When Pablo's perfect, beloved girlfriend accused me of stealing her design, Pablo chose to believe her.

Even though I was his only family left, he was so enraged that he sent me to a remote "behavioral correction academy," ordering them to break me.

Later, I became what he wanted: a vacant-eyed puppet who wouldn't dare talk back.

But on the day he saw the psychological evaluation reports and my diary from that academy, he shattered completely.

"Willow, I'm begging you… forgive me. Let me be your brother again, please!"

————————

1

The day I came home from the Clear Path Behavioral Correction Academy, a torrential rain poured over Seattle.

Pablo didn't come to pick me up.

"Scarlett has a dinner party tonight. You'll have to find your own way home."

His voice on the phone was glacial, devoid of warmth.

I silently gathered my meager belongings and stepped into the sheet of rain.

A year in that academy was all it took for me to forget the way home.

The day Pablo drove me there, the journey had felt so short—too short for me to explain that I hadn't stolen Scarlett Monroe's design, nor had I incited an online mob to attack her.

It was so short that I couldn't even quell the burning rage in his eyes before he shoved me into that stifling, suffocating hell.

But now, I walked in the cold rain for what felt like an eternity, soaked to the bone, yet I still couldn't find the familiar apartment building.

Perhaps I no longer had a home.

Our parents had died early in a mountaineering accident, leaving Pablo and me with only each other to rely on.

But now, for Scarlett, Pablo didn't want me anymore.

In over a year, he hadn't visited me once.

At one point, I felt my spirit shattering. All I wanted was to go home. I missed Pablo desperately.

But when I called him, he cut me off harshly after just one sentence.

"Don't be so dramatic."

Pablo had abandoned me. I was homeless.

"You're an embarrassment. You were in there for a whole year. How are you still so helpless?"

Pablo stormed into the police station, his eyes landing on my rain-soaked figure with undisguised disgust. His voice lashed out, cold as a whip.

"Scarlett has an important dinner party tonight—that's the only reason I couldn't pick you up. You're an adult. Couldn't you find your way home without causing a scene? Do you really think I'll tolerate this kind of attention-seeking?"

"I'm sorry, Pablo. I didn't mean to. I… I really forgot the way home."

My legs trembled, his angry voice sending a bone-deep, instinctual fear through me.

I was already shivering from the rain; now I felt frozen from the inside out.

When Pablo fell silent, his expression dark and unreadable, I panicked completely. Without a second thought, I sank to my knees before him.

"It's my fault, Pablo. It's all my fault. Please, forgive me. Please don't send me back there. I promise I'll be good. I'll do anything you say, Pablo. Anything."

Even the police officers standing by were stunned. One of them quickly came over to help me up, gently trying to reason with him.

"Get up. You're embarrassing me," he snarled, his face taut with fury. He turned and strode away.

I followed closely behind him, barely daring to breathe.

Before getting into the car, I carefully started to shrug off my wet coat to avoid soiling his expensive leather seats.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his brow furrowed.

I lowered my gaze and murmured, "My clothes are soaked. I don't want to get the car dirty."

Pablo's brow furrowed even deeper, his impatience practically boiling over. I immediately buried my head lower.

In the suffocating silence, he finally let out an exasperated sigh. "Get in."

Had I been away too long? The penthouse apartment where Pablo and I had lived together for over a decade now felt completely alien.

The family photo of us with our parents that used to hang in the living room was gone, replaced by an intimate picture of him and Scarlett.

The antique bookshelf I’d begged Pablo to keep, a piece filled with memories, had been replaced by a massive, built-in display for luxury handbags and shoes.

My bedroom? It wasn't mine anymore. It was unrecognizable, transformed into a livestreaming studio packed with lighting rigs and designer clothes. Everything that was once mine was gone, replaced by someone else's scent, someone else's presence.

"Willow, you're back?"

Scarlett emerged from Pablo's room, a sickly sweet smile on her face.

"I had Scarlett move in while you were away," Pablo explained as he walked to her side, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.

"She needs this space for her livestreams and to store her clothes—you know, it's important for her career. Be more considerate. I had the upstairs storage room cleaned out. You can stay there from now on."

