Chapter 4The Brother Who Built My Hell

Three months crawled by.

The upstate clinic was permanently overcast, wrapped in a blanket of damp pine needles and gray mist. Harrison visited every Wednesday, always alone.

My mother, unable to reach me directly for weeks, finally forced a FaceTime call to Harrison’s phone.

"Harrison, why is Natalie wearing long sleeves in every video clip? It’s ninety degrees in southern France right now."

In the background of the screen, my father slammed his hand onto his mahogany desk, his voice booming with icy authority. "Book the tickets for tomorrow, Eleanor. I’m flying over to see her myself."

A crack showed in Harrison’s practiced mask, though his voice remained smooth. "Natalie was selected for a classified corporate research retreat by her department head, Dad. They have strict signal jamming on the compound. No personal devices."

My mother sighed softly. "Alright... just take care of her." The screen went dark.

Harrison let out a slow, ragged exhale. He set his phone aside and picked up an artisan pastry box from the nightstand.

"It's your birthday today," he said to the quiet room. "You're twenty-one."

He cut a small slice of vanilla cake and lifted a fork toward my mouth.

I was awake, my eyes vacant, staring straight through him. The butter cream touched my lower lip, smeared, and slid down my chin onto the white linen pillowcase.

Harrison stared at the smudge. Suddenly, his composure fractured. He hurled the fork across the room; it clattered loudly against the wastebasket.

"How long are you going to keep doing this, Natalie? The doctors told me your physical vitals have stabilized." He leaned in, his voice dropping into a desperate hiss. "I admit the punishment went too far. But it was meant to teach you a lesson! If you hadn't pushed Sienna down the stairs, if you had just swallowed your pride and apologized in the first place, do you think I would have kept you in that rig for three years?"

I offered him nothing. My gaze remained locked on the ceiling tiles.

Enraged by the silence, he slammed his fist onto the side table. "Who are you putting on this pathetic display for? Mom and Dad ask about you every single day. I'm living on edge twenty-four hours a day because of you! I've neglected board meetings, I missed Sienna's physical therapy sessions—all because of this!"

He snatched my wrist. My arm was so wasted his thumb easily overlapped his index finger around the bone.

"Wake up, Natalie. Just wake up, say you're sorry, and I'll forgive you. We can go back to how things were before..."

His voice hitched, catching in his throat.

A sharp knock broke the tension. Harrison’s executive assistant cracked the door open, his face pale with panic.

"Mr. Aldridge. Your parents just touched down at the regional airfield. They didn't notify the flight desk—they chartered a private jet straight here."

Harrison froze, the color draining from his face.

He dropped my arm and grabbed his jacket. "Intercept their security detail. Tell them I'm in an emergency teleconference—"

"We can't intercept them, sir," the assistant whispered, glancing nervously down the hall. "Their motorcade just entered the front gates. Mrs. Aldridge said she received an anonymous courier delivery an hour ago..."

Before the sentence ended, frantic footsteps echoed along the hardwood corridor.

My mother’s voice, raw and frantic, tore through the quiet: "Harrison! Where is my daughter?!"

The heavy oak door was violently pushed open. My mother stumbled into the room, clutching a manila folder filled with glossy photographs, her face streaked with tears.

Then she saw the bed.

She froze mid-step. The photographs slipped from her fingers, fluttering across the floor like dead leaves.

My father rushed in behind her, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes fell upon the contents of the scattered prints.