Chapter 3

It didn't take long for me to realize that Dylan was incredibly popular at school. He spent money like water, constantly buying drinks and fast food for his classmates and teachers, so everyone loved him.

Meanwhile, because I always wore old, ragged clothes and couldn't afford to pay for class activities, I was constantly bullied and isolated. Only my desk mate, Daisy, was kind to me. She never looked down on me.

My chest still throbbed with pain, making it hard to speak, but I forced myself to stay at school until the final bell. I knew if I went home early, my parents would only find something else to scream at me for.

Back when I was studying for my own exams, they never cared.

But now that I was taking the test for Dylan, they watched me like hawks, terrified I would ruin his chance.

Even when I was recovering from my broken ribs, they piled SAT prep books on my bed, forcing me to study.

When I finally walked through the front door, they were already eating dinner. Sitting at my spot was a paper plate and a plastic fork, with a pile of cold, leftover rice.

I couldn't remember when it started, but I was always forced to use paper plates and plastic forks, treated worse than a stray dog.

Meanwhile, Dylan always ate from the finest china, and when he was angry, he would throw those heavy plates right at my head.

And today was no exception. The moment I walked in, Dylan muttered, "Ugh, my appetite is ruined," and slammed his plate onto the table.

The beautiful ceramic plate shattered into pieces.

My mother gasped. "Oh, my sweet boy!" Then she turned to me, screaming, "Grab your garbage plate and get upstairs! Stop ruining our dinner!"

Then she turned back to Dylan, her voice dripping with honey. "Dylan, honey, you need your nutrition. Have some more lobster."

Looking at this family that I would never be a part of, the urge to run away flared up again.

I sighed inwardly, picked up my paper plate, and turned to head upstairs.

Suddenly, Dylan’s tone changed. He let out a nasty, mocking laugh. "Hey, come here. I want to show you something."

He pulled out his phone and played a video.

Seeing the intimate, blurred figures on the screen, my heart stopped. A cold, suffocating terror gripped my throat.

Dylan chuckled, "That little fat girl is actually pretty fun in bed, though she kept crying and calling out your name. Annoying as hell."

He burst into a loud, mocking laugh. "By the way, dear brother, that stupid girl is Daisy, right? She actually thought I was you. She kept crying, 'Ethan, please stop...' It was fucking hilarious!"

Daisy...

The only person in the world who was kind to me, the only person who gave me warmth!

And she was defiled by this monster, Dylan! If she found out it wasn't me, if she knew there was a video... she would be completely destroyed!

How was I supposed to face her now?

My blood ran cold, and my heart felt like it was about to explode.

Looking at the face that looked exactly like mine, I threw a heavy punch right into his laughing mouth. In that moment, I genuinely wanted to kill him.

I agreed to take his test. I gave him my future. I gave him everything. But why did he have to touch Daisy?!

He took my parents' love, he took my toys, he took my entire life, and now he had destroyed the only beautiful thing I had left.

I went feral, pinning Dylan to the floor and slamming my fists into his face. But watching his bloody, crying face didn't bring me any peace. I only felt a deep, agonizing ache in my chest, and tears finally spilled over.

The chaos ended when my mother slammed a heavy wooden rolling pin against the back of my head, knocking me out cold.

In the days that followed, they locked me in my room, forcing me to study until the day of the SATs.

During those dark days, something inside me broke, and then rebuilt itself into something cold and sharp. Originally, I just wanted to get it over with, let Dylan have his Ivy League spot, and leave this family forever.

But now, I wanted to destroy him. I wanted him to regret ever touching Daisy. I wanted to burn his entire world to the ground.

If he wouldn't let me live, I wouldn't let him win.

On the day of the exam, my parents escorted me to the testing center like prison guards. Before I got out of the car, they warned me, "You better get a score high enough for Columbia, or we’ll skin you alive."

I nodded obediently. But once I sat down in the quiet exam room, surrounded by nervous, hopeful students, I calmly wrote Dylan’s name on the bubble sheet.

Then, on the essay section and every single page of the test booklet, I wrote "DUMBASS" and "LOSER" in giant, bold letters.

I wrote down every disgusting, vile insult my parents and Dylan had ever thrown at me.

You want to go to Columbia?

Go work at a drive-thru, you piece of trash.

I let out a quiet smirk, unable to wait to see the look on their faces when the results came out.