The Sister He Scorned, Now Adored

s my entire world. Every design I sketched, every

r. When I finally showed him my heart in a portfolio of

Chelsea! I'm

le whispering his fiancée's name, only to blame me the next mornin

me, but to accuse me of trying to s

lem to be managed, a body to be mistaken in the

ged uncle's offer to study design in New York, and va

pte

a Hard

teen

lf, my step-brother, I stared at my reflection in the salon mirror. My natural chestnut hair, the one he' d always praised, felt

ylist, my voice surprisingly ste

in my mouth. It was a physical severing, each strand losing its color, becoming some

stranged uncle, Geoffrey Farmer. The tech billionaire in Seattle. The man whose calls I' d always def

rent Chelsea, a naive Chelsea, made those choices

ds a little hoarse, "I'm ready. I

sed, so unshakeable, cleared his throat. "Chelsea? Are you certain? You've alway

ting engaged, Uncle. To Kamryn Gardner. The influencer. You know, the one who looks like

er. "It's all over social media. Extravagant engagement party planning. Li

can't orbit his life anymore, Uncle. Not whe

. I understand now. And you know my offer stands, always. New York will be good for

embrace through the phone li

you land. And I'll arrange everything. A place to stay, som

my chest. The call disconnected. I looked at my reflection again, the silver st

I couldn't sleep. The decision was made, the ticket booked. But a part of me, th

g smiles and perfect curls, live-streamed her engagement party décor decisions. Fairy lights versus c

a tremor. He didn't look up. "Hold

. "Just a second, Chels. Kamryn's trying to dec

you actually care about the peonies, or are

phone, a smile I hadn't seen directed at me in years

gave a sharp, painful lurch. He used to look at

onal sketchbook. "Your talent is wasted on loose-leaf paper, Chelsea. You need the right tools." He'd

him, for him. On my eighteenth birthday, I presented him with a portfolio, a culm

r. "This is sick, Chelsea! I'm your brother!" He' d ripped the page

ed piece. Like a broken vase, glued imperfectly, but still whole. My love hadn't died then. Not

digital world, his dismissive wave of the hand,

tretching out before me, felt trivial, i

y voice stronger now, a st

"Oh, is Chelsea still there, H.? Tell her to come say hi

er of irritation in his eyes. "What i

escended, heavy and suffocating. Sixteen years. Sixteen ye

as o

my heart. Not just physically leave, but mentally, emotionally. He used to be my sun,

my art, that saw him as my protector, my mentor, my everything – that love w

roke through my thoughts. "Are you goin

ned back to his phone. "Sorry, darling. M

. Just a

guiding mine as I sketched. He was the one who bought me my first sewing machine, encouraged me

cream, "every single thread, every color pa

nausea. Kamryn was still babbling about table settings.

new. He ne

rough my entire chest. But beneath the pain, a tiny ember of something

cho of the crumbling world I was leaving behind. I wouldn't tell him about Par

Not the old me, and certainly