown had been a birthday gift from my father to my mother—it was her favorite.

The skincare products were high-end imports that Aunt Annie had never been able to afford before.

I gritted my teeth and forced a sweet smile. "I'll sleep in the living room. It's no big deal. After all, my parents’ portraits are there. I'll just keep them company. But..."

I hesitated, leaving the sentence unfinished. Aunt Annie furrowed her brow and glanced at me.

"But what?"

"Aunt Annie, I’ll tell you a secret. I once read in a book that you shouldn’t use things that belonged to the dead; it’s considered very unlucky! You see, my mom’s portrait is facing you."

I pointed to the black-and-white portraits of my parents, placed beside the TV in the living room.

At the mention of this, Aunt Annie's eyes immediately went to the portraits. She jumped back in surprise, and her hand, which had been holding the luxury skincare product, recoiled in disgust, pushing it aside.

I couldn’t help but curl my lips into a smile, deciding to fan the flames just a bit more.

I walked into the living room and grabbed the medicine box. Then, I handed Aunt Annie a tube of ointment for treating skin abscesses, pretending to be kind.

"Aunt Annie, take this. My mom had a skin condition, and I’m not sure if the clothes could have been contaminated, but she always used this ointment. It worked wonders."

"Skin disease?" Aunt Annie’s brows furrowed, and she leapt off the bed in a panic. "You little troublemaker, why didn’t you tell me earlier?"

With that, she hurriedly grabbed a change of clothes and rushed into the master bedroom’s bathroom.

I left the bedroom, sat on the couch, and stared at my mom’s portrait intently.

Mom, I’m sorry. I lied about the skin disease. I know it’s disrespectful, but to protect what’s rightfully yours, I had no choice.

Dad, Mom, please watch over me from heaven. Help me protect everything that belongs to us, and give me the strength to face these people who want to harm us.

Just then, Kristen barged into my room, tossing my backpack and textbooks out with a loud thud, as if throwing out trash.

"Susan, this room is mine now. Take your junk and leave."

She was wearing the pink princess dress my mom had bought for me—a pricey brand, too.

It’s true what they say: like mother, like daughter. Both of them love to take what doesn’t belong to them.

"Kristen, since you think my things are junk and you’re so disgusted by me, why don’t you just take off that dress and give it back to me?" I said coolly.

Kristen’s mouth twitched, and her face immediately soured. "You think I care? From now on, you’re nothing but my lackey. Your stuff is mine now."

"I’m your lackey? Is that your idea, or is it Uncle John’s? Maybe we should ask him together?" I grabbed her hand, pretending to head out to find Uncle John.

Kristen froze, pulling her hand away from mine in a hurry.

She turned to go back to her room, but her gaze casually landed on the portrait in the living room. She stopped dead in her tracks and sneered.

"Susan, do you think you’re some kind of jinx? You’re only fourteen, and you’ve already killed your own parents?"

My eyes instantly turned cold. They could treat me badly, they could bully me, but they could not talk about my parents like that.

Especially now, when they were the ones squatting in my home like thieves!

The sound of a door unlocking broke the silence. I took a deep breath and, with a face full of feigned grievance, said,

"Well, it’s not impossible. If you’re afraid of being cursed and ending up dead like my parents, maybe tomorrow Uncle John and I should just cancel the adoption."

Just then, Uncle John entered. Upon hearing that I wanted to end the adoption, his face went pale with worry.

"Susan, don’t listen to Kristen. This whole 'jinx' nonsense isn’t true. There’s no such thing."

They hadn’t gotten their hands on my family’s house or the password to our bank account yet. They’d never want to end the adoption now.

The words "end adoption" hit Uncle John like a punch in the gut.

"Uncle John, Kristen just said I’m the one who caused my parents' death. Maybe she's right. I'm scared that I might bring harm to you too," I said, biting my lip, my face contorting into the most pitiful expression I could manage.

Uncle John, terrified that I might actually want to end our adoption, quickly shot Kristen a glare. His voice was filled with anger as he shouted, "Kristen, apologize to Susan right now! If I ever hear you say something like that again, I swear I’ll teach you a lesson!"

Kristen was Uncle John and Aunt Annie’s only child, their precious darling since childhood. She had never heard Uncle John speak to her so harshly before. Her eyes immediately filled with tears, and she cried, though her voice was still defiant. "I won’t apologize! She’s the jinx, the messenger of death! She’s the one who’ll bring ruin to our family!"

Hearing this, I pouted, my face falling further into sadness. "Uncle John, it’s all my fault. Maybe you shouldn’t have adopted me. I’ll just fend for myself, let me die alone."

Now truly angry, Uncle John raised his hand and slapped Kristen hard across the face. "Kristen, apologize right now!"

Kristen's cheek instantly turned red and swollen from the slap. She was stunned, completely at a loss. After all, Uncle John and Aunt Annie had always pampered her, never once laying a hand on her.

She threw a tantrum, throwing herself on the floor, crying and shouting, "Mom, help me! Dad actually hit me for Susan! Waaaah… help me, Mom…"

In the master bedroom, Aunt Annie had just finished her shower. She walked out in her clothes and, seeing her precious daughter crying on the floor, rushed over, pushing me and Uncle John aside as she hurried to help Kristen up.

Turning to face me, Aunt Annie shot me a cold look and warned, "Susan, you really want to tear this family apart, don’t you? If you want to end the adoption, are you planning on going to an orphanage? You can’t stay here, and if you go to an orphanage, you’ll get what’s coming to you."

I lowered my head, knowing this wasn’t the time to make things worse. I spoke quietly, "Uncle John, Kristen is still young, and she doesn’t understand. I shouldn’t hold it against her. But since she accused me of causing my parents' deaths, she should at least apologize."

Uncle John quickly gestured to Aunt Annie, who understood. When it came to choosing between money and her daughter’s apology, she chose the former without hesitation.

Aunt Annie gently patted Kristen’s head and coaxed, "Kristen, remember what Mommy taught you: Rome wasn’t built in a day. Be a good girl, okay? I promise I’ll buy you lots and lots of princess dresses and Barbie dolls, alright?"

When she said "I promise," I couldn’t help but feel that it was more of a promise to herself — the moment when she and Uncle John would take everything I had: my house, my bank cards, everything.

It was only day one, and already their true colors were starting to show.

The anger in my heart grew, but I kept my face neutral, showing no sign of the storm brewing inside.

After a long silence, I finally heard Kristen, with obvious reluctance, mutter an apology. "I’m sorry, Susan. I was wrong. Please forgive me."

Although she apologized, I could see the barely concealed fury and venom in her eyes. I knew this wouldn’t end here.

But I would make sure to show her that I wasn’t someone she could push around either.