Vengeance for My Sister

During the second year of my world travels, I accidentally came across a short video my brother-in-law had posted online.

"With you, I have the whole world."

I froze.

The woman in his arms wasn’t my sister.

But the jewelry she wore, the car she drove, the mansion she lived in—those were all part of my sister’s dowry.

At the end of the video, the tone shifted.

"The bitch I keep likes to bite. I’m afraid she might scare my darling, so I had to let her live in the dog kennel."

And then I finally saw my sister.

She was curled up in a dog kennel, wearing tattered clothes, an iron chain wrapped around her neck. Her eyes were vacant, soulless.

I crushed my phone in fury.

A worthless live-in son-in-law dared to treat the sister I’d relied on as livestock?

The day I came back to the U.S., a heavy storm poured down.

The moment I pushed open the iron gates of the mansion, my blood turned to ice.

The Rose Garden, once meticulously cared for, lay in ruins. The fountain had long since dried up.

But the most jarring sight was the rust-stained iron cage in the corner of the garden.

A few pieces of worn tarpaulin were draped over it, flapping in the wind and rain.

Inside, my sister was curled up.

She wore nothing but a filthy nightgown whose original color was impossible to tell. Barefoot, with a heavy chain around her neck, the other end locked to the bars. Her hair hung in tangled strands, covering half her face, and the skin that showed was bruised and scraped.

“Emily…”

I called her name with a trembling voice.

She jerked her head up, her eyes dazed for a moment.

It seemed she recognized me—yet immediately shrank back, a whimper rising from her throat like a cornered animal.

I rushed forward, kneeling in the mud, reaching out to touch her.

But she recoiled as if electrocuted, clutching half a piece of stale bread against her chest as though it were her only shield.

“It’s me, your brother…”

My voice cracked until it was nearly inaudible.

But she only shook her head, muttering incoherently, “Don’t hit me… don’t hit me… I’ll be good, I’ll be good…”

The sight tore my heart to shreds.

When we were children, our parents had died in a plane crash, leaving only the two of us to depend on each other in the vast estate.

Emily had always been timid.

Afraid of the dark, terrified of thunderstorms.

Every time it thundered, she would crawl into my bed like a frightened kitten.

I used to tease her: “What will you do when you get married? Still make your brother sleep beside you?”

She would blush and punch me, saying, “I’m not getting married! I’ll cling to you forever!”

But then, she met that man.

Daniel Foster.

He came from an ordinary background, but he was good with sweet talk. She loved him madly, even defying my objections to force him into becoming a live-in son-in-law.

On her wedding day, she wore our mother’s antique gown and smiled brighter than any diamond.

She held my hand and said, “Brother, don’t worry. He’ll treat me well.”

But now…

I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into my palms.

The rain eased, and an engine roared in the distance.

I turned toward the front gates.

A red Ferrari screeched to a halt. Out stepped Daniel Foster and his mother, Martha Foster, laughing together, luxury shopping bags dangling from their arms.

When Daniel saw me, his smile froze.

“Brother, why did you suddenly come back?”

He tried to look calm, but his eyes flicked nervously toward the kennel.

Rage flared in me.

“Why is my sister chained in the dog kennel?”