Chapter 2

"That's more like it." Dad nodded, satisfied. "As the older sister, you should give in to Chloe more."

I nodded.

In my whole life, I'd been giving in. Giving up birthdays, even my future.

They all sighed in relief, laughter returning to the living room. That little episode was over, just like my allergic reaction—insignificant.

No one asked if my throat hurt. No one worried if I was in danger. They only cared if Chloe's tears had stopped.

Mom took Chloe's hand. "I need to go change. We'll go out to celebrate soon. Chloe, remember to wear that blue dress I bought you."

She turned to me. "You should tidy up too. Don't go out looking like that, ruining everyone's mood."

Right. Fresh out of the hospital, I certainly didn't fit their perfect family picture.

"Okay," I said.

I turned and went upstairs. I needed my allergy medication before it got worse.

Just as I was about to open my bedroom door, Adrian stopped me.

"Leah, I need to tell you something." He avoided my eyes.

"What is it?"

"I recommended your exchange student spot to Chloe."

I froze.

I'd worked for it for two years, painting day and night, all for that chance to study there.

So many late nights, alone in the studio, my fingers stained with paint. I told myself everything would be different once I got that spot.

"Her style is more accessible to the international market," Adrian continued. "Your paintings are too depressing. You wouldn't get far anyway."

Depressing. But you used to say you loved the raw honesty in my work. You said the pain and struggle moved you. I guess feelings have an expiration date.

"That was my spot," I said. "I prepared for two years."

"Leah, be reasonable." His tone was impatient. "Look at Chloe's work, then look at yours. Which has more commercial value?"

Commercial value. So that's the new standard.

"You said my paintings had unique emotional depth—"

"Emotional depth doesn't pay the bills!" he cut me off. "Chloe is young, talented, knows how to cater to the market. You're always stuck in your own world."

I remembered the look on his face when he first saw my paintings. He said it was the most soulful work he'd ever seen. Now, soul wasn't worth anything.

"And about the apartment," he went on. "Chloe really loves that sunlit studio. Her current environment is affecting her work. We can stay in a smaller place for now."

We'd spent three months planning that studio together. I said I'd paint my best work there. He said it would be our future child's playroom.

I stared at him, fighting back tears that burned behind my eyes.

"It's her birthday today. She's been begging for it as her gift." His voice dropped to that familiar pleading tone. "I know it's asking a lot, but—"

"Fine," I cut him off sharply. "Take it."

He blinked. "You… you're really okay with it?"

"We're not married yet. The apartment is yours anyway." My voice was flat. "And you have the right to decide who gets the spot."

I didn't want to fight anymore. What was the point? I'd always end up being the one in the wrong.

Like when I was little, I won first place in a painting competition. Chloe cried, saying I stole her spotlight. What happened? Dad tore up my certificate, saying the family didn't need two artists.

"Sis!" Chloe's voice rang out. "You're still angry, aren't you? I don't want you to be unhappy…"

She was already wearing the blue dress.

The allergic reaction was getting worse. My eyes felt hot, my skin began to itch. I ignored her. I needed to get my medication, now.

"What's this attitude?" Adrian suddenly became angry. "Playing the victim on purpose?"

Chloe tugged at his hand. "Adrian, it's all my fault."

"Sis, please don't be mad." She looked at me. "Mom and Dad are waiting in the car to go out and celebrate the birthday."

"I'm not mad," I said. "I just want to go to my room and rest."

I opened my door, about to go in and get the pills.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed my wrist hard.

The next moment, I was shoved violently to the ground.