My Brother's Twisted Cruelty

Blaire Morin POV:

I grew up with everything. A penthouse overlooking Central Park, designer clothes, trust funds overflowing. My parents always said I had a fiery spirit, a will of my own. They called it passion; Ashton called it stubbornness. One thing was for sure: I never let anyone walk all over me.

That's why I couldn't stand being bullied.

My parents died in a plane crash when I was eighteen, leaving Ashton and me alone with our grief and the vast tech empire they' d built. Ashton, just five years my senior, became my guardian, my protector. Or so I thought.

A few months after the funeral, he brought Kecia home. "The house feels too empty, Blaire," he'd said, avoiding my gaze. "Kecia will keep us company." She was beautiful, in a fragile, porcelain doll way. But her eyes, even then, held a glint of something calculating.

Kecia played the role of the sweet, innocent orphan to perfection. In front of Ashton, she was all demure smiles and gentle touches. But the moment his back was turned, her true colors emerged. She'd "accidentally" spill coffee on my textbooks, "forget" to tell me about important family gatherings, and whisper insidious lies to Ashton about my supposed disrespect.

Ashton, blinded by her angelic facade, always fell for it. "Blaire, you're so spoiled," he'd scold, his voice tinged with the frustration Kecia had expertly planted. "You need to grow up. Kecia's been through so much, and you treat her like this?"

My blood would boil. I wasn't just spoiled; I was fiercely loyal, especially to Ashton. But his constant dismissal, his unwavering belief in Kecia, chipped away at me. One evening, after Kecia had deliberately slandered my name to Ashton, blaming me for a mistake she had made at the company dinner, something inside me snapped. Ashton had just finished berating me again, based on Kecia's tearful accusations.

"Blaire, you need to apologize," he'd demanded, his jaw tight.

Kecia stood behind him, a smug smirk playing on her lips, her eyes daring me.

I looked at her, then back at Ashton. "Apologize for what? For her lies?"

Kecia's face crumpled, a performance perfected over months. "Ashton, please, she's so mean to me!"

That was it. My hand moved before I even registered the thought. SMACK! The sound echoed in the silent dining room. Kecia stumbled back, clutching her cheek, her carefully constructed facade shattering. Her fake tears turned real, her eyes wide with shock.

"That," I said, my voice shaking with fury, "is what a real slap feels like. Don't you ever try to make me look bad again."

Kecia collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, begging Ashton to "do something."

Ashton's face was a mask of rage. "Blaire! Apologize to her! Now!"

"Never," I spat, my chest heaving.

He raised his hand, his eyes blazing, ready to strike me. It was the first time he'd ever even considered laying a hand on me.

"Go ahead," I said, my voice dangerously calm, even though my heart hammered against my ribs. "Hit me. And then we're done. You and I. For good."

His hand hovered, trembling with suppressed anger, the veins in his neck bulging. He couldn't do it. Not yet.

He slowly lowered his arm, his eyes still locked on mine, filled with a hatred I had never seen before. Then he turned, his back to me, and gently helped Kecia to her feet, whispering soothing words to her. "It's alright, sweetheart. I'll make sure she pays for this. I promise."

I scoffed silently. A "lesson." He wouldn't dare. He couldn't possibly understand what I would do to him if he tried. I was Blaire Morin. I never backed down.

I watched him comfort her, a cold knot forming in my stomach. Good. Let him comfort her. I' d get my revenge. He' d regret siding with that viper. This was just a small skirmish. I'd win the war.

I thought his "lesson" would be some petty grounding, or maybe cutting off my allowance for a month. I never imagined the depths of his cruelty.