Chapter 2 The First Step Toward Ruin

My fingers brushed against something stiff inside the hidden compartment of the guitar case. I pulled it out and found an old photograph, its edges slightly yellowed with age, carefully pressed flat to preserve it.

In the picture, Dad had his arm around Mom's shoulders, while I stood between them, cradling the guitar and beaming at the camera. Cecilia stood quietly beside us, a perfectly measured smile resting on her lips.

Yet beneath that composed expression, her eyes held a trace of envy—or perhaps resentment—that was easy to miss.

On the back of the photograph, Mom's elegant handwriting read, "Happy 15th birthday, Ellie! May all your dreams come true!"

The date was exactly seven years ago.

My eyes instantly filled with tears.

Looking back now, all that warmth and hope seemed nothing more than a cruel joke. What Cecilia had destroyed with her own hands wasn't just my family. She had destroyed the dream that had once given my life purpose.

Before I could stop myself, my thoughts drifted back to the days I'd tried so hard to forget.

There had been a time when I had everything people could envy. I was the Kessler family's only daughter. My parents loved each other, and we were well-off. I'd loved singing since childhood and had a natural talent for it. I'd won plenty of awards and was the kind of child other parents held up as an example to their own kids.

Cecilia had come to live with us when I was twelve.

"Ellie, this is Cece. Her parents were close friends of ours, but they passed away in an accident not long ago."

I still remembered how small and frail she looked when she first arrived, her timid eyes resembling those of a frightened fawn.

Mom said looking at Cecilia reminded her of me when I was young and often ill. She insisted on bringing Cecilia home so I could have someone to keep me company.

At first, I'd genuinely welcomed my new little sister. I shared my toys, clothes, and even half my bedroom with her, helping her adjust to her new surroundings.

At school, I stood up for her and made sure no one bullied her. She was always so well-behaved, trailing timidly behind me and calling my name every time.

But somewhere along the way, things began to change.

I noticed that whenever I showed even the slightest impatience or threw a little tantrum, Cecilia's eyes would immediately redden. She would quietly retreat to a corner and cry without making a sound.

At first, Mom and Dad would comfort me, telling me to be more patient with my little sister because she'd lost both her parents and had suffered enough.

Yet, as these incidents became more frequent, the way they looked at me gradually changed. Disapproval began creeping into their eyes.

"Ellie, you're the older sister. You need to be more mature."

"Cece's timid. Stop scaring her all the time."

My straightforward, easygoing personality was gradually recast in the light of Cecilia's endless displays of gentleness and good behavior. What had once been seen as an open, unrestrained nature became spoiled, domineering, and childish.

Little by little, disappointment in their eyes grew whenever they looked at me, while their affection for Cecilia deepened. The warm atmosphere our home had once enjoyed slowly gave way to something tense and oppressive, an unease that no one ever openly acknowledged.

…

By high school, my vocal talent had made me a regular performer at school arts events. I was something of a local celebrity on campus, known as the school's little songbird. Cecilia, on the other hand, had average grades and no particular strengths. She was always quiet and unassuming.

I'd thought that at least music would remain one thing I could still take pride in.

Then came the winter of my junior year.

The city was hosting a prestigious youth music competition, and the winner would be granted a guaranteed audition at a top music conservatory.

For someone like me, who dreamed of pursuing a career in music, it was an opportunity that could change everything. I threw myself into preparing my competition pieces, spending nearly every day in the practice rooms and vocal studios.

Meanwhile, Cecilia continued playing the role of the thoughtful younger sister. She brought me water, helped me with my sheet music, and even took the initiative to deal with the minor nuisances caused by the boys who pursued me while I practiced.

That included Silas Crowe, the punk who would later come dangerously close to ruining my life.

Back then, Silas was obsessed with me. Even after I'd rejected him outright, he refused to give up and kept pestering me. When Cecilia learned about it, she volunteered to talk some sense into him so I could focus on preparing for the competition.

I'd been foolish enough to believe she was genuinely trying to help me. I had no idea that this was the first step in the carefully laid path she'd prepared for me—a path that would lead straight to hell.

By the week before the competition, I was practically living in the school's practice rooms.