I glanced up at the cold, windowless storage room. It had only ever been used to store old snowboards and suitcases.

But I didn't complain. At least it was a place to sleep.

At the academy, eight of us were crammed into a small, stuffy room.

On countless humid nights, I would often wake up gasping, as if an invisible boulder was pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

But even that wasn't the worst part.

Shortly after arriving, I was punished for resisting the so-called 'emotional deprivation therapy.'

I was locked alone in a soundproof, pitch-black room with no food and no water.

I screamed, cried, and pounded on the door with all my might.

I could feel my sanity unraveling thread by thread.

But no one ever responded.

After that, I never had a peaceful night's sleep again.

Compared to that, this storage room—despite being small, cold, and isolated—felt like a blessing.

"Willow, I'm so sorry for taking your room. I hope you don't feel too put-out by having to stay upstairs."

Scarlett's voice was sweet, but her smile was filled with undisguised mockery. I knew she was provoking me.

In the past, I would have torn that hypocritical mask from her face without a second thought. I was never one to back down from a fight, least of all with someone like her.

From the moment we first met, Scarlett and I were like oil and water. Her affected, calculating nature sickened me, but she clung to Pablo like a vine.

At our school's design exhibition, she deliberately displayed her plagiarized work right in front of me. When public opinion turned against me, her tearful accusations painted me as a petty, jealous thief.

I would never forget the look in Pablo's eyes—filled with disappointment, anger, and disdain—as he held her protectively that day.

"You've disappointed me so much. I wish I didn't have a sister like you."

But I hadn't plagiarized.

I waited for hours at home that day, desperate to explain.

He never came back. He didn't even answer my calls.

Instead, his assistant arrived with several strangers who roughly dragged me into a car.

Without any explanation, Pablo had me sent to that correction academy called "Clear Path."

"I failed to teach you integrity and humility. You can reflect on your actions there. Pay for what you've done."

It was in that moment I realized I could never win against Scarlett.

Not because she was better than me, but because the scales in Pablo's heart had already tipped completely in her favor.

So now, even with her taking my room, how could I dare show any dissatisfaction?

"How Pablo arranges this home is his decision. The storage room is fine. I can stay there," I said, lowering my head, my voice barely a whisper.

Pablo’s expression was a mask. He gave nothing away, but he didn't seem pleased.

Seeing him like that, a wave of unease washed over me. I had already conceded on every front for the person he cherished most. Why was he still not satisfied?

The worst part happened at dinner.

The table was laden with a lavish seafood feast, all of Scarlett's favorites.

Pablo was carefully shelling king crab legs for Scarlett, who beamed at him with a brilliant smile.

I kept my head down, silently picking at the vegetable salad in front of me.

"Willow, why don't you try some of this?"

Scarlett's sweet voice rang out as she reached over to serve me a bowl of clam chowder.

I didn't move, silently pushing it to the side.

"Willow, do you have a problem with me? You won't even drink the soup I served you."

Her expression instantly turned wounded, and Pablo's face immediately darkened.

"Willow! Drink it. What's with the attitude?"

I looked up, a heavy weight pressing on my chest.

"I can't drink this," I said softly.

I am severely allergic to shellfish. At home, there had never been a dish on our table that I couldn't eat. But now, almost everything on this table was something I couldn't touch.

He'd forgotten. Again.

"What do you mean you can't drink it? Scarlett is trying to make peace with you. Don't be so ungrateful. Drink the soup."

"It's okay, Pablo. It's my fault. The kitchen made all my favorites today. It's understandable that Willow is upset on her first day back. Willow, just tell the kitchen what you want to eat, and they'll make it for you."

Scarlett's eyes gleamed with a deliberate, victorious taunt.

But none of it could provoke me anymore.

"She's not that delicate. Just because you like it doesn't mean she can't touch it. Willow, stop making things awkward for everyone. Be sensible."

Pablo's face was dark, his brow furrowed—a clear sign of his impending rage.

Once again, he didn't give me a chance to explain, immediately assuming it was my fault.

At Clear Path, they taught me: I must obey the person who provides me with shelter and food.

