Dorothy stood frozen and said, "I won’t!"

"You don’t get to refuse!"

Without warning, Kyrie rose, his hand curling into her hair as he forced her to her knees before Portia.

"Let me go!"

Dorothy fought against his grip, but Kyrie’s words struck her like a blow to the chest, draining all strength from her.

"Dorothy, don’t forget about your brother."

Her body went rigid, collapsing onto the floor like a lifeless doll.

Ivan Howell, her younger brother, lay in a hospital bed, battling both heart disease and leukemia. Each round of chemotherapy came with a bill she couldn’t pay.

She had no choice but to depend on Kyrie.

Kyrie knew Ivan was her only family and he used that fact to twist the knife, keeping her bound in a life of humiliation, forcing her to crawl like a dog.

Portia’s soft laugh filled the room as she casually poked Dorothy’s shoulder with her toe. "The hospital’s asking for more money, isn’t it? Or have you somehow managed to scrape together enough?"

Dorothy clenched her teeth so tightly that her palms bled from the force of her grip.

"I’ll put the socks on for you."

In the end, she chose to give in, lowering her head as she picked up the socks handed to her by a servant, her fingers trembling as she slid them onto Portia’s feet.

"Forget it. I don’t feel like wearing them anymore."

Portia kicked the socks aside carelessly, her gaze shifting to Kyrie with a soft whine. "Kyrie, I’m getting sleepy again. Stay with me. You can’t just leave this time because of some random person, okay?"

Kyrie picked her up effortlessly and kissed her forehead. "Don’t worry. I won’t leave you this time."

Dorothy’s hands tightened on the hem of his pants, her voice barely a whisper. "Kyrie, my brother’s chemotherapy fees…"

Before Kyrie could respond, Portia’s sharp and disapproving voice sliced through the air. "Who allowed you to call him that?"

"Who gave you the right to speak of him that way?"

Kyrie’s face darkened with anger as he kicked Dorothy aside, his voice low and menacing. "Don’t make me remind you again."

Fighting back the tears, Dorothy lowered herself even further, her forehead touching the cold floor. "Mr. Leonard, please…"

Portia giggled, her voice laced with cruel amusement. "How pitiful!"

Kyrie’s gaze turned colder, darker, as he fixed his eyes on Dorothy for what felt like an eternity. Then, with a sharp motion, he pulled out a black and gold card and flung it at her face.

"Take it and get lost!"

With that, he lifted Portia effortlessly and carried her into the bedroom.

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing in Dorothy’s chest like a heart shattering into pieces. The pain was a heavyweight, suffocating her, stealing her breath.

She wiped her tears away numbly, her fingers trembling as she carefully picked up the card and slipped it into her pocket. Without a word, she hailed a cab to the hospital.

Inside the VIP ward, Ivan lay on the hospital bed, his skin so pale he looked like a delicate glass doll, one that could shatter with the slightest touch.

The chemotherapy had taken his hair, leaving him looking even more fragile. Still, it hadn’t taken away the striking beauty in his features. His fragility seemed to add an almost ethereal purity to his appearance.

Dorothy looked at him, her heart aching, her eyes turning red. Her brother was the only one who had never turned away from her in the past six years.

When everyone else accepted Portia, only Ivan stood firm, his voice raw and fury. "You shameless woman! Give my sister back her body! What right do you have to steal her life?!"

"Sis!"

Ivan gasped suddenly, his chest rising and falling in labored breaths. His eyes snapped open and when they found Dorothy beside him, they softened, a quiet relief washing over his face. "Sister, you're here."

Dorothy quickly wiped the corners of her eyes, her voice gentle as she leaned closer. "Are you feeling unwell today, Ivan?"

Ivan’s gaze dropped to her face, his eyes narrowing when he saw the fading red marks on her skin. His voice turned dark with anger.

"Did that bastard Kyrie hurt you again?!"

Dorothy lowered her head, her words soft and dismissive. "No, don't worry about it."

"Do you want some apples? I’ll peel one for you."

She quickly changed the subject, her hands trembling as she picked up an apple to peel. The shaking was uncontrollable and her body betrayed her in ways she couldn’t hide.

