My Brother's Lies, My Fiancé's Betrayal

I knelt there, shivering, desperate, clutching at his leg, hoping some shred of the man I loved, the man who had promised me forever, would resurface. He was my last hope, my only portal to salvation for Mom.

From inside the cabin, I heard a voice, soft and pitying. "Cristofer, maybe you should just... just call. For Hayden' s sake. She looks really hurt." It was his housekeeper, old Mrs. Gable, a kind woman who had known me since I was a child.

Cristofer merely sighed, a sound of profound annoyance. "She's fine, Mrs. Gable. Just being dramatic. Broderick explained it all." He looked down at me, a cold fire in his eyes. "You want me to call? Fine. But you'll regret it. Broderick said you'd go to any lengths, even this. He made me promise to cut you off."

A sliver of hope, sharp and painful, pierced through my despair. He was going to call. He was going to help. I nodded frantically, willing to agree to anything, everything.

Just then, his phone buzzed in his hand. He looked at the screen, and his face hardened. It was Broderick. He put it on speaker, a cruel smirk on his face. "Speaking of the devil."

"Cristofer, is she there?" Broderick' s voice, smug and self-satisfied, filled the cabin. "Hayden, are you there? Still putting on your little show? Pathetic."

"Broderick, please! Mom is hurt! She's bleeding! They shot her!" I screamed into the phone's speaker, my voice raw.

Broderick laughed, a harsh, dismissive sound. "Shot her? Hayden, darling, you really need to get a grip. Mom just called me back, frantic, saying you were talking crazy. She said everything was fine after I reassured her. You probably just scared her with your little act."

My breath hitched. He had called Mom back. He had convinced her I was lying. He had gaslit my own mother into believing she wasn't bleeding to death. The sheer, audacious cruelty took my breath away. He was not just selfish; he was genuinely evil.

"You're a monster!" I shrieked, my voice cracking, my body shaking with rage and despair. "Mom is dying, and you're covering for them! You'll pay for this, Broderick! Do you hear me? You'll pay!"

"Oh, I hear you, little sister." His voice was dripping with venom. "But you're the one who always causes trouble. You just can't stand that I'm happy, can you? That I finally found someone who understands me, unlike you and your pathetic premonitions."

"You're blind, Broderick! Brenna is using you! She's behind all of this! Don't you see?" I pleaded, tears streaming down my face.

"Don't you dare talk about Brenna like that!" he snarled. "She's the best thing that ever happened to me. You're just jealous. Always have been."

He hung up, the line going dead with a sharp click. The silence that followed was deafening, suffocating.

Cristofer looked down at me, his eyes now completely cold, devoid of any sympathy. "See? Broderick said you were lying. He said you'd make up some story about Mom." He kicked my leg, not hard enough to break anything, but enough to convey his contempt. "Get out of my sight, Hayden. You're sick. And frankly, you' re embarrassing." Mrs. Gable, who had been watching from the doorway, gasped.

"Cristofer, no! You can't!" I cried, trying to scramble up, to grab him, to make him see. "They're still in the house! They'll kill Mom!"

He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong, digging into my bruised skin. "Broderick said you' d resist. He told me to teach you a lesson." His eyes, once full of tenderness, were now filled with a chilling, almost maniacal hatred. He raised his hand.

"No!" Mrs. Gable screamed, stepping forward, her face pale. "Cristofer, what are you doing?"

"This is for your own good, Hayden," he growled, bringing his hand down with brutal force. A sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. Then another, and another. My head snapped back, stars exploding behind my eyes. I tasted blood.

"You're pathetic," he spat, his voice laced with disgust. "Always have been. Broderick was right about you." He kicked me again, sending a jolt of agony through my injured side. I crumpled to the floor, my vision blurring, a whimper escaping my lips.

"This is what you get for playing games with my family, Hayden," he snarled, his face contorted in a mask of rage. "For trying to ruin Broderick' s life, for trying to drive a wedge between us."

Just then, his phone, which he had dropped on the floor, rang again. He glanced at it, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "Who is it now?" he muttered, picking it up. He answered, his voice dripping with condescension. "What do you want?"

A muffled voice, authoritative and urgent, spilled from the receiver. "Is this Cristofer Leon? This is Sheriff Thompson. We just received a panicked 911 call from your address. The dispatcher patched it through. We have reports of a violent home invasion. Your fiancée, Hayden Barker, specifically stated her mother, Jan Barker, was critically wounded."