Break Free from Kylan's Shackles

The early autumn night was chillier than expected. Despite the cold that seemed to seep into my bones, I felt as if I had been given a fresh start.

Honestly, I’d wanted to make a change for a long time, ever since Kylan Riley started his relentless attempts to humiliate me. But the tangled web of our past connections had bound me like a marionette, leaving me without a way to resist.

The city buzzed around me, neon signs flickering overhead. I turned my head slightly, my thoughts drifting far away. Kylan had been my first crush during my naive teenage years. Now that things had completely fallen apart, I expected heartbreak. Instead, I felt nothing but numbness and relief.

I exhaled deeply as cars sped by, suddenly realizing that in this bustling city, I had nowhere to go. So I hailed a cab back to Kylan's mansion.

As expected, Kylan wasn't home. I packed a few of my clothes, leaving behind the expensive jewelry and Victorian dresses. They belonged to Mrs. Riley, not to me.

My eyes landed on the table where the fertility treatment report was lying. Gently placing a hand on my stomach, I whispered an apology and immediately scheduled an appointment to terminate the pregnancy.

Throughout our years of marriage, Kylan had never so much as touched me. His family was eager for grandchildren, but Kylan was indifferent, leaving all the pressure on me. After countless pleas, Kylan finally agreed to try fertility treatment with me. How ironic that he, the unwilling party, left me to bear the brunt of it.

Thankfully, I could finally let it go. I ripped the test report into pieces. As the white fragments fluttered through the air, I saw my youth, once trapped by Kylan, being set free.

Before leaving the room, I noticed the photo on the bedside table. The girl in the photo had her hair in a ponytail, wore a white shirt and jeans, and was smiling brightly at the camera.

She was Kylan's muse, the one he couldn’t forget all these years. But she was also my muse, my older sister.

I reached out, gently tracing my sister’s face in the photo. “Sister, we’re going home.”

This photo was the last thing I took from Kylan’s house.

After some deliberation, I boarded the train back to my hometown. It had been ages since I last returned, and the old family home, neglected for years, looked thoroughly rundown. It needed major renovations to be livable again.

“This house is too old. Even after renovations, it won’t be fit to live in. Might as well sell it and buy a new one,” said a voice from behind me. Startled, I took a few quick steps forward and turned around.

A scholarly-looking man with glasses and a backpack stood there with a friendly smile. I was sure I hadn’t seen him before. Skeptical yet cautious, I didn’t respond to his comment.

He didn’t seem to expect a response, instead humming a tune as he entered the house next door. So, he was a neighbor. I breathed a sigh of relief, my guard somewhat lowered.

But on the first day of renovation, the side room collapsed, inconveniently landing on the neighbor’s roof. I rushed out to apologize, only to find the man from before standing outside recording the scene on his phone.

His expression was calm, even relaxed, as if it wasn’t his roof that had been damaged. Quite an unusual person indeed...