1 I locked up my adoptive brother. I broke his leg, chained him in the basement, and tried to turn him into something that needed me to survive. When I was angry, I slapped him. Before meals, I made him call me “Master.” Every bruise on him was a mark I had left. I treated him like a dog and waited for Stockholm syndrome to happen. But it never did. Every time Owen looked at me, his eyes were filled with pain and a hatred so dense it almost had weight. After three months, I finally gave up. I unlocked his shackles and smiled bitterly. “Owen, don’t hate me. I just wanted you to be unable to leave me.” After that day, I went to school, ate, slept, and disappeared from his life like he wanted. I met new people. Then one day, I opened my eyes. The moment I raised my hand, I heard the familiar clink of chains. The basement was almost airtight. Owen was chained to the bed, one ankle wrapped in thick gauze. I stood in the shadows and waited for a long time. My legs were sore. Finally losing patience, I poured a glass of water and threw it in his face. Owen flinched. Water clung to his lashes. His hair stuck damply to his forehead in messy strands. Beautiful enough to make the heart stop. At last, he woke. He tried to lift a hand to wipe the water from his eyes, only to realize something heavy was locked around his wrist. I greeted him. “Hi. Morning.” “Mor…ning?” Owen repeated it blankly. There were no windows here. No clock. The only light came from a shaky incandescent bulb overhead. Of course he couldn’t tell what time it was. Owen had lived more than twenty years as the prized young master of the family. This was probably the first time he had ever slept somewhere this shabby. He rubbed his aching, foggy head and finally realized something was wrong. “Lydia, what are you doing?” His voice was low. When he frowned slightly, he carried that natural, quiet authority. He looked good. So good it made people want to ruin him. I answered without shame. “I want you, Owen.” The impact of those words was too strong. His eyes widened. He looked down at the chain on his body and pulled hard several times. When it did not budge, he finally realized I wasn’t joking. His mind seemed to explode. “What do you mean, want me?” I moved closer step by step. “You really don’t understand?” “Then I’ll make it clearer. I want to be with you. I want you to belong to me. I want you to be my dog.” “Do you understand now, brother?” Owen was so shocked his voice shook. “Do you know what you’re saying? Are you insane? Do you remember I’m your brother?” I swallowed, a little excited. That sentence. That tone. Exactly like I had imagined. Fear, disbelief, and the shame of something forbidden. I said casually, “We’re not related by blood. What does it matter?” Owen froze. “Mom and Dad told you?” “Yeah. But even if they hadn’t, did you think I couldn’t guess?” “Everyone could see they didn’t care whether I lived or died. They only loved you.” It was funny. Owen’s leg was injured, his wrists chained, his body damp and trapped in this wreck of a room. Yet his first reaction was still to comfort me. “Lydia, that isn’t true. Mom and Dad care about you.” “You’ve lived with us for so long. Blood stopped mattering a long time ago. You know I’ve always treated you as my real sister.” He stumbled over his words. “Even if Mom and Dad are sometimes more biased toward me, that doesn’t matter.” “You know what’s mine is yours. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life. I’ll give you the best of everything I can.” I nodded. “I believe you.” Hope flashed in Owen’s eyes. “Then…” Before he could finish, I raised my hand without warning and slapped him hard. The sound was loud and crisp. His skin was pale, so his cheek flushed red at once. His head turned to the side. His hair fell messily. Maybe he was stunned, because he didn’t come back to himself for a long while. “You’ll give me the best of everything? Fine. Then give me the part of you no one else has touched.” Owen’s pupils shrank. Whether from fear or anger, his body trembled. “Who taught you to say these things?” I tilted my head. I couldn’t explain what I was feeling. After staring at him for a few seconds, I suddenly leaned in. I bit his lip hard. It was a bite. No tenderness, no romance. Only force. It was as soft and warm as I had imagined. When it split, I tasted blood. He looked truly miserable. He struggled desperately, but the restraints held too tightly. The more he fought, the more helpless he looked. In daily life, I rarely saw him cry. He was always tough, powerful, the person who stood in front of me and handled everything. But now, as if suffering some unbearable pain, even with his eyes tightly shut, tears still leaked from the corners. Seeing him like that made irritation rise in me for no reason. I refused to retreat. “No one taught me, Owen.” “But you raised me