Chapter 4

My parents stayed in the city for half a month.

Aside from the day they cornered me at the gallery to vent their fury, I did not see them even once.

They were completely consumed with Jordan's affairs, running ragged pulling strings, networking, and desperately orchestrating a way to save his future.

It was not until a few days before my art exhibition that they tracked me down once more.

At that moment, I was in the studio making final preparations for the upcoming event.

My parents looked around the space with greed, eyeing the stunning collection of artwork displayed across the room.

Then, without a shred of shame, they laid out the exact same proposition as in my past life.

"Brandon, we checked with the school. Jordan needs to host an exclusive solo exhibition to get an exception for graduation. Just hand over the signatures on these paintings and let your brother have the exhibition."

I stared at the two people who called themselves my parents.

I could not fathom how such monstrous words could spill from their lips with such smooth, unbothered confidence.

They pushed their shameless favoritism to absolute extremes, not giving a damn whether their actions ripped me apart inside.

It was as if I were nothing more than a tool to them, completely devoid of feelings.

In my past life, I had screamed until my throat was raw, hysterically demanding to know when my sacrifices would ever be enough.

I already let my parents give Jordan all their love. Do I have to hand over my entire life to him, too?

My answer back then was a vicious slap across the face from Dad, followed by his usual absurd, unhinged accusations.

"You think your brother actually wants your crap? His health is failing, that's the only reason he's using your stuff! If he were healthy, with a brain as brilliant as his, his achievements would blow yours out of the water!"

They used their classic guilt trips and emotional manipulation to break me down, trying to force my surrender.

Every single piece in that room was created with my sweat and soul.

I could not bear to let them go, nor was I willing to submit.

I fought back with everything I had.

Yet on the day the exhibition officially opened, I arrived to find the promotional posters outside the gallery mysteriously swapped, replacing my name with Jordan's.

Every single painting inside bore my brother's signature.

Once again, my parents flexed their wealth, stealing what was rightfully mine and handing it to my brother on a silver platter.

Jordan became an overnight sensation, catapulted to fame as a youthful genius artist, robbing me of all my recognition.

When I tried to expose their fraud to the public, my parents used a forged psychiatric evaluation to lock me away in an asylum.

In the end, because I refused to comply with their "treatment," I was beaten to death in a cold basement by abusive staff.

My mind snapped back to the present.

I looked at my parents, who stood before me radiating absolute confidence.

A faint, cold smile touched my lips. "I'm sorry, but this time, I'm not giving up a single thing."

The moment the words left my mouth, my parents flew into a rage, cursing me out as an ungrateful brute.

They blasted me for refusing to help my fragile brother, cursing me to die a horrible death and screaming that they were disowning me on the spot.

I watched with cold indifference as they pulled the exact same drama from my past life, refusing to budge an inch.

Seeing that I was completely immovable, Dad raised his hand, ready to strike.

"You stubborn piece of trash, I'll beat you to a pulp!"

Just as his hand came swinging down, a striking figure in a white summer dress rushed out from the side, stepping firmly between us, shoving Dad backward with all her strength.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on Brandon!"