The year I applied to Tengan Corporation, a Fortune 500 giant, a new hurdle appeared out of nowhere: an English proficiency score of 700.

I scored 699. That single point cost me everything.

One year later, my adopted brother, Nathan Whitmore, breezed through the same doors.

At the celebration banquet I hosted for him, the atmosphere was thick with forced cheer. Zoey Finch, one of Mom's colleagues, swayed slightly, wine glass dangling from her fingers. She clapped a hand on Mom's shoulder.

"Emily, you really spoil the boy. You knew Nate didn't hit the 700 mark, so you just scrapped the requirement altogether."

I forced a polite smile. "You've got it wrong, Zoey. When I took the test last year, Mom didn't play favorites. I scored 699, so I was cut. Nate got in on his own merit."

"How could that be?" Zoey blinked, her gaze unfocused and glassy. "No, honey. Last year, that requirement was added because of your mother."

I froze, slowly turning to look at Mom.

She cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. "Marcus, we're mother and son. I had to avoid any appearance of impropriety. Nate is adopted. If I didn't hire him, people would claim the Whitmore family mistreats outsiders. Besides, Nate has worked hard. He deserves a good result."

The bitterness coated my tongue like ash.

Fine. If we're so concerned with avoiding impropriety, then when I audit Tengan's taxes at the end of the year as Chief of Tax Investigation, I won't leave a single stone unturned.

——

Silence descended on the dining table like a shroud.

Zoey seemed to sober up instantly, realizing the grenade she'd just tossed. She offered a nervous, tight-lipped smile. "Wait, I'm drunk. I'm talking nonsense. Marc, forget I said anything."

I brushed her hand aside, my eyes locked on Mom in the seat of honor. "So, the clause added last year really was your doing."

Mom remained silent, her expression unreadable.

Beside me, Dad tugged at my sleeve. "Marcus, don't start an argument with your mother."

I jerked my arm away. "Why shouldn't I? I scored 699, and she set the bar at 700. She deliberately blocked me!"

"I told you, I have to avoid conflicts of interest!" Mom snapped, her voice rising. "You are my biological son. If I hired you, imagine the rumors!"

I stared at her, incredulous. "Mom, 'conflict of interest' implies using authority to give relatives an unfair advantage! If I was unqualified, fine. But I placed first in the written test and the interview! What exactly were you avoiding?"

I gestured toward my brother. "On the contrary, Nate didn't even break 600, yet you removed the requirement for him. Who exactly are you protecting here?"

A glass struck my forehead, shattering on impact. Pain bloomed across my temple.

Mom stood up, chest heaving. "You've really grown a backbone, haven't you?"

Guests scrambled to separate us, pulling me to the left and Mom to the right.

Nathan's eyes welled with tears—a perfect performance. "Brother, please don't upset Mom. Hurry, apologize to her!"

"Look at him, then look at yourself!" Mom scowled, pointing a shaking finger at me. "Nate studied for three solid months. Why shouldn't he be rewarded? Everyone knows he's the orphan of my benefactor. If I don't help him, the world will say the Whitmores are heartless! Why can't you think of the family for once instead of your own selfish interests?"

"Selfish interests?" I let out a hollow laugh. "Mom, I prepared for a year. Who rewarded me?"

She froze.

"Do you know that because you blocked me, I lost my girlfriend?" Her frown deepened. "We were together for three years. We planned to introduce our parents the day I got the job. But she got in, and I didn't. We ended up a thousand miles apart. We had no choice but to break up."

My voice cracked. "Are you happy now, Mom?"

I grabbed a glass from the table and hurled it to the floor. Shards exploded outward.

Nathan threw himself in front of Mom, playing the shield. "Brother, what are you doing?"

Dad stepped forward to restrain me, but I ignored him, staring at her with burning eyes.

Mom looked genuinely shocked.

Suddenly, Nathan lunged at me.

"Marcus, I won't take the job at Tengan. I'll turn it down right now. Just don't blame Mom for this."

Nathan dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.

"I was wrong! I'll beg for your forgiveness if I have to!"

Before he could lower his head to the floor, Mom yanked him up by the arm.

"Get up! You are not quitting," she snapped. "You earned that spot with your own blood and sweat. Why should you sacrifice your future just because he throws a tantrum?"

"No, Mom," Nathan pleaded, his voice trembling with practiced martyrdom. "I can't let this family fall apart because of me."

A flicker of pain crossed Dad's face, but he stayed silent, averting his gaze.

Mom turned her glare on me, eyes burning with disappointment.

"Look at Nathan! Look how sensible he is compared to you. You don't understand the first thing about family duty. How can your father and I ever rely on you?"

"Rely on me?"

I scoffed. A cold, bitter smile touched my lips.

"Since Nathan is the sensible one, why do you need me at all? From now on, let him be your only son."

I didn't wait for a response. I slammed the door and walked away.

Heavy footsteps thundered behind me—Dad and a frantic group of relatives giving chase. I strode into the elevator and hammered the close button.

Just as the doors slid shut, shattering porcelain echoed from the private room, followed by Emily's furious shriek.

"Let him go! No one goes after him! Let's see how long he can keep up this act!"

The elevator descended. Silence enveloped me.

A stinging heat pricked the corners of my eyes, but I blinked it away. I wouldn't cry. Not for them.

When I stepped into the lobby, a massive digital display dominated the entrance:

[Congratulations to Young Master Whitmore for securing the top spot in the Tengan Corporation interviews!]

Young Master Whitmore.

