"You… bastard!"
My father's voice tore through the living room like thunder, sharp and unforgiving.
His finger jabbed at me as if his words alone weren't enough to drive his disgust home.
I lowered my head, unable to meet his burning gaze.
The weight of his fury pressed against my chest.
"I didn't do it," I muttered, my voice small, almost swallowed by the suffocating air between us.
"Then who did?" His voice cracked like a whip, sharp, leaving no room for hesitation.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I forced the words out.
"I didn't do it. This is a setup. I was lied against—"
But before I could even finish, his roar cut through me.
"You liar!"
And then, pain exploded across my cheek.
His palm met my face with such force that my head snapped to the side, a burning sting spreading from my cheekbone down to my jaw.
For a moment, I saw stars, not from some poetic metaphor, but from the sheer violence of the strike.
"Now you want to blame someone else for your sin, huh? Such a cunning little brat you are," he growled, voice thick with disappointment, with anger… but never understanding.
"I didn't do it, Dad!" I snapped, my voice rising despite the tightness in my throat.
"You—"
Before he could unleash another torrent of accusations, I found my voice again, desperate and shaking.
"They did it!" I shouted, thrusting my finger toward them.
My so-called step-siblings, standing smugly in the shadows of my misery.
Laughing.
Mocking.
They hadn't even tried to hide it while I was getting torn apart.
"It wasn't me! I swear, I saw them stealing the company ownership papers! It wasn't me!"
I tried to explain, tried to make him understand, but how could I?
How could I tell him that when I first discovered them, he wasn't home?
And every time I tried to talk to him afterward, his answer was always the same.
"I'm busy."
Too busy to listen.
Too busy to see.
Only they and my stepmother were home that day, and somehow, conveniently,you theyn the story first.
By the time my father finally heard of it, the lie had taken root deep in his heart.
Why would I betray our family like that?
Why would I sell the company my mother sacrificed a lot for before she died?
But none of that mattered.
I watched their smiles falter for a split second, betraying the cracks in their perfect act.
But then my step-sister's face twisted into a wounded expression, her eyes shimmering as if tears threatened to spill.
"Why… why would you think we'd do such a horrible thing?" she whispered, her voice trembling like a delicate flower in the wind.
I stared at her, disgusted.
"I don't think. I know."
She gasped, clutching her chest like I had driven a knife into her heart.
My stepbrother took a step toward her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders as if protecting her from the big bad wolf.
Me.
Their act was flawless.
Sickeningly flawless.
"What did we ever do to you?" she whimpered.
Stepbrother's eyes burned into mine, righteous fury etched across his face.
"What did we ever do to you!" he repeated, louder this time, his voice echoing through the room like a death sentence.
I almost laughed.
If they ever quit the company, they could have a bright future on stage.
Hell, their performance could put innocent men behind bars without a shred of evidence.
"You liars!" I roared, my voice raw with frustration. "Damn human scums!"
But my father, oh, my father, his gaze only hardened.
He turned toward them first, and I thought, Finally, he sees it.
But then his burning stare swung back to me, angrier than ever.
"Is this how you treat your younger siblings?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous.
"Younger siblings?" I repeated, disgust dripping from every syllable. "I'd rather die than accept them as my siblings."
The moment the words left my lips, I knew I'd crossed a line I couldn't step back from.
"Then so be it," my father growled.
He marched toward me, each step echoing like a ticking clock counting down to my punishment.
His hand blurred through the air.
Another slap cracked across my face, harder than the first.
I staggered, my knees giving way, and crashed onto the floor.
The world spun briefly before my father's hands gripped my collar and yanked me up.
He shook me, hard, like he was trying to rattle the truth, or his version of it, out of my bones.
"You… brat!" he shouted, his breath hot and bitter against my face.
"Stop! Wait!"
A woman's voice sliced through the chaos.
I froze.
My father's grip loosened, and he turned toward the voice.
It was her.
My stepmother.
The last person I wanted to see right now.
"Why?!" My father barked at her, veins bulging in his neck. "Why shouldn't I discipline this stubborn boy?"
She stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture, face painted with calm concern.
But I knew better.
I knew better than to trust the viper when it smiled.
"Please," she said gently, "he's your son. He may have tried to sell the company, yes, but… he didn't succeed. Punish him if you must, but hitting him won't help."
Her words sounded kind, reasonable even, but to me, they were poison wrapped in silk.
I'd sooner trust a cornered snake not to bite than believe she was helping me.
And then… something changed.
My father stopped, his anger momentarily fading into something else, confusion?
Shock?
His gaze drifted downward, narrowing in on something just beneath her collarbone.
I followed his eyes.
And there it was.
A bruise.
Dark, raw, and unmistakably fresh.
Like someone had clawed at her neck.
When did that happen?
Who did that to her?
Her hand flew to her throat too late, her fingers fumbling to cover the mark.
But the damage was done.
"What is that?" My father's voice lowered to a dangerous calm. "How did it happen?"
I wasn't the only one with questions now.