yourself. If you hadn’t tempted me, if you hadn’t kept crossing lines without knowing it, how would I have become like this?” “You brought this on yourself.” He trembled harder. My patience ran out. I grabbed his jaw and forced medicine between his lips. Owen’s eyes filled with tears from being forced. He struggled and coughed badly, choking on water. The cruelest thing he could call me was “beast.” It only made me more excited. “Don’t be so fierce.” I smiled. “Your leg still needs regular dressing changes. What will you do if you offend me? Do you want to be permanently disabled?” Only then did Owen seem to realize something. A little terror appeared in his eyes. “My leg…” “I hit you with the car. Don’t accuse me of intentional injury when you get out, okay?” The medicine took effect quickly. Owen’s breathing grew heavy. His gaze blurred, and a thin flush spread over his skin. He still looked tormented. Strangled by that useless sense of morality. But instinct could not be suppressed. I glanced down and sneered. “So much for being noble. I really thought you were made of wood.” “Aren’t you still reacting to the sister you raised?” Owen looked like a trapped animal, cornered with nowhere to go. He dug his nails into his palm, and the chains rubbed red marks around his wrists. He murmured my childhood nickname again and again, begging me not to continue. I touched his burning face and slowly undid the first button of his shirt. Then I added calmly, “Don’t be afraid. You can tell on me.” “If you can still get out.” The day I learned I had been adopted, I wasn’t surprised at all. The woman I had called Mom for twenty years looked relieved, like she had finally set down a burden. “Lydia, we’ve raised you this long. As adoptive parents, we’ve done our duty. We have a clear conscience.” “We’ll give you one of the family properties, and you can choose any car. We’ll also keep supporting you until you graduate college.” “Media will come in three days. You should know what to say.” I smiled and nodded calmly. My adoptive mother had probably prepared for me to make a scene. Seeing me so calm, she seemed at a loss. After considering it for a moment, she softened her tone. “Of course, if you have any other requests, you can bring them up. We can discuss it.” “After all, we watched you grow up. There is still some affection…” I cut her off. “I don’t want anything.” She sighed in relief and patted her chest. “Good.” I held back a cold laugh with all my strength. My only thought was that my plan to imprison Owen had to be moved up. Ever since I could remember, I had vaguely sensed that my parents favored my brother more. This favoritism wasn’t like giving him the bigger drumstick at dinner. In small things, Owen and I received equal resources. Toys, clothes, everything. Whatever he had, I had too. Outsiders thought I was the precious daughter of the family. Only I could sense the subtle difference in their attitude. They treated me like a friend’s child. Polite. Controlled. Distant. They never cared how I was doing in kindergarten or whether I had made new friends. They didn’t care what color dresses I liked, or why I hid in my room crying at night. Yes. As adoptive parents, they were beyond reproach. But to me, a child who knew nothing, the two people I depended on most not caring about me was a very painful thing. I was jealous of Owen. For a long time, I truly hated him. I broke his toys, threw tantrums for no reason, and even pushed him hard down the stairs. Owen fell badly. His forehead split open. Mom and Dad were so heartbroken they skipped work and stayed with him for three days. Watching him in pain, I felt a twisted pleasure rise in me. But Owen didn’t ask why. He didn’t blame me at all. When Mom and Dad questioned him, he even covered for me and said he fell by accident. I froze. A little guilty. So I picked a time when Mom and Dad were asleep, padded into his bedroom in fluffy slippers, tugged his sleeve, and asked why he hadn’t told on me. Owen had been beautiful since childhood. Delicate and fine, like white porcelain in a display case. Even after I woke him, he wasn’t angry. He rubbed his eyes and smiled, pulling me into his arms. His cold, clean scent filled my nose. “Because you’re my little sister.” “Were you angry because I didn’t give you the new blocks that day? I was planning to build them and then give them to you.” “If you like making things yourself, we can build them together tomorrow, okay?” I don’t remember what he said after that. My mind was full of his bright eyes. And that indulgent yet solemn sentence. Later, when I grew older, there were things no one needed to say. I could guess from tiny clues. Muffled conversations in the study. The teasing looks relatives gave me. A few times, someone nearly slipped up, pointing at my face and laughing behind a hand. “Well, raising someone long