I couldn't make Pablo angry. If he was angry, it was my fault.

"Fine, I'll drink it."

I lowered my head and forced myself to gulp it down, desperate to avoid his impending wrath.

As he watched me drink it obediently, his tight frown finally relaxed.

I choked back the roiling nausea in my stomach and ate whatever they served, including that fatal bowl of chowder.

But soon, my neck began to itch. Then an unbearable stinging spread across my entire body. My throat constricted violently, as if someone were strangling me.

My trembling hands could no longer hold my utensils. I crumpled to the floor.

Scarlett screamed and threw herself into Pablo's arms. His first instinct was to hold her tight.

It wasn't until I was writhing on the floor, desperately clawing at my throat, that he finally reacted.

"What's wrong with you?"

A flash of genuine panic crossed his eyes when he saw the red welts spreading rapidly across my skin and my swollen lips.

"You're having an allergic reaction! You're allergic to shellfish! How could I have forgotten?"

By the time I was rushed to Harborview Medical Center, I could barely breathe.

Fortunately, the intervention was timely, and I narrowly escaped death.

As I lay in the ICU bed, Pablo sat nearby, completely absorbed in comforting the weeping woman in his arms.

"It's all my fault. If I hadn't made her drink that soup, this wouldn't have happened."

"Stop crying. It's not your fault. She's the one who's acting foolish—knowing she's allergic and drinking it anyway. She was just trying to guilt-trip me."

Heh. So it was my fault.

"You're awake, Willow."

Scarlett turned, her tear-streaked face a mask of feigned surprise and concern, and walked toward me.

However, Pablo spoke first. "Why didn't you say you were allergic? Why did you drink it anyway?"

"I told you I couldn't," I trembled. "But you would have been angry if I refused."

Pablo's face grew even darker.

"Are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to punish me? To make me feel guilty?"

Did I insist on drinking it?

I shook my head in fear, not knowing what I had done wrong again but knowing I had to admit fault.

"It's my fault, Pablo, but I didn't do it on purpose. Please, don't be angry."

"You..."

He stared at me, took a sharp breath, and then left in a rage, pulling Scarlett with him. He never came back to see me.

Two days later, a nurse came to collect payment for the substantial ICU fees.

I anxiously opened my mobile banking app to check my balance, only to find less than a hundred dollars left.

"Can I call my family?" I asked hesitantly.

The nurse raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Go ahead."

Pablo didn't answer my calls. I tried again and again, but he remained unreachable. The nurse grew impatient.

"What about the medical bills?" she urged.

"I'll pay them," I replied, heat flooding my face under her suspicious gaze.

Another day passed with no word from Pablo.

The nurse returned, her tone sharper.

"You're not planning on skipping out on the bill, are you? You're an adult. Can't you reach anyone? Do I need to call the police?"

"I... I..." I stammered, trying to find the words. "I can leave something as collateral and come back with the money later."

The only valuable thing I had was the bracelet my mother had left me. It was her final gift to me before she died, and it had been my sole comfort during countless desperate nights at Clear Path.

It was also the only thing I had left.

I pawned the bracelet for enough money to settle the bill, and the hospital finally agreed to discharge me.

"Is this the way?"

My memory was failing me. I didn't recognize the familiar streets.

With the help of a police officer, I finally staggered back to the apartment, exhausted and disoriented.

By nightfall, I reached the front door. The wind was biting, and as I shivered outside, I discovered my fingerprint no longer worked on the smart lock.

I couldn't get in. Through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows, I could hear their laughter and celebration.

"Do you like your gift?"

"A Porsche! Oh my god, Pablo, this must have cost a fortune!"

"It's to celebrate you signing with the new brand. It's nothing. As long as you're happy."

The tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her was undeniable.

Held in his arms, Scarlett was radiant with happiness.

For a moment, I was in a daze.

Every year on my birthday, Pablo would prepare a gift for me in advance, putting so much thought into it.

Back then, he had looked at me with that same tender gaze.

I pounded on the door, again and again.

Eventually, Pablo came to open it.

"What are you doing here?" He seemed surprised. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?"