Little Tormentor (Cole's POV)

The stale air of the detention room clung to me. Outside, the last rays of the afternoon sun painted the windows orange, a vibrant contrast to the gloom within. Each tick of the oversized clock on the wall echoed in the silence, mocking the ache in my chest. This was my fifth time in here. All because of Zane, my brother. Despite him being older than me, we were in the same class. He was not the brightest tool in the box and was always landing me in trouble. Today was no exception. I was here because he had taken my science project about the solar system and presented it as his own.

"Cole, you can go now," Mrs. Davison's voice was flat, devoid of warmth. She probably thought I was a delinquent, a liar, just like Zane had told everyone.

I mumbled a thanks and grabbed my backpack, its weight a familiar comfort against my weary shoulders. The walk home was a blur of familiar streets and unfamiliar thoughts. The anger was a slow burn, but beneath it, a deeper current of loneliness flowed. Every time, it was the same thing. Zane spun a tale, a web of lies so convincing that his mother, who already hated me, would look at me with disgust and punish me.

The front door creaked open, revealing the familiar chaos of the entryway. Zane’s sneakers were kicked off haphazardly, his jacket draped over the banister. A knot tightened in my stomach. He’d be there. Always there. The rule was to report back to the mansion, daily after school, before heading to the servants' quarters. Mrs.Wyatt had to inspect me or reprimand me for one thing or another.

"Cole!" Mrs. Wyatt's voice, sharp and laced with irritation, cut through the quiet. She was in the lounge. "Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?"

Zane was seated beside him, his eyes trained on the game he was playing in his newest phone.

"I was in detention, Mrs. Wyatt," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Detention?" She stood up and walked to me, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What did you do now, Cole? Mr. Wyatt is going to be furious!"

Before I could explain, Zane chimed in, his voice dripping with feigned concern. "Yeah, Mom, he was really bad. Mrs. Davison had to keep him. Something about disrupting class and lying to the teacher."

My jaw clenched. "That's not true. Zane took my project, the one I worked on for weeks! He presented it as his own, and when I tried to tell Mrs. Davison, he said I was lying!"

Mrs. Wyatt crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. "Cole, why would Zane do that? He worked so hard on his own project. And Mrs. Davison said you were being disruptive. You know how much I hate liars. I will not have you accuse my child."

My eyes darted to Zane, who was now expertly feigning innocence, his brow furrowed in a convincing display of concern. He even offered a shrug. "I don't know why Cole would say that, Mom. My project was about… uh… constellations. Completely different."

The lie hung in the air, thick and suffocating. My project had been a well-crafted solar system, each planet painted with care, suspended from a hanger. Zane’s "constellation" project, if it even existed, was nowhere to be seen. But she believed him. She always did.

"Cole, I'm very disappointed," she said. "You always fi nd different ways to make me mad. I would have punished you but I do not want to come near your filthy body. I do not want to ever see you in the garden or the mansion unless there are visitors. Am I understood? And no allowance either."

I nodded my head silently but inside, I was boiling.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her how unfair it was, how Zane always got away with everything. But the words caught in my throat. What was the point? She wouldn't listen. She never did.

The next few days were a blur. Zane continued his campaign of subtle torture. He would "accidentally" trip me in the hallway at school, causing my books to scatter. He would whisper insults under his breath whenever he passed me in school, his eyes glinting with a malicious satisfaction.

"Adopted," he would hiss, just loud enough for me to hear. "You’re not even a real Wyatt. My mom told me. You’re just a charity case."

One afternoon, I was in my room, trying to concentrate on my homework, when I heard the dreaded sound of Morison's door creaking open. Morison was out on an errand so I knew it was none other than Zane.

"What do you want, Zane?" I mumbled, not looking up from my textbook.

He sauntered in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He held a small plastic spaceship, one of my favorites, a relic from my younger days. "Oh, just admiring your… treasures." He spun the spaceship around his finger, a taunting smile on his face.

"Give that back, Zane," I said, my voice rising slightly.

He just laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "Or what, little Cole? You gonna cry to Mrs. Cecilia?" He tossed the spaceship up and down, higher and higher, until it finally slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor, breaking into several pieces.

My breath hitched. I stared at the shattered plastic, a wave of familiar helplessness washing over me. This was what he did. He broke my things.

I stared at him, wishing I could shout at him. But I couldn't because he would run to his mom who would punish me. 

Zane just shrugged, a triumphant smirk on his face. "Oops. Guess you should be more careful with your toys." He turned to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back at me. "You know, Dad says I have to be nice to you in public. But I don't have to pretend in here, do I?" And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the broken mess he had created.

In public, in front of cameras, Zane would nod, a picture of angelic obedience, and his mother would beam at him, sealing their hurtful collaboration of torture. I would stare ahead, smiling only when nudged. I had to look the part, or face Mrs. Wyatt's wrath.