enough does change things. Look at her eyes. They really do look a bit like yours now.” Mom shot her a look. She immediately shut up and laughed it off. That left a thorn in my heart. That night, I stood on the balcony for a long time. A wealthy family, successful parents, countless pretty clothes in my closet. If one day all of this left me, what would I do? When I thought it through, I realized the thing I couldn’t let go of most was my brother. I paced the balcony anxiously. But Owen was a living person. A person with his own thoughts and judgment. How could he ever truly belong to me? While I was worrying, Roundy came over. Roundy was my dog. No breed. I picked him up from the street. Maybe because I raised him, he was afraid of strangers but especially close to me. Now he ran to my leg with a little ball in his mouth, rubbing his forehead against me. His round eyes stared at me, clearly hoping I would play with him. I crouched and stroked his furry head. His world was so simple. Eat, sleep, play. So pure that it almost contained only me. Yes. Keeping a person’s heart was too hard. But keeping a dog was easy. I hugged Roundy tightly and buried my nose in his fur. Mm. A little smelly. The next afternoon, I went to the basement. Owen had his back to me, shoulders trembling uncontrollably. I hadn’t changed his clothes after yesterday. Red marks, some shallow and some deeper, still crossed his waist and abdomen. I had scratched them there. I licked my lips. Yesterday, Owen had tried at first to maintain his pure, principled image, holding me off with all his strength. Later, maybe the medicine took hold and he couldn’t pretend anymore. He bit his lip and endured everything in silence. It was the first time, so I hadn’t bothered correcting him. I let him get through it however he could. Today would be different. I smiled. “It’s already this late, Owen. Still pretending to sleep? That’s rude.” He ignored me, but his breathing clearly quickened. He was afraid. Afraid of the sister he had raised himself. I barely suppressed my laughter. After clearing my throat, I softened my voice to coax him. “You don’t have to talk to me. But you need water, right? How many hours has it been? Aren’t you thirsty?” Owen was silent for a few seconds, then finally turned over. He sat up, clearly unrested. His eyes were bloodshot, his face exhausted, his voice hoarse. “Lydia, unlock these. Let’s talk properly.” I raised an eyebrow and shook the bottle of mineral water in my hand. “One sentence. Do you want it or not?” He fell silent. The meaning was obvious. No. I glanced at his throat as it moved slightly. I wasn’t surprised. With a smile, I opened the cap in front of him. Then I poured more than half the cool, clear water onto the floor, not leaving a single drop. “It’s fine. I have plenty of time to waste with you.” Owen opened his mouth but said nothing. His pupils trembled. I didn’t give him another chance. I turned and left the basement. My brother couldn’t keep pretending. His throat had been dry and tight after a whole day without water. He panicked and tried to grab my clothes, but he accidentally fell from the bed with a heavy thud. As if he couldn’t feel the pain, he tried desperately to get up and reach me. But the chain was limited. He couldn’t even touch a corner of my clothes. Instead, he ended up covered in dust. I shut the door. After a little while, I heard a suppressed, wounded sound that was almost a sob. How should I put it? It felt pretty good. I didn’t leave him there for too long. Around eight that night, I returned to him right on time. I brought enough water and food. Owen was a grown man, but who knew what temper he was throwing? He remained in the exact position from when I left. Lying on the floor without moving. Hair messy. His pretty face streaked with tears. His eyes terribly red. My good brother. Did he really not know this look only excited me more? I stretched out one foot and naturally stepped on his abdomen, grinding lightly. “Still so stubborn?” “…” “Then I’ll have to use medicine again. But you know that stuff can be addictive.” “Maybe by then, before I even touch you, you’ll already react and crawl over to beg.” Owen’s teeth nearly ground together. “Filthy.” I smiled and opened the bottle cap. “Come on. Call me Master and I’ll give you water.” Even I clicked my tongue at that. Truly vile. Owen’s face alternated between red and white. Whether from shame or rage, he suddenly turned his head away and refused to look at me. I smiled and brought the bottle to his lips. “Come on. Drink.” He had been thirsty so long. Even though every part of him resisted, after struggling a little, he still reluctantly opened his mouth. I fed him a few sips. Just as I was about to keep tormenting him, my phone rang. Owen and I froze at the same time.
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