Ryan Carter had a strange habit: every time we were intimate, he insisted on taking a private photo of me.

That night, he was unusually vigorous, coaxing me into letting him snap an outrageously explicit picture.

Afterward, my face burning, I teased in mock anger,

“What got into you today? You can’t stop staring at just one photo.”

Without lifting his head, Ryan chuckled,

“Emily Scott is coming back tomorrow. Unless I’m wrong, this will be the last one. Of course I need to keep a proper souvenir!”

My body froze, my mind blank. I asked what he meant.

Ryan tilted his head, puzzled.

“What else could it mean? The girl I’ve chased for seven years—my first love—is finally returning. I need to clean up my act. I can’t keep fooling around with you anymore.”

“Sophia Hayes, we’re just best buddies. Helping each other with physical needs is normal. Don’t tell me you actually caught feelings for me?”

He tossed my torn stockings onto my face.

“Come on, don’t give me that wounded look—it’s disgusting. You’re my brother, remember? I’ll keep your photos safe. If Emily isn’t around someday, you’re welcome to stop by for service again.”

It felt as though a blade pierced straight into my heart. Only then did I realize Ryan had never loved me.

To him, I was just his bro.

…

My body trembled uncontrollably, my palms ice cold. Eyes reddening, I whispered,

“Ryan, you’re saying I’m just your brother? After all these seven years, you never liked me even a little?”

If not, then why was he always so possessive, never allowing any other man near me?

Why did he cling to me night after night, why did he coax me into taking photo after photo?

I truly believed we had long since become more than just friends—that we were a couple without needing to say it aloud.

But Ryan’s response was impatient.

“Sophia, I thought you were different from all those clingy women.”

“You’re passionate, open, bold—you even let me take those kinds of pictures. That’s why I’ve kept you around.”

“You know how much I like Emily. So what’s with the betrayed act now? I’m not lacking in skills, and over these seven years, it’s not like you didn’t enjoy yourself.”

It turns out that when sorrow is too great, no tears will fall.

Humiliation surged through me, and I gave a low, bitter laugh.

Ryan and I had grown up together as childhood friends. I was quiet and introverted; he was a brash little tyrant.

Fearless with everyone else, but always gentle with me.

If someone bullied me, he’d sneak over at night to smash that person’s yard in retaliation.

I grew used to his blatant favoritism. But once Ryan went to college, he fell in love at first sight with Emily Scott, the campus beauty.

He courted her publicly, sending truckloads of roses to her dorm.

Even after repeated rejections, he wouldn’t give up, so infatuated he could barely eat or sleep.

When Emily left to study abroad, Ryan knelt for three hours at the airport in front of everyone, to no avail.

Afterward, he was so distraught that he got into a car accident.

I saved him—donating half my blood.

From then on, I cared for him meticulously.

Until, eventually, that care extended to his bed.

The morning after, I awoke to find an empty box of cigarettes by his side.

He said nothing, but his despair vanished, and he was gentle with me again.

I thought he had finally let go.

I thought he had finally accepted me.

But now I understood—it was all my wishful thinking.

What one cannot obtain in youth often becomes a lifelong obsession.

Even after seven years, Ryan had never forgotten his unattainable crush, Emily.

The moment she returned, he rushed to cast me aside.

He even emphasized again that I was merely his brother.

“Heh…”

The tears I had been holding back finally streamed down my face. Hastily pulling on my clothes, I turned and slapped Ryan hard!

“Ryan, my seven years of devotion were wasted on a dog. From now on, chase your goddess all you want—don’t ever bother me again!”

“Sophia, are you crazy? You—”

His angry voice chased after me, but I refused to look back, slamming the door behind me.

Back home, I wept until the sun was high in the sky. Only then did I calm down.

Without hesitation, I called my mother.

“Mom, I agree to the marriage alliance with the Lawson family. Set the wedding date as soon as possible. I’ve already bought a ticket to leave in seven days.”

But the next second, my door burst open.

Ryan’s darkened face appeared.

“Sophia, what marriage alliance?”

I hung up the call and made up an excuse, hoping to brush him off. Fortunately, he didn’t think much of it, pretending not to care.

Expressionless, I asked,

“What do you want in my house?”

Ryan lounged on the sofa, crossing his legs.

“Well, I want to throw a welcome party for Emily. She loves the ocean, and this beachfront mansion of yours is perfect. Let me borrow it for a day, yeah?”

He said it with such entitlement, even nudging my elbow.

“We’re buddies, right? You wouldn’t refuse to help me pursue my goddess, would you?”

Buddy. Always that word.

Ryan never missed a chance to remind me, warning me not to have feelings I shouldn’t.

But he was overthinking.

I was leaving soon anyway.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.”

Too tired to argue, I turned and went upstairs.

Behind me, I caught the flicker of surprise in Ryan’s eyes.

The next morning, I awoke to find the house overflowing with flowers, as though I’d stepped into a fantasy world.

Ryan said he was planning to confess to Emily that day, so he had decorated carefully.

But I couldn’t help recalling a saying:

Love begins with a single bouquet of flowers.

I once hinted to Ryan that I wanted that kind of gesture—flowers.

But he scoffed,

“Sophia, how old are you? We’ve slept together countless times. What do you need flowers for? Isn’t that childish?”

Now, with the overwhelming fragrance filling my nose, I finally understood.

It wasn’t that he lacked a sense of romance.

It was simply the difference between love—and the absence of it.

Two hours later, the welcome party began.

Ryan’s and my mutual friends, along with Emily, all arrived.

After seven years, she was still as graceful and charming as ever.

Ryan’s gaze was glued to her, endlessly seeking conversation.

At last, someone couldn’t help but ask,

“Ryan, haven’t you been with Sophia all this time?”

His face darkened, and he barked,

“What nonsense! Sophia and I are just friends—best bros! Don’t spread rumors!”

“Besides, I like girls like Emily—soft, delicate, sweet. Sophia has this long, ugly scar on her right side, looks like a centipede. Disgusting! How could I ever like her?”

My breath caught, my nails digging painfully into my palms.

Five years ago, Ryan got drunk missing Emily and tangled with a group of thugs.

At the critical moment, I stepped in front of him and took a knife for him.

That scar on my right side has remained ever since.

Back then, Ryan’s eyes were bloodshot, swearing to the heavens that his life now belonged to me.

He promised to protect me with everything he had, never letting me suffer again.

But now, just to distance himself from me in front of Emily, he publicly exposed my scar.

“Ryan, how can you say that about Sophia? She’s just a young woman,” Emily said softly, breaking the tense silence.

Ryan clicked his tongue.

“Sophia, a young woman? Please. She’s tougher than all of us men here. Don’t worry, Emily, I’ve known her for years. I know her better than anyone.”

“Right, Sophia?”

He pinched my thigh in a hidden corner, signaling me to play along.

Disgust churned in me. I shoved his hand away.

“Ryan, are you joking? Seven years ago you were dumped like a dog. Now she’s back and you’re already groveling again?”

“So quick to forget how desperate you once were. If anyone has strong mental endurance, it’s you.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

Ryan’s face darkened like charcoal, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fist. Then he suddenly smashed a bottle on the floor.

“Sophia!”

I glared back without flinching.

Friends quickly tried to defuse the situation, suggesting a game of truth or dare.

But it felt more like Ryan’s way of retaliating against me.

If he drew a romantic dare, he’d always choose Emily.

If it was truth, the subject was always me.

“Who’s the most annoying person here? Of course it’s Sophia. She’s getting older, still unmarried, no one chasing her. Thought she was nice enough, but now she seems borderline crazy!”

“What if I had to marry the person I hate most? Ha! I’d rather die. Even if I married Sophia, I’d still party every night—being stuck with someone I don’t love is torture!”

“In all these years, have I ever felt aroused by Sophia? Hell no! Who came up with that disgusting question? Sophia’s no different from a man. Forget arousal—I’m disgusted just touching her!”

I couldn’t listen anymore. I smashed a bottle myself and slipped away, excusing myself to the bathroom.

Cold water splashed over my face, and I realized I couldn’t even feel sadness anymore. Just revulsion.

When I finally calmed down and stepped out, I passed the balcony—

Only to overhear Ryan talking with another guy.

“Ryan, you were too harsh. After all, you’ve slept with Sophia so many times. Don’t you feel anything for her at all?”

Ryan lit a cigarette, irritated.

“How many times do I have to say it? I sleep with Sophia for two reasons. One, because she’s obedient, lets me do whatever I want. Two, because she’s free! Why not take advantage?”

“She’s just my bro. Nothing more. No romantic feelings whatsoever.”

My steps faltered, my already shattered heart breaking into pieces once again.

I had known the truth for a long time.

But hearing him say it outright was still agony—like being cut alive.