I'll Be Good, Like You Wanted

I stood awkwardly in the living room, not knowing what to do with myself. I was still wearing the cheap tracksuit the prison had returned to me. The pant legs were too short, exposing my ankles that had multiple scars.

The moment Sheryl Ingram saw me, the smile on her face froze. Disgust flickered across her face.

"Why are you back today? What a buzzkill," she sneered.

Isabella Kennedy waved at me dismissively. "It's fine that you're back, but don't just stand there. Seth isn't in good health. He gets sick easily. You just got out of prison, and you've got germs clinging to you. Go stay in the storage room for now."

That room was dark and damp. Sunlight never shone into it.

My expression remained unchanged.

That was fine. At least it was more spacious than the cell I'd spent time in, and there wouldn't be rats crawling over my feet.

Before I could respond, Seth said in a weak voice, "Sheryl, Isabella, do you think Matthew is mad at me? Maybe I should just give my room to him…"

Sheryl's voice was filled with concern. "Don't be ridiculous! You're weak and can't handle the cold. How could you possibly stay somewhere like that?"

Hearing this, Isabella looked at me even more frostily. "Matthew, you just got back and you're already trying to force Seth out of his room. Looks like those three years in prison didn't teach you anything. You're still as selfish as ever!"

When someone wanted to condemn another, they'd find an excuse no matter what.

I smirked and asked hoarsely, "Did I ever say I wanted his room?"

Isabella's expression stiffened.

She was about to say something, but I had already lowered my head and said, "Thank you, Ms. Kennedy. Thank you, Sheryl. I'll go to my room now."

I turned to leave, but Sheryl's hesitant voice came from behind me. "Wait."

She looked at my thin, gaunt figure and seemed to feel a flicker of pity. "If you can't get used to staying in the storage room, I can have someone—"

I shook my head and cut her off. "No need."

Three years in prison had taught me the truth. In this family, I was an unwanted extra and a replacement who could be sacrificed at any time.

"Why aren't you making a scene anymore? I'm your sister. If you're having trouble, you can always come to me," Sheryl said, her expression darkening slightly.

Make a scene, she said?

I'd already made a scene once. And where had it gotten me?

I looked down and said quietly, "Didn't you say three years ago that from then on, you wouldn't acknowledge me as your brother?"

Back then, she'd said the same thing when she'd forced me to take the blame for Seth.

"Matthew, if you weren't so narrow-minded and hadn't refused to accept Seth, how could he have gotten drunk and driven into someone? You should go to prison in his place! I never should have brought you back to the Ingram family. From this day on, you're no brother of mine!"

The memories overlapped with the present. For a moment, Sheryl's eyes went distant. A trace of sadness that she didn't even realize was there surfaced in them.

But in the next second, her gaze turned cold. "You just don't know how to quit while you're ahead."

It was the same look she'd given me three years ago when she'd sent me to prison in Seth's place.

My heart still ached faintly. I silently turned and walked to the storage room.

There was nothing inside except a cold, hard bed. It didn't even have a window.

Not long after, Jordan Neal, the butler, came over with a blanket. He tossed it onto the bed, sending up a cloud of dust that made me cough.

Jordan said, "Things aren't what they used to be, Mr. Matthew. The blanket is old, but it's made of good cotton. You'll have to make do."

"Okay," I replied in a soft voice.

Jordan rolled his eyes. "What an eyesore," he muttered as he walked away.

I gave a bitter laugh.

I was the Ingrams' biological son, but this was what my life had become. I found it ironically funny.

But if it weren't for Sheryl's blind, unconditional favoritism, would I ever have ended up like this?