The title felt like a cruel joke. I stood there, staring blankly at the screen.

A waiter collided with my shoulder, jarring me from my thoughts.

"I'm so sorry, sir!" He balanced a tray, flustered. "The guests in Room 606 ordered another rush cake. They want the head chef to decorate it personally."

Room 606. Nathan's celebration.

"Why order another one?" I asked flatly.

"Apparently, someone ruined the first party," the waiter gossiped, lowering his voice. "The young master's mother is furious. She wants to restart the celebration, bigger and louder. Their son got into a Fortune 500 company—big deal, I guess."

I let out a dry, humorless laugh.

Fortune 500.

I had taken the provincial civil service exam alongside Nathan's corporate interviews. I placed first. I was now an officer at the Tax Bureau—the very agency that investigated companies like Tengan.

But from start to finish, the Whitmore family only had eyes for Nathan.

Not a single person asked if I passed. Not one asked where I was going.

I left the hotel and returned to my apartment. I spent the rest of the day staring at the wall, numb.

That night, a notification popped up on my phone. Nathan had updated his feed.

A video.

Emily and Nathan stood in front of a massive, fresh cake, surrounded by beaming relatives. The earlier tension was erased, replaced by champagne and cheers. Nathan flashed a peace sign at the camera, his smile radiant.

The caption read:

[Thank you, Mom and Dad, for always having my back when it matters most.]

I powered off my phone and tossed it onto the couch.

I didn't return to the Whitmore estate that weekend.

Instead, I drove to the University District.

This was where Emma and I had spent three years mapping out our lives. Where to buy a house. When to have children. Where we would retire when our hair turned gray.

I never expected my interview at Tengan—the one I was guaranteed to ace—to be blocked by my own mother just so Nathan could shine.

Emma, however, got in.

A month later, she dumped me.

I can't do long-distance. I need stability.

I was helpless, but I accepted it. I had nothing to offer her then.

Seeking a moment of peace, I walked into the small bistro where we used to eat. As I settled into a booth, a couple at the adjacent table caught my attention.

The woman's voice was unmistakably familiar.

"I used to eat here all the time in college. The fish is amazing—try it."

"All the time?" A man's voice replied, dripping with playful jealousy. "Who did you come here with?"

A coy giggle. "Don't worry about it."

I froze. A chill ran down my spine.

"Emma?"

The name slipped out before I could stop it.

The woman's back went rigid. Slowly, she turned, her eyes widening as they locked with mine.

Nathan stared at me, feigning shock.

"Marc?"

"Babe, give me a second," Emma said, flashing Nathan a reassuring smile. Before I could react, she seized my arm and dragged me out of earshot.

"Don't get the wrong idea," she hissed, releasing me. "We met after we broke up."

"Bullshit."

Heat flooded my vision, rage clawing at my throat. "He stopped being single this time last year. We were still together. You were already with him, weren't you?"

She didn't answer immediately.

I stepped forward, cornering her. "Emma, tell me the truth. Did we really break up because of the distance? Or was it him?"

She bit her lip, then met my gaze with chilling defiance. "Fine. Yes, I cheated. So what?"

I hadn't expected her to admit it so bluntly. The air left my lungs.

"Marc, look at where I came from," she said, her voice hard. "My parents are blue-collar workers. They scraped every penny to get me out of that town. I fought tooth and nail to get here. When a lifeline appears, I grab it. I don't apologize for surviving."

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

She sighed. "My interview scores weren't high enough. I wouldn't have made the cut on my own. Nathan asked his mother—the branch president—to pull some strings. She got me in."

Disbelief paralyzed me. "His mother? You mean Emily?"

"Yes."

The ground tilted beneath my feet.

I, the biological son, had been blocked by arbitrary rules and conflict-of-interest excuses. Yet Nathan only had to whisper a request, and a stranger—someone my mother had never met—was welcomed with open arms.

I was the true heir. Yet I was the one standing on the outside.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the sting in my eyes. "I never thought you were capable of this, Emma."

"Don't play the victim," she snapped, crossing her arms. "You have no idea what it took to get here. Sure, I could have stayed with you, but if another man offers me a shortcut across social classes, why wouldn't I take it?"

She paused, her gaze sweeping over me with pity. "And let's be honest, Marcus. If the roles were reversed, you would have dumped me just as fast."

I stared at her, unable to recognize the woman I had once loved.

"So don't blame me for being pragmatic. Blame yourself. Blame your lack of ability. Blame the fact that you aren't Nathan, and you certainly don't have a mother like Emily backing you."

I froze. A bitter laugh bubbled in my chest.

"You really don't know whose son I am, do you?"

"Does it matter?"

"What if I told you Emily is my mother?"

She blinked. Then scoffed.

"If you were really her son, you wouldn't be standing here. You'd be in the Fortune 500 alongside Nathan."

I was left speechless.

"Em?"

Nathan's voice cut through the tension. He approached, brow furrowed in mock concern. "Everything okay? Is there a misunderstanding?"

"It's nothing," Emma said, dismissing me with a glance. "Just an ex who can't let go."

She linked her arm through his and walked away without a backward glance.

But just before they disappeared, Nathan looked back.

His mask evaporated. The corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk of pure, triumphant malice.

My phone buzzed. I answered mechanically, mind still reeling.

It was my father.

"Marcus," he barked. "It's Sunday. Are you still throwing a tantrum? Your mother is furious. Stop making trouble and come home."

"I'm not making trouble," I whispered, staring at the empty space where they had stood.