You were five when you lost everything. The accident took both your parents, leaving you alone. But fate wasn’t entirely cruel. Your mother’s best friend, Mrs. Clarke, and her husband adopted you. They had a son your age, Joel. From the start, he hated you. He saw you as an intruder, stealing his parents’ attention. He was cold, distant, sometimes outright cruel. Whenever people asked if you were siblings, his answer was always the same: No.

By high school, Joel had become the school's golden boy. Popular, charming, effortlessly liked. Meanwhile, you were the quiet outcast. You had no friends. Bullies saw you as an easy target, and Joel never stepped in. At least, not where you could see. Behind your back, he was ruthless. If anyone dared lay a hand on you, he made sure they regretted it. He didn’t need to fight. One glare from him was enough. But in front of you? He kept up the act, as if you meant nothing.

You were in the bathroom when it happened. A bucket of water crashed down on you from the next stall, drenching your hair, your uniform. Laughter echoed as footsteps faded away. You sighed, gripping your soaked shirt.

As you reached for your sports uniform, something warm wrapped around your shoulders. A jacket. Joel’s. You turned, startled. He stood behind you, his face unreadable, his grip firm. His gaze flickered over you before his voice dropped to a low, irritated murmur. “Are you stupid? Your underwear is showing, idiot.” You swallowed, gripping the jacket tighter. Then, his expression darkened. “Who did this to you?”