Chapter 2

Dylan kicked the coffee table over with a loud crash. The boiling hot soup on the table splashed all over me, burning my skin. My vision went blurry from the sharp pain.

My mother, who had been kneeling on the floor just a moment ago, scrambled up to grab Dylan's hands, crying tears of pity.

"My poor baby! Your hands are so beautiful. What would you do without them?"

Then she whipped her head around to glare at me, her eyes filled with pure malice. "Look at what you’ve done to your brother! How did I ever give birth to a monster like you?"

She acted as if I was the one who made the bet, as if I was the one threatening to chop Dylan’s hands off.

Faced with Dylan, she was a loving mother. Faced with me, she was a vengeful enemy.

It was as if I wasn't her son, but her mortal foe.

My father finally threw off his fake mask of civility. He walked over and slapped me hard across the face. "I told you this ungrateful little shit wouldn't help. You wanted to negotiate with him, Eleanor? I say we just beat him until he learns to obey."

The slap made my ears ring loudly. I couldn't hear anything for a long time.

When the ringing finally faded, I heard my father’s voice. "If you don't agree to take the test for Dylan today, I will beat you to death, you ungrateful bastard."

My father raised his hand to strike me again, but my mother stopped him. For a split second, a tiny spark of warmth rose in my battered heart.

But then, my mother said, "Don't hit his face, Richard. We never hit Dylan’s face. People at the testing center will get suspicious."

Ah. They were just worried about getting caught.

Of course. Since we were kids, whenever I was beaten until I bled, Dylan was coddled like a fragile glass doll. If he even scraped his knee, they would rush him to the ER.

"Are you going to do it or not, you piece of shit?" Dylan snapped, losing his patience.

Looking at my "family" standing over me like a pack of wolves, I suddenly let out a bitter laugh. So this was the family I had been craving love from.

Seeing me laugh, my father lost his temper completely. He lunged forward and kicked me squarely in the chest.

A sharp, sickening crack echoed in my ears. A wave of agonizing pain exploded from my chest, radiating to every nerve in my body. Darkness crept into the edges of my vision, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood as I collapsed onto the floor.

Looking up at them standing over me like demons, feeling the cold touch of impending death, I finally gave in.

I didn't want to die...

So, I had to agree.

Once I agreed to take the SATs, Dylan suggested that I should start "living his life" to get used to the identity. As soon as my broken ribs healed enough for me to move, I was forced to go to Dylan's school pretending to be him.

The moment I walked through the school gates, a guy with a messy, loose outfit slung his arm over my shoulder. "Yo, Dylan! You’re finally back."

I glanced at him but didn't say a word. He kept talking, "You promised to buy the boys drinks to celebrate your upcoming graduation and your new sports car. You’ve been MIA for days, man. We’ve been waiting!"

I didn't want to talk to these people, but his words caught my attention. "What new sports car?"

"Come on, Dylan! You said your parents promised you a new Mustang once you graduate high school. Don't tell me you’re backing out now!"

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sleazy whisper. "Besides, didn't your mom sign that exclusive contract for your brother with that tech firm? Your family must be loaded right now! How about lending some cash to your boy?"

A tech firm contract...

An alarm went off in my head. I suddenly remembered a shady, third-rate tech startup that had offered me a "technical advisor" position a few weeks ago.

I had researched them. The company was notorious in the industry for wage theft, extreme exploitation, and senior executives who sexually harassed interns.

The contract was a predatory 20-year binding agreement. They only recruited top-tier students from elite schools to use them as cheap labor and positive PR before tossing them aside. Signing it meant throwing away your entire life.

I had rejected them outright. I never imagined my mother would forge my signature and sign it behind my back.

She was selling my future!

A suffocating weight pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

The guy beside me kept rambling, "Man, your mom is awesome! Selling your brother's future just to buy you a sports car!"

Yes.

My parents were so good to Dylan. They forced me to commit a federal crime for him, signed away my life to a toxic company, and used the signing bonus to buy him a luxury car.

What about me?

My parents had never given me a single penny of allowance. I was so poor I couldn't even afford lunch at school. When I got sick, I had to endure it alone. I almost died of a high fever in my dorm room once.

But whenever I asked them for money, they would scream at me, calling me a financial burden, telling me to drop out of school and work in a factory.

We were born from the same parents, so why was there such a brutal difference?

What did I do wrong?

Looking at my stolen future, a wave of helplessness washed over me. I couldn't even take another step. I just wanted to collapse on the pavement and scream.