My Brother’s Wrath

My brother died in a fire saving my three best friends.
After that, they started taking care of me, rotating the duty of being my boyfriend. But it didn’t take long for them to grow sick of it.
Robby was the first to crack. “I can’t stand her goddamn attitude anymore,” he’d snapped. “Can we just ship her off to a psychiatric hospital?”
Sean, ever the diplomat, sighed. “Just hang in there a little longer. Once we graduate, we’ll find some guy to marry her off to, and then we’ll finally be free.”
And Ian, my current boyfriend, said coldly, “My time is up. Help me figure out a way to make her break up with me.”
So much for childhood friendship. So much for the life debt they owed my brother. In the end, I was nothing but a burden.
Fine, I thought. I’ll give you exactly what you want.

1
My birthday party was just like every year before.
Ian and the others had planned the whole thing. This time, they promised me a surprise. I was actually looking forward to it.
But when the day arrived, the mansion’s grand hall was filled with a raucous, screaming crowd of strangers. I sat on the sofa by the French windows, watching them from a distance, my face a mask of cold disgust.
Robby sauntered over, a glass of milk in one hand, the other stuffed casually in his pocket. His hair was slicked back with wax, revealing a sharp, handsome brow and piercing eyes. A few artfully messy strands fell forward, and his smile was anything but innocent. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, his shirt open just enough to reveal the chiseled lines of his chest with every slight movement. He was pure playboy, oozing a casual charm that I’d always despised. It was the kind of sloppiness I couldn’t stand.
But we’d broken up a long time ago. It wasn't my place to control him.
And now, I no longer wanted to.
I took the warm milk he offered, listening to him drone on about how I shouldn't be such a recluse, how I needed to make more friends—all the usual bullshit.
For the first time, I didn’t argue. I didn’t get angry.
A flicker of surprise crossed Robby’s face. He leaned in, his voice hesitant. “…What’s wrong? Who pissed off our little princess this time?”
I cradled the glass, my gaze drifting across the room. It landed on our young housekeeper, who was blushing furiously as she spoke to my boyfriend, Ian.
Still, I remained calm. I said nothing.
“Nothing,” I told Robby, my voice flat. “You’re right.”
His expression turned strange. He couldn’t tell if I was being genuine or if this was the dangerous calm before a hurricane.
Suddenly, I pointed. “Who’s that?”
Robby followed my gaze and immediately spotted the man who stood out from the crowd. He was tall and slender, dressed in casual clothes, yet he carried himself with an effortless grace that spoke of old money and quiet confidence. He didn't look like one of the university classmates Robby and the others would have invited.
“Oh, him?” Robby said. “He’s a new lecturer in our department. Pretty young. I think he’s also the school’s new guidance counselor.”
Robby stroked his chin, a sneer playing on his lips. He mentioned that the man’s classes were wildly popular with the female students, and his counseling sessions were always fully booked. He muttered something about not knowing if the guy was there to teach or to flirt. In short, a player.
The more he tried to put the man down, the more interested I became.
I cut him off. “What’s his name?”
Robby froze. He looked from the man back to me, his brow slowly furrowing. He tried for a casual smile, avoiding a direct answer. “Why do you ask?”
I ignored him.
Just then, the music in the grand hall shifted to a slow, elegant melody, and couples began to drift onto the dance floor. And Ian, my cold, distant boyfriend, who had just caught the clumsy, fake stumble of the young housekeeper, still had his hand firmly on her. He looked down, she looked up, and for a moment, they were a still, intimate portrait in the swirling crowd. The space between them was charged, an almost visible thread of intimacy.
Robby and the others knew I couldn’t tolerate that. In the past, if any of them so much as spoke to another girl, I’d become a paranoid, quivering mess of suspicion and rage, my words turning into sharp needles that wounded them as much as they wounded me. It was exhausting for everyone. So, they learned to be careful, to keep their distance from other women. Even a flirt like Robby had toed that line for me.
What I didn't know was that this had become their favorite tool to get rid of me.
My mind drifted back. The last time I broke up with Sean. The time before that, with Robby. It was always the same. I would explode in a fit of jealous, possessive rage. And they would deftly sidestep, calling it a “misunderstanding.” They’d even manage to seize the moral high ground, accusing me of not trusting them, of being unreasonable.
I would be consumed by guilt, my self-worth crumbling. I’d cry myself to sleep for nights on end. And finally, like tearing a piece of my own heart out, I would be the one to initiate the breakup, setting them free.
On the surface, they’d act regretful, disappointed. But behind my back, I can only imagine their sighs of relief.
And now, Ian was pulling the same trick.
I watched him and our housekeeper, their bodies so close. The taste in my mouth was bitter, but the fire in my chest was gone. I was just a burden to them. If getting rid of me without an ounce of guilt was their collective wish, then I was willing to grant it.
I stared at Ian for a long, long time. So long that he finally felt my gaze and was about to turn and meet my eyes.
That’s when I stood up and walked in the opposite direction.

2
I knew my reputation at school was terrible. So terrible that it must have taken a monumental effort for popular guys like Robby and the others to convince this many people to come to my birthday party.
From the moment they stepped into my home, they all collectively ignored me, treating the event like any other college mixer. Not a single person had wished me a happy birthday. Not one gift had been offered.
But I didn’t really care.
I walked right up to the handsome new lecturer and held out my hand, my tone more of a command than a request. “Tell me your name. Then, ask me to dance.”
The man looked surprised. His eyes widened slightly, and the small, crimson mole near the corner of his eye peeked out from behind the silver frame of his glasses. It gave him an unexpectedly playful look.
All around us, conversations faltered as people started to watch. I thought, with a strange sense of detachment, that if he refused, it would be the perfect excuse to have a meltdown and throw every single person out of my house. I never considered the possibility that he would accept. Tonight was Ian’s grand performance, designed to push me over the edge. They had ignored me, isolated me. Why would they arrange for anyone to be kind to me?
But I was wrong. This man was the one exception to their cruel script.
He suddenly smiled, and his eyes were incredibly gentle. He took my hand, which had been left hanging awkwardly in the air.
“My name is Kian Archer.” His voice was warm. “Happy birthday, Nina.”
It was like being pricked by a needle. I snatched my hand back. But when I opened my palm, it wasn’t some practical joke. It was a small, exquisitely wrapped gift box.
His words, free of any malice, finally registered.
Stunned, I looked up at him, my heart suddenly racing, my throat tight. I was utterly lost.
Kian didn’t seem bothered by my hostile reaction. He simply extended his hand again, his voice even softer. “If you’d like, may I have this dance?”
I was the one who had tried to force him, yet he was acting as if it were his pleasure. His hand was elegant, his gesture perfectly chivalrous. Behind the thin lenses of his glasses, his light-colored eyes were filled with a soft, patient amusement, as if it wouldn’t matter at all if I played another game or rejected him again.
I met his gaze for a long moment. Or maybe it was just a second.
Finally, I raised my hand.
Just as his fingers were about to close around mine, a loud crash echoed from across the room. Someone gasped.
I instinctively turned to look.
Ian, who had somehow ended up standing very close to me, was once again holding the housekeeper by the waist to steady her from yet another “fall.” After seeing her act this out multiple times, I finally dredged up her name.
Rosie.
Her mother was my live-in housekeeper. She’d been hired to take care of me when my brother was still alive. A few years ago, without my permission, she’d brought her daughter to live with us. When I found out, she begged me to let Rosie stay and help out. For her mother’s sake, I’d agreed.
Until tonight, Rosie had always kept her head down. I’d barely even noticed her. But this relentless campaign for attention was making her impