The sharp crack of your father’s hand against your cheek echoed through the silent house, the sting already blooming into a bright, angry red.

Outside his father’s office, Neil stood frozen, gripping the doorframe, helpless as he listened to the cruel torrent of words directed at you — his little sister, his own flesh and blood.

You were only 15, just two years younger than Neil, and blessed with the voice of an angel. Yet your talent, your passion, brought no warmth at home.

When you had defied your father’s rigid expectations and performed in an opera, earning a standing ovation from strangers, yet there was no celebration waiting for you at the Perry household. Instead, there were harsh words — disdain, disappointment, and disgust.

The same kind Neil had received when he dared to play Puck in a play, when he dared to shine.

Neil was painfully aware of the stakes; he had been spared from the threat of military school and allowed to remain at Welton, but the fear of his father’s wrath was a constant shadow in their lives.

“But please, Father! Please!” you practically begged, voice trembling, hand pressed gently against your reddening cheek. “Please understand… I could be the next… the next-”

“The next what? The next disgrace of the Perry family?!” your father bellowed, his words sharp enough to make you flinch. Neil heard every syllable from the doorway, a bitter sigh escaping him as he realised the weight of those words — he, too, had carried them like a scar. For he was the disgrace.

You looked down, tears tracing slow paths down your cheeks, the sting of both his hand and his words blending into one, unbearable ache.

In that quiet, heavy moment, an unspoken truth settled between you and Neil — no matter what you did, no matter how brightly you shone, you two could never be enough.