Chapter 2

Dad glanced at me, almost defensively, before speaking.

"Carson kept asking for it," he said, the words slightly unnatural in his mouth. "So I let him have it. You're the eldest—you should be generous. Don't hold it against him."

I answered flatly, "It's fine. You can give it to whoever you want."

I'd heard lines like that more times than I could count. Anything Carson wanted, I was supposed to give up without complaint. I'd gotten used to it.

Maybe they hadn't expected me to be so "understanding." For a moment, they looked genuinely surprised.

Carson spoke up with a soft tone. "I shouldn't have taken what's Jason's... but I really like this. Everything else in this house is his—I just want this cuff. You don't mind, do you?"

Mom sighed, gently stroking his head. "Oh, sweetheart, you're too good for this world. You know you're our only real son, don't you?"

He remained silent, merely gazing at my parents with affection—just enough to make them pull him closer. The three of them looked like the picture of a loving family. For a moment, it was as if I no longer existed.

No one remembered that Carson had only been adopted from the orphanage as a stand-in.

During the eighteen years I was gone, my parents, drowning in guilt over losing me, poured all their love into him.

If he so much as let out a sigh, they panicked. If he cried, their world collapsed.

The night I returned home, Carson couldn't accept it. After a dramatic breakdown, he climbed to the edge of the rooftop and screamed, "I've been abandoned! No one wants me anymore! I might as well die so Dad, Mom, and Jason can finally live happily together!"

My parents lost their minds. Scrambled up to coax him down, then wouldn't leave his side for a second.

Dad and Mom fed him fruit and snacks, coaxing him to eat, while I sat dizzy with hunger, ignored completely.

Later, they casually mentioned going camping in the countryside. They took me along.

I was caught off guard but grateful—until the moment they left me alone on a remote mountain with no signal.

I survived an entire week out there, filthy, starving, freezing. When I finally stumbled back home, they were sitting on the couch watching TV with Carson, not even sparing me a glance.

"We just wanted you to learn to behave," they said calmly. "Understand that this house belongs to Carson now. He's been with us for eighteen years. The bond is deeper. You shouldn't fight with him. You got that?"

I got it.

That day, I understood I had no home.

The next morning, with my bag packed, I came downstairs. Carson approached with a bowl in his hands.

He smiled. "Jason, I made you breakfast."

I glanced at his fake smile, said nothing, and walked right past him into the kitchen.

Then he suddenly slipped. The hot soup spilled all over him.

The noise brought Dad and Mom rushing out. They saw the burns on Carson's arm, scolding with worry.

"We have a housekeeper for this! Why were you even in the kitchen? You don't know how to use the stove!"

Carson lowered his head, then looked up with just the right amount of hurt in his eyes.

"Jason messaged me last night, told me to make him breakfast. I didn't want to upset him, so I got up early and tried. I guess I was just too clumsy…"

I felt something sink inside me. Just as I opened my mouth to deny it, Dad stormed over and slapped me hard across the face.

"When we're not around, this is how you bully your brother? Carson lost his parents when he was young. He's never had an easy life. You should be making it up to him! You're nothing but an ungrateful, feral brat—no upbringing, no decency!"

Carson put on a long-suffering face and quietly said, "Don't be so harsh on him. It's fine if he's a little rough with me. I just want to stay here... I can put up with it."

Seeing how the blame had been squarely pinned on me, I didn't bother defending myself anymore. I just turned and walked into the kitchen to finish my breakfast in silence.

Dad was about to erupt again when Jessica Burton arrived at the door.

She had been my childhood friend and my fiancée by family arrangement. We used to be very close.

But now, the moment she saw Carson's scalded hand, she frowned and snapped, "Jason, did you hurt Carson again?"

Carson had pulled this act more than once—every time, running to complain in front of her and our parents. It had become a reflex for her to blame me for any injury he had.

"It wasn't me," I said. "He spilled the soup himself."

But she didn't believe a word. "You must've forced him to cook. That's why it happened! Stop lying. Don't think I don't see through your act—pretending to be this quiet, studious guy, when you're really a selfish, cold-hearted ingrate. Your parents were kind enough to bring you back and give you a home. Stop trying to ruin what Carson has with us."

She finished wrapping Carson's hand, then took the keys and personally drove him to work.

Even Mom and Dad followed behind in another car, worried about him the whole way.

And I was left alone in the empty house, eating breakfast by myself.

…

On my last day before leaving, I attended an academic conference with my professor.

To my surprise, I saw my parents there—with Carson, and Jessica holding his arm.

During the event, Dad proudly introduced Carson to the room.

"This is my beloved son," he said. "Exceptionally talented. He founded his own tech company. It's about to go public."

The room burst into congratulations. Praises flew.

Then someone asked, "Didn't you find your long-lost son recently? Isn't he here today?"

Dad froze for half a second, then forced a laugh. "Who told you that? Total nonsense."

Mom quickly chimed in, smiling as she slipped an arm around Carson's shoulder. "We only have one child. There must've been some misunderstanding—probably just a relative staying with us for a while."

They were desperate to erase me, as if admitting my existence would tarnish their perfect image.

I held my glass and walked toward them.

They were laughing and basking in praise until they turned and saw me.

And then everything went quiet.