Before I even had the chance to explain, I saw Bobby take hold of Audrey's hand and disappear from view.

As they turned, that smug little smile on her face sliced right through me.

I walked the streets like a ghost, strawberry cake in hand.

It was always like this. Every time Audrey and I fought, Bobby would take her side.

And me? I would end up buying strawberry cake from the south end of the city to bring home as an apology.

Not because Audrey liked it—she didn't. She just liked watching me drag myself across town, transferring between subway lines and buses for four or five hours, exhausted and humiliated, standing in front of her with a cake and a sorry.

Only then, when I looked sufficiently beaten, would Bobby forgive me for whatever I had supposedly done.

When I opened the front door, Bobby was in the kitchen, preparing Audrey's favorite dish.

From cleaning the fish to slicing it into paper-thin pieces, he did it all himself.

The same brother who once never touched anything in the kitchen had, for her, become a chef.

"Hey, I got her favorite cake. You should have some too," I said.

He glanced at what I was holding, and his expression softened just a little.

I hurried to open the box, carefully slicing the cake and placing the pieces on the table.

"Audrey… I was wrong yesterday. I shouldn't have gotten so upset. Don't take it to heart, okay? Come have some cake."

I lowered myself with every word, practically begging before she finally agreed to sit down.

Bobby poured her a glass of warm milk with gentle care and said, "If it's too sweet, have some milk."

Then he looked up at me, and for a fleeting second, there was something like approval in his eyes. Maybe he thought it was admirable of me to come back and apologize.

But, Bobby… the only reason I came back and asked for her forgiveness was for you. I just wanted to see you smile.

Audrey devoured the cake, smearing cream on her cheek like a child.

Bobby wiped it off for her, his expression soft, doting.

I used to be the one he looked at like that. But the warmth that once belonged to me had long since moved on.

Maybe I stared too long. He noticed.

"Bella," he said slowly, "since you've already apologized, don't hurt Audrey again. Otherwise…"

He didn't finish the sentence, but I already knew what he meant. He thought the way I looked at her meant I was planning to hurt her.

'Bobby, is that really how you see me now? Do you think I'm the kind of person who would deliberately harm someone?' I wondered.

The cozy little moment in front of me pierced my chest. While they sat there, sharing cake and laughter, I stepped quietly out of the room.

That evening at dinner, Audrey chirped excitedly, "Bobby, didn't you promise we'd go to Cranburn this winter break?"

Her eyes sparkled like stars, and Bobby—he never stood a chance.

"Pack your things in the next couple of days," he said. "We'll head out soon."

She clung to his arm, clinging, purring like a cat.

Cranburn. The place I'd always dreamed of visiting. The city where Mom and Dad met.

"Bella, why don't you come with us?" Audrey looked at me with that same sly glint I'd come to know too well. She had no intention of bringing me along.

"No need. Things are busy at the hospital," I replied.

"Hmph. Why ask her?" Bobby cut in, his tone sharp. "She never wants to go anywhere with us. Always some excuse."

I didn't respond. There were more important things waiting for me. As for Cranburn—maybe I'd never make it there.

"That's where Mom and Dad fell in love, Audrey," Bobby added. "Someone without a sincere heart doesn't deserve to go."

His words were like a knife. He still held onto what happened all those years ago.

Back then, when Audrey first came to live with us, she was quiet, careful, almost timid—nothing like the entitled girl she'd become. But it was Bobby who gave her the confidence, piece by piece. He was the one who built her into what she is now.

I remember it was just over a year after Audrey came to live with us when she set her eyes on my bedroom.

She pleaded with Bobby, asking him to give me her smaller room and let her move into the sunlit one I had.

Back then, Bobby still cherished me, so he didn't agree to her request. But Audrey had other plans.

While I was away at school, she placed the only photo we had of our parents right on the edge of my doorframe. When I pushed the door open, the frame fell and shattered. That photo—our only one—was gone in an instant.

She rushed to call Bobby the moment she heard the sound. That night, Bobby hit me for the first time.

He said I wasn't worthy of being our parents' daughter.

From that moment on, nearly all the warmth he had ever shown me went to her.

But the one who caused our parents' death—was her.

A few years ago, during that devastating fire, our parents, both rescue workers, had volunteered to enter the most dangerous zone. They knew they might not come back.

The fire had been under control, or so it seemed. Then flames erupted again, even stronger than before. People started to question why. The sudden surge took many lives—among them, my parents.

Their bodies, when found, were burned beyond recognition. But beneath them, shielded tightly between their arms, was a girl.

Audrey.

Bobby believed she was the life our parents had died to protect—their legacy. He filed an adoption application and brought her into our home, raising her as one of us.

Back then, I thought so too. I believed she was a victim, someone our parents had saved. I was willing to treat her as my sister, to honor their sacrifice.

But not long ago, Brian Colden, a former colleague of my parents, confided in me. He said that fire might not have been what it seemed. The area my parents had cleared and contained flared up again. It could have been caused by something—or someone.

That day, the first seed of suspicion toward Audrey took root.

