Chapter3

My father held up his phone, snapping photo after photo of my disheveled, pathetic state.

"No wonder Livia cracks up every time she watches those videos," he chuckled, highly amused. "You really do look hilarious like this."

The bedroom door clicked open. Livia stepped out of my room, wearing a silk nightgown, and slipped her arm through my father's with practiced ease.

"Dad, send it to the family group chat. Let everyone in on the joke."

I stared at her. My throat burned raw, and the voice that came out sounded entirely unrecognizable:

"Why is she here? And why is she calling you 'Dad'?"

"Honey, who's back?"

A woman in a bathrobe emerged from the master bedroom. It was Livia's mother, Diana.

She walked straight up to my father, stood on her tiptoes, and planted a kiss directly on his lips.

My father wrapped his arm around her waist, meeting my gaze without a shred of guilt.

"Your mother has been dead for three years. I have to move on with my life. Diana and I got married last month. Livia is your stepsister now, and this is her home. Giving up your bedroom for her is just basic decency as an older sister."

The heat slowly drained from my fingertips.

"Then where am I supposed to live?"

Nobody answered. I eventually found the answer down in the basement storage room.

The staircase was narrow and steep, dead-ending at a windowless door. Bracing myself against the wall, I dragged my feet down the steps one by one, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might shatter my ribs.

The harsh light flickered on.

My belongings had been dumped haphazardly into the darkest corner of the room. My thousand-dollar cashmere coat lay crumpled on the bare concrete, stamped with muddy footprints. The architectural model I had spent four painstaking months building was smashed to pieces.

But the thing that truly suffocated me was the trash can shoved against the wall.

Inside were shredded blueprints—my design proposal for the "Public Healing Space" project.

I dropped to my knees, clawing the pieces out one by one. The paper was soaked in coffee stains and scattered with cigarette ash. It was beyond salvageable.

"Who threw this away?" I turned around, my voice practically shaking. "This was my competition entry."

Livia had followed my father down the stairs. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears.

"I'm so sorry, Elara. I thought it was just scrap paper you didn't want anymore..."

A bitter, incredulous laugh escaped my lips.

"You're an architecture student too. Blueprints marked with load-bearing walls and circulation paths—you couldn't tell if that was scrap paper?"

"It's all my fault..." Tears began streaming down her face. "I never should have moved in..."

Before she even finished her sentence, she raised a hand and slapped herself across the face.

My father yanked her into his arms, immediately roaring at me:

"It's just a few pieces of paper! Just draw them again! Are you only going to be happy when you've driven her to a breakdown?"

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

I had visited over a dozen nursing homes and psychiatric clinics, pulling countless all-nighters for this proposal. And to him, it was just "a few pieces of paper."

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

It was an email from that top-tier architectural firm in Copenhagen:

[Ms. Elara, are you certain you wish to forfeit this fellowship opportunity? Should you decline, you will be barred from applying for any positions or projects at this firm for the next three years.]

I looked up at my father, who was still fiercely shielding Livia.

I fired off a reply. Digging to the absolute bottom of a cardboard box, I fished out my passport and fellowship documents, shoving them aggressively into my crossbody bag.

The second I zipped it shut, the sound of the front door opening drifted down from upstairs.

Ethan and Adrian had arrived. One was carrying a birthday cake; the other held a gift box wrapped in a silk ribbon.

Adrian walked down the stairs. The moment he caught sight of Livia's rimed, red eyes, his face darkened.

"Elara, what did you do to her this time?"

Livia tentatively tugged at his sleeve.

"Ade, it's not my sister's fault. I was just being stupid and ruined her drawings."

Ade.

That nickname—I was the only one who had ever called him that.

It rolled off her tongue so naturally, as if she had said it a thousand times before.

And Adrian didn't even flinch.

He cast a dismissing glance at the shredded paper in my hands. His tone was perfectly flat. "You wouldn't have had any use for them anyway."

My head snapped up. "What does that mean?"

"I used my administrative access at the firm to pull all the master drafts for this project. Livia has already submitted it for this year's International Architecture Award under her name."

A deafening static filled my ears.

"She was banned from competing!" I practically shrieked. "She couldn't have even registered!"

Ethan set the cake aside and shrugged carelessly.

"I greased a few palms with the judges. The ban was lifted a while ago."

I glared daggers at Livia. "You're stealing from me again!"

Livia flinched, shrinking back behind Adrian.

Adrian shielded her entirely, his eyes brimming with harsh reproach.

"What do you mean, 'stealing'? I gave it to her myself."

"What happened last time left her horribly traumatized. Her therapist said the only way she can truly move on is to get back on her feet in the exact same arena."

"Then she can do the work herself! What gave you the right to take mine!"

Hot tears were spilling relentlessly down my cheeks.

"That wasn't just one proposal, it was an entire collection! If she submits even one piece, the rest of my portfolio will be flagged for plagiarism. It'll all be voided! That was five years of my blood, sweat, and tears!"

A fleeting shadow of guilt crossed Adrian's eyes.

"Just this once, Elara. Livia's father dying in that car crash... that was on Ethan and me. We promised we'd take care of her for the rest of her life."

I let out a broken laugh, though the tears just kept raining down.

"So that's your excuse? That's why you use me, time and time again, just to keep her entertained?"

I wasn't the one who made the mistake, yet I was the one paying the debt.

By what right?

"Not this time. I won't let her get away with it. I'm reporting this to the committee right now."

I barely had my phone out of my pocket before Ethan lunged at me like a madman.