It was the somatic symptom of depression, an unwelcome flare-up Dorothy hadn’t anticipated. Her fingers worked frantically, but the apple slipped from her grasp, landing with a thud on the floor. A sharp sting spread across her hand as a cut appeared.

"What’s wrong?"

Ivan rushed to grab tissues, trying to tend to the wound, but his gaze fell on the deep scars crisscrossing her wrist.

"What is this? Sis, have you been hurting yourself?"

Dorothy jerked her hand away, her voice trembling. "It’s nothing! I just cut myself by accident."

But the truth was harder to hide. Since the depression had taken hold, her body had become an unwilling accomplice, shaking uncontrollably, making simple tasks like holding a spoon or fork a battle.

There were moments, dark and suffocating when she longed to escape it all. And the scars on her wrist? They were all from times she had sought solace in the sharp bite of a blade, a release after Kyrie’s cruel words and actions.

Ivan froze, his face draining of color. Then, without warning, he broke down, tears streaming down his face. "Sis! I can’t keep doing this! Don’t sacrifice yourself for me, leave Kyrie!"

As Ivan cried, the last trace of color drained from his face, his breaths quick and shallow.

Dorothy froze in horror. "Ivan, no! I’m fine! Don’t move!"

Ivan’s grip tightened around her hand, his voice hoarse with urgency. "Sis, you… leave him!"

The terror in his eyes was unmistakable. Dorothy’s heart skipped a beat as she realized his heart condition had worsened. Panic seized her chest and she screamed, "Nurse!"

The nurse rushed in, her face ashen. "The patient’s condition is critical. We need emergency treatment!"

Before Dorothy could speak, Ivan was immediately wheeled into the emergency room.

She hurried to follow, but at that very moment, her phone rang. It was Kyrie calling.

"Portia wants blueberry muffins from Fort Wayne. Go get them."

Dorothy gripped the phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her voice cracked with desperation. "My brother’s heart just flared up. I can’t leave right now. Can you…"

The cold, unfeeling voice on the other end cut her off. "Even if he dies, you must get those blueberry muffins for Portia."

Before Dorothy could respond, the phone went dead, the line gone as though nothing had ever happened.

She cast a lingering glance at the emergency room, then down at her phone, the weight of the choice settling heavily in her chest. After a long breath, she gritted her teeth and resolved to stay at the hospital.

Hours later, Ivan was finally wheeled out of the emergency room. It had been a narrow escape.

The doctor’s voice was somber but hopeful. "He’s stable for now, but his condition remains serious. Please, try to keep the stress to a minimum."

Dorothy nodded quickly. "Thank you, Doctor."

In the quiet of the ward, she sat by Ivan’s side, her eyes tracing every detail of his pale face. The dam she’d been holding back for so long finally broke and silent tears spilled down her cheeks as she whispered, "Ivan, you haven’t given up on me, so I won’t give up on you."

Outside the window, the first snow of the season began to fall, each flake drifting softly to the ground. Dorothy’s gaze followed them and her mind wandered back to a time long ago.

When she was young, her parents’ arguments echoed through their home, growing louder and more frequent. The threat of divorce hung heavy in the air and both of them wanted to take Ivan with them as if he could somehow heal all the broken pieces.

When Dorothy had knelt on the cold floor, feeling like nothing more than a discarded piece of trash, Kyrie had stormed in. He’d grabbed her hand with a grip that almost felt desperate, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip. "If you don’t want her, I do!"

At fourteen, Dorothy and Ivan had been forced to face the world alone after their parents died in a plane crash, their lives forever altered.

Relatives who had once shown kindness turned into ruthless vultures, eager to divide them up as though they were mere objects. Just when it seemed they would be torn apart, Kyrie had stepped in.

Back then, at only sixteen, Kyrie had been young, but his courage had been unmatched. He had stood tall against the world, facing down the elders with a fierce resolve. "Anyone who dares to touch them will have to answer to my family."

For four years, Kyrie had kept them safe, standing by their side through thick and thin.

The three of them had been inseparable, their bond stronger than anything. But now, because of Portia, that bond had shattered beyond repair.

Dorothy couldn’t fathom it; could loving someone really change Kyrie so completely? Could it really turn him into this cold, heartless stranger?