I asked Brian and Adam Miller to investigate.

All I wanted was to learn the truth before I left this place.

Just as I was lost in thought, Adam sent me a message.

He had been my father's student. He told me that in the room my father had entered, they detected high levels of toluene—a chemical known to cause secondary ignition.

Toluene was a common ingredient in nail polish.

And then I remembered Audrey's hands—her nails were always glossy and shimmering.

Could it be… that she had caused their deaths, even if indirectly?

…

"Bella, I only said a few words to you. Why are you staring at Audrey like that?" Bobby snapped, stepping in front of her as though I might pounce. "What, are you planning to do something to her again?"

His brows were tightly knit, his whole posture defensive.

"You misunderstood. I'll get along with her. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm leaving soon anyway. There won't be any more arguments between us."

My voice was shaky. To him, though, it must've just sounded like I was putting on a pitiful act.

"Don't pretend like we're the ones bullying you," he sneered. "You're the one always giving Audrey trouble."

I wanted so badly to tell him—everything had been Audrey's performance. But I knew he wouldn't believe me. Explaining would only make things worse.

"Bobby, after I leave, just live well with her. That's all I want."

He froze for a second at my words.

"What do you mean, 'after you leave'? Don't start using that runaway threat again. Audrey just calmed down. Don't stir up more drama."

I gave a small, tired smile and said to both of them, "Don't misunderstand. I only wish you both a happy life together from now on."

Because this time, I really am leaving.

"Of course," Audrey chimed in, her voice sweet and triumphant. "I'll take good care of Bobby."

She looked at me with the pride of a victor.

And Bobby—he simply thought I was being fake. He wouldn't even look me in the eye.

I set down my fork and fled in a hurry. The happiness between the two of them felt like an arrow—cold and precise—aimed straight at me.

When news came of our parents' deaths, Bobby had held me close and promised, "Bella, don't worry. I'll protect you for the rest of your life. I'll take Mom and Dad's place. I'll walk you down the aisle someday."

But after Audrey came into our home, I became a girl without a family.

I spent the night at the hospital and didn't return. Not a single message showed up on my phone—not a word of concern from Bobby. He didn't care.

Before we left, the director reminded us to say goodbye to our families. If there were things we couldn't say out loud, we could write a farewell letter instead.

After I wrapped up the paperwork at the hospital, I had to head back home to pack a few documents and clothes.

In my room, I held my housekeeper, Marie—the woman who had raised me—and told her goodbye.

She was the only one who knew I was leaving the country on a rescue mission.

"Bella, do you really have to go?" she asked. "If something happens to you too, what's Bobby supposed to do, all alone…"

I gave a wry smile. He probably wouldn't care anyway.

"It's okay, Marie. He still has Audrey."

As I whispered those words to her, trying to ease her worry, Audrey barged into the room.

"Bella, these medals in your suitcase—Bobby said he's giving them to me."

Those medals were awarded posthumously to my parents. They was the only thing that gave me strength.

"Audrey, this was given after our parents died. I'm about to leave, and I want to bring it with me. It's like having them by my side."

I quickly snatched the medals into my hands. I knew her—once she had her eye on something, she wouldn't stop until she had it.

"Why are you being so tense? We share the same parents now. Let me have them, okay? Mom and Dad gave their lives for me. This is the only way I can remember them."

She mentioned my parents' deaths, but there was no sorrow in her voice, not even a trace. It was clear—what my parents gave their lives for was nothing more than a cold-blooded creature.

"Audrey, stop it! That's my parents' keepsake!"

Her behavior made my voice rise in spite of myself. All these years, she'd never once paid respects to my parents.

Bobby had suggested taking her, but Audrey had said, "Bobby, every time I think of them, I remember their burned-up bodies. It's terrifying."

Afraid she'd live in the past, Bobby never brought it up again.

But those bodies she found so disgusting—they were the people I loved most.

Audrey's own birth parents had died in that same fire. And yet, every October, I'd see her sneaking off to the cemetery, placing flowers at their grave.

She wasn't afraid of corpses. She just never saw my family as anything more than a place to feed off of.

I clutched those two medals tightly, my teeth grinding so hard I could hear it.

"Audrey, you can have everything else. Even Bobby. But not the medals."

I hadn't wanted to stir up more conflict before leaving, but this—this was something I wouldn't budge on.

Marie, seeing the tension boil over, quickly stepped in to stop her. "Audrey, that's all Bella has left of her parents. Let her have it."

The moment someone spoke up for me, Audrey bristled, every thorn on full display.

"What's that supposed to mean, Marie? Are you saying I'm not part of this family? Bobby and I are going to Cranburn, and bringing the medals is perfectly reasonable."

Her eyes were rimmed red. Then came the tears. The drama. The same act every time.

And, like always, Bobby fell for it.

The moment he heard her crying, he rushed in. "Bella, what did you do to Audrey this time?! Look how upset she is!"

Audrey collapsed into his arms, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. There was no room left for my explanation. He held her close, whispering comfort.

"Bobby, I just wanted to…"