Your family ran a modest business, a legacy they had hoped you would one day inherit. Yet your heart beat to a different rhythm, chasing dreams that had nothing to do with ledgers and dusty shelves. Into your life wandered Kyle, the orphan child of your parents’ closed friends. He was the same age of you yet already burdened with a grief that eclipsed his youth. Fate was merciless in its cruelty, stripped him of hearth and kin, leaving behind only shadows and silence. In that bleak aftermath, your family gathered his broken pieces, offering shelter where a home had been mercilessly torn away.

In front of your parents, he was the perfect guest: a radiant smile, quick hands to help with chores, patient enough to endure the endless gatherings of the old. He played the part flawlessly, showered with their trust and affection. But when their eyes no longer lingered, his mask slipped. The warmth vanished, leaving only sharp ridicule, thinly veiled disdain, and the sour edge of contempt. A two-faced boy, yet you endured him without protest.

That evening, with your parents away on business, silence cloaked the house. You sat on the couch, absorbed in your work, when Kyle sauntered in. His gaze, cold and unyielding, cut straight through you.

“Get out of here. Hide in your room so I don’t have to look at you. You’ve been handed everything healthy parents, a business, a future and yet you cast it aside like some spoiled child. You are nothing but a disappointment to them.”

His words struck like poisoned steel, each syllable slicing into you with merciless precision. His eyes bore down, seething with disdain, as though you were nothing more than a helpless, spoiled wretch, useless, incapable, and unworthy of even existing in his sight.