Chapter 1The Good Brother With A Deadly Secret

Two days after I ran away, Savannah found me outside the hospital.

She gripped my wrist so tightly it felt like a cuff, her eyes blazing red.

“You ran away because I slapped you once? Are you trying to kill me with worry, Elias?”

“How long are you going to keep this up? I’m begging you, just be reasonable—be more like Grant, okay?”

This time, I didn’t explain. I didn't fight back.

I simply followed her home, a model of the perfect, compliant little brother.

She hated my tantrums, so I never raised my voice again.

She accused me of being selfish, so I gave everything I owned to Grant Everett.

Savannah thought I was playing a game, a stubborn power struggle to see how long I could keep the act up.

But she had no idea. There was no act. I had simply run out of expectation.

The day I left home, I went to the ER.

That slap—her slap—had ruptured my eardrum, leaving my left ear deaf.

It was also the day I unexpectedly found out I had blood cancer.

For the rest of the time I had left, I just wanted peace.

But I prayed that in my next life, I wouldn't have a sister.

* * *

New Year’s Eve. Savannah spent the night out with Grant.

On my dime.

Before my grandmother died, she’d left me a debit card with $20,000, telling me it was my “starter fund” for the future.

A few days ago, Savannah had called me petty and small-minded.

So, I’d turned over all my valuables to Grant.

Including that card.

My phone kept buzzing with transaction alerts.

First, they dropped five thousand on a fireworks show.

Then, a ridiculously expensive dinner.

Finally, a club downtown.

At midnight, the last fifty dollars on the card was swiped.

Grant posted a highly visible story on Instagram:

[Who wouldn't be jealous of a sister like this?]

The picture was his hand, resting suggestively on a model’s slender waist.

Savannah had hired him three high-end escorts.

Savannah was wealthy—she owned several successful companies.

Wiping out my grandmother’s last gift, then letting Grant post that photo? She was doing it on purpose.

She believed I was in a months-long sulk, always testing me to see when I’d finally break.

Yet my heart was perfectly still, flat as a calm lake. Not a ripple.

My stomach felt hollow. I went to the kitchen and cooked myself a bowl of ramen.

After I ate, I swallowed my medication.

I was about to toss the empty pill bottle when the front door of the mansion swung open.

I jumped, startled. My hand slipped, and the bottle clattered to the floor, rolling under the coffee table.

Savannah, clearly drunk, paused when she saw me standing there, frozen and exposed. She sneered.

“Still awake? Did spending your ten grand keep you up, Elias? Did you lose any sleep over it?”

I didn't answer. She went on, talking mostly to herself:

“Three months of pouting. You have incredible stamina.”

“Elias Bellweather, let’s see how long you can keep this charade going.”

She stumbled. I instinctively moved to help her, but Grant shoved me away.

“Can’t you see your sister’s drunk? Stop creating a scene.”

He pushed me aside and helped Savannah into her bedroom.

I picked up the designer jacket she’d dropped, hung it up, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Just as I was about to bring it to her room, Grant emerged.

His eyes were full of venom.

“Elias Bellweather, do you ever stop?”

“You already ran away—why didn’t you go somewhere Savannah couldn’t find you? Why come back and keep bothering her?”