No Longer Their Pawn, Now His Bride

sister I never knew. My family held my dream of becoming a designer hostage, forcin

other found my secret portfolio. In a blind rage, he to

gainst a table with a sickening crack.

in. My father blamed me for provoking my broth

her's hand s

You are nothing but a vicio

t me to get out, his eyes filled with a chilli

rangers who called themselves my family. I finally stopped trying to earn

pte

Franci

al parents, Edward and Dian, and my younger brother, Kai-found me in the foster system. Edward, the patriarch, saw me as a strategic asset. Dian, broken by Evelyn's death, wanted a replica. Kai, who idolized Evelyn, saw me as an impostor. They coerced me into a five-year contract. I

w. A charity gala meant to showcase the family's philanthropy was winding down. Edward, my father, had given a speech about community involvement, his v

n during the speeches, a design that blended traditional Francis elegance with an unexpected, rebellious twist. It was a glimp

fingers traced the lines on the page. The sketch was almost complete. A hidde

ourteen-year-old brother, stood there. His face was a mask of furious resentment. His eyes, usually a soft brown, were hard an

e was a low growl, barely audible over the

It was a thin, worn leather case that held all my completed designs

served designs across the floor. He began tearing them, one by one, with savage joy. The sound o

ther the ruined sheets, my hands trembling. This was more than jus

e watercolor. "You think you can just waltz in here and take

ackward. My foot caught on the plush rug. I lost my balance. My left hand, my drawing hand, slammed against the ed

ziness washed over me. I gasped, struggling for air. The pain in my hand was immense, throb

usually filled with childish innocence, now held a chilling vacancy. He just

s eyes. It was a depth of loathing I had n

ever will be. You're just a fake. A replacement." His words were

ouder, cutting through the background noise. "This is

e. "You won't last. I will make sure you leave. You will be gone soon.

rning an ugly shade of purple. A sharp, grinding pain shot through it with every slight movement.

my art. It was broken. My dream, the very reason I endured this hell, was shattered. The prestigious New

piece of my soul. Years of quiet, persistent work, now just shredded paper. I knelt slowly, ignoring the thro

nd the pain. It was a weariness deep in my bones, a soul-deep exhaustion. Five years of livin

ching me. There was no flicker of triumph, n

ll of emotion inside me had run dry. There was nothing left to feel but an overwhelming sense

was flat, devoid of emotion. It

uring his nightmares. I held his hand when he cried for Evelyn. I taught him how to draw, how to build paper airplanes. I spent countless hours pl

st to the tender child I had nurtured. The betrayal stung, not with

the image of him tearing my work, pushing me, his face twisted with hatr

te embroidery. It was one of my favorites. Holding it, I felt a fa

or hit you on the way out. This house is Evelyn's. Our fam

hollow, spreading pain that left my chest tight and my breath shallow

s dominance, to show me my place. He want

ispered, my voice barely audible. "I understand.