She smiled, a little too quickly, a little too forced.
"Oh, it's nothing. Just a simple scratch. It's not serious."
But my father's eyes darkened, suspicion creeping in like a shadow.
"How did you get it? Who did it to you?"
She hesitated.
That hesitation told me more than any answer could.
"Well… it's not important—"
"Say it," my father demanded, his voice like iron. "How did you get that scar? Who did it to you?"
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Only silence.
And in that silence, the walls of their carefully crafted story began to crack.
The question burned between us.
Who hurt her?
"It... was..."
Her voice broke, soft and trembling, like a brittle thread about to snap.
My stepmother's eyes darted around the room, landing briefly on me.
And in that fleeting moment, something cold gripped my heart.
"Ryan," she finally said, barely above a whisper. "Ryan did it."
The world stopped.
I blinked, struggling to process what I'd just heard.
Who?
Me?
I froze, mind racing.
Confused.
Lost.
I didn't understand.
What was happening?
Why was she saying my name?
"Ryan," My father repeated, his voice low and dangerous. A storm brewing beneath the surface. "Did this? Why?"
Even my stepsister played her part, turning to our stepmom with wide, innocent eyes.
"Mom… why?"
And then, as if trying to backpedal, my stepmother waved her hands frantically.
"No, no, it didn't happen! It didn't!"
My father narrowed his eyes, voice sharp.
"What didn't happen?"
I was still on the floor, my cheek throbbing from before, trying to catch my breath, trying to catch my thoughts.
And then it hit me.
Like a slap colder than the one my father gave me earlier.
This wasn't random.
This was planned.
All of it.
They knew what they were doing from the start.
"Shit," I breathed under my breath, the word barely leaving my cracked lips.
And then she dropped the final dagger into my back.
"Yesterday," she stammered, her voice cracking in perfect, rehearsed pain. "Ryan tried to force himself on me when you weren't home."
The room spun.
The ground felt like it had given way beneath me, leaving me in a free fall with no end in sight.
My father staggered, the color draining from his face as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest.
I, on the other hand, felt everything drain out of me.
Life.
Hope.
Breath.
For a brief, terrifying moment, I wasn't sure I was still alive.
"Ryan did WHAT!!!"
The roar shook the walls.
And then, on cue, my stepmother began to sob.
Loud, broken, convincing.
I watched her through blurred vision.
It was fake.
All of it.
Obvious.
Painfully obvious.
Even a blind man could see it, hear it, feel it.
But my father?
In this moment, he wasn't just blind.
He was deaf.
He was gone.
He turned on me with a fury I'd never seen before.
But before he could act, my stepbrother lunged first.
His hands grabbed my collar, jerking me upward like I was nothing but a rag doll.
"You bastard!" he spat, face twisted with disgust and fury.
And then the fist came.
One.
My head snapped back, pain exploding behind my eyes.
"I trusted you!"
Two.
My vision blurred. My body limp.
"Why!"
Three.
.....
I lost count after that.
My world became fists and pain and the bitter taste of blood in my mouth.
I couldn't fight back.
I couldn't even lift my arms.
Shock paralyzed me.
I never expected this outcome.
Not like this.
I thought it was bad before.
The accusations.
The hatred.
The disappointment in my father's eyes. But this...
This was beyond everything.
This was betrayal so deep it burned.
Eventually, my stepbrother dragged me across the cold, hard floor like I weighed nothing.
My body screamed in pain, but my mind... my mind was numb.
I had lost.
Not just the argument.
Not just my home.
I had lost him.
My father.
Forever.
The front door loomed before me, cold and final like the gates of some cruel prison.
My stepbrother yanked me upright, his face inches from mine.
I could feel his breath, smell the satisfaction in it.
He leaned closer to my ear, his voice low and triumphant.
"Goodbye, brother," he whispered. "Have a nice trip in hell."
And with that, he hurled me outside like trash.
The world spun as my body hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Pain shot through every bone, every nerve.
For a second, I thought I'd shattered into pieces.
He was strong.
Stronger than me.
That's what it meant to be awakened in this world.
And me?
I hadn't awakened yet.
I was powerless.
I coughed hard, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth, trickling down my chin.
Through the haze, I looked back toward the house.
The front door was still slightly ajar, and there, in the shadows, I saw it.
His grin.
Cold.
Mocking.
Triumphant.
And then he turned away and slammed the door shut.
I was alone.
Truly alone.
I pulled myself up, my body screaming with every movement.
My hands trembled as I wiped the blood from my lips.
I looked around.
The night air was cold against my bruised skin, the streets empty, silent witnesses to my fall.
I stared up at the dark sky.
No stars.
No moonlight.
Just darkness.
And for the first time in my life, I realized something terrifying.
I had nowhere to go.
No one to turn to.
No home to return to.
"...Where should I go?" I whispered to myself, the words barely carried by the wind.
But there was no answer.
Just silence.
And in that silence, I understood—this was my life now.
Broken.
Betrayed.
Alone.