The Sister He Destroyed

Following the bankruptcy of the James Corporation, my brother was diagnosed with ALS.

I dropped out of university, shouldering astronomical debt and the crushing weight of my brother's survival.

For five years, debt collectors beat me until I coughed up blood, yet I couldn't justify the cost of painkillers. I worked five shifts a day, collapsing from exhaustion, yet I refused to take a single day off.

Every cent I earned went to keeping Jonathan alive.

That changed the night I delivered wine to the Starlight Club.

The door to the VIP room stood ajar. Inside, I saw Jonathan James—the man who should have been wheelchair-bound, waiting for me at home—lounging in a bespoke suit. Legs crossed, swirling amber liquid, laughing with his friends.

"Jonathan, you've kept this charade up for five years," someone said. "Hazel is bleeding herself dry to pay for your 'treatment.' Isn't this punishment enough?"

Jonathan scoffed.

"Almost. If she hadn't been so selfish—if she hadn't scolded Valerie and upset her—I wouldn't have needed to stage this bankruptcy and illness to teach her a lesson."

He sipped his drink, expression casual. "Valerie has spent the last five years traveling abroad. Her mood has finally stabilized, and she's agreed to forgive Hazel. Once the timing is right, I'll have the doctor fake a 'miraculous recovery.' Hazel can resume her life as the James heiress. Consider it atonement for her willfulness."

One friend hesitated. "ALS is terminal. Will she actually believe a recovery is possible?"

A smirk played on Jonathan's lips.

"That idiot girl? She believes every word I say."

He set his glass down. "She needed to learn her place. Valerie is adopted and lacks security; as the older sister, Hazel should have yielded. I'm doing this for her own good. I'll compensate her properly later."

I stood in the hallway, head bowed, tears sliding silently down my cheeks.

But Jonathan, there is no later.

Your terminal illness is a lie.

Mine is real.

——

The corridor's draft cut through my uniform, chilling the sweat on my skin. I stood frozen, a puppet with severed strings. The revelation didn't hit all at once—it felt like a serrated blade slowly slicing through five years of faith.

Every cut drew blood.

Inside the room, Vincent Hughes sighed. "You're ruthless, Jonathan. She's your blood. A top student at Jiangcheng University, reduced to a husk of a woman. Last week, she was short three hundred dollars for your medicine. She came to me, begging."

Jonathan's expression darkened. "Did you give it to her?"

Vincent shook his head. "You gave a direct order. Did I have a choice?"

"That girl knelt at my doorstep for an entire afternoon," he continued, voice heavy. "She collapsed from starvation right there on the concrete. I was too afraid of you to even call an ambulance. When she finally woke up, she crawled away."

Vincent left out the ugly details.

That day, I had cast aside my last shred of dignity. I had practically thrown myself at him, clothes half-undone, offering my body for the cash. Jonathan's imported medication had been cut off for a week; I was terrified his condition would worsen.

But I had tapped out every resource.

Vincent had looked at me like I was a ghost and kicked me out in a panic.

So that's why, I realized, a bitter taste rising in my throat. It wasn't that he didn't want to lend me the money. He couldn't.

Jonathan sneered, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave.

"Listen to me, all of you. Until I bring Valerie back, no one helps Hazel. She can kneel, beg, or die right in front of your eyes—you do not engage. Valerie is sensitive. If Hazel's punishment is shortened by a single day, Valerie might relapse. Anyone who upsets my precious sister will answer to me."

The room fell silent. The men exchanged uneasy glances.