But if you truly loved someone, how could you ever look for a substitute?

The question lingered in Dorothy’s mind, but no answer came.

After a long, silent wait, Dorothy finally left the hospital, the weight of the day pressing down on her. It wasn’t until she was home that she remembered that she had forgotten the blueberry muffins for Portia. By then, the night had settled in and the snow was falling thick and fast.

The house was shrouded in darkness. Dorothy stepped inside her heart racing. As her eyes adjusted, she saw him, Kyrie, sitting motionless on the sofa.

A cigarette dangled from his lips, a haze of smoke swirling around him. Empty bottles of alcohol lay scattered at his feet, the remnants of a long, lonely evening.

When he heard her footsteps, his head snapped up, his eyes cutting through the gloom like a blade. "You finally decided to come back?"

Dorothy’s fingers curled tighter around the hem of her clothes. "My brother’s condition... it flared up. It’s serious. I couldn’t leave, so I..."

Her voice faltered, but before she could finish, Kyrie was on his feet, closing the distance between them in an instant.

With a grip like iron, he seized her neck, his fingers digging into her skin. "Didn’t I tell you something today? Did you not understand me?"

As his words left his lips, Kyrie pressed the burning cigarette onto Dorothy’s chest with brutal force.

Dorothy screamed, the searing pain shooting through her and tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. "Please, don’t!"

In a flash, Kyrie’s expression shifted, panic flooding his features. He quickly flicked the cigarette away, his face twisted with distress as he looked at her. "I’m sorry, Dorothy! I didn’t mean to…"

Dorothy’s eyes shot up to meet his, filled with pain and confusion. "Kyrie, you..."

But before she could finish, his eyes turned cold again, his gaze filled with rage. Bloodshot and burning, they locked onto hers. "Why did you come back? Give me back, Portia! Bring her back to me!"

Her body trembled, her lip trembling as blood leaked from it, a result of her desperate bite. "But this is my body!"

Kyrie’s fury erupted like a volcano. "I don’t care!"

In an instant, he shoved her out the door, his hands firm and cruel. "Go find the blueberry muffins now! If you can’t, don’t bother coming back!"

Dorothy struggled, her heart racing. "Wake up! They’re not the same person!"

"I don’t need you to remind me!" he snarled.

As panic gripped her, Dorothy caught a glimpse of Portia standing at the door, watching her with a cold, twisted smile. The door slammed shut before she could speak.

The snow kept falling, heavier now and Dorothy trembled in the biting cold. Tears mingled with snowflakes streaked down her face as an absurd thought suddenly flashed in her mind.

Portia had been the one to occupy her body for six long years, part of the manipulation. Could it be that Kyrie had only been a puppet in all this?

Her phone buzzed, breaking her train of thought. It was a message from Portia.

[If you don’t bring back the blueberry muffins, your brother will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow!]

With a growl of frustration, Dorothy gritted her teeth and plunged into the snow, determined to find the shop.

But when she arrived after what felt like an eternity, the shop was closed.

She pushed on, searching through the snow-laden streets, until, finally, she found a dim sum shop still open, a dim light glowing through the window.

She had just paid for the items, ready to head home when another message from Kyrie buzzed on her phone.

[Portia doesn’t want the blueberry muffins anymore. Go buy her shortbread cookies instead.]

Frustration gnawed at her as she searched for the new item, but the shop didn’t carry shortbread cookies. So Dorothy pushed on. By the time she found a store that sold them, Portia had changed her mind again.

Back and forth, like a pawn in their game, Dorothy was tossed around for what seemed like forever. By the time she made it home, it was late, her clothes drenched with snow, a mess of exhaustion and frustration.

She knocked for what felt like ages, but no one answered. Her call to Kyrie went unanswered and she hung up before it even rang twice.

Finally, the servant, unable to watch her torment any longer, spoke from the other side of the door. "Madam, the Master and Miss are already resting. Miss Sandoval says the cakes aren’t fresh and doesn’t want them. She wants you to throw them away."

At that moment, Dorothy nearly crumbled. Her hands shook, the cakes tumbling from her grip with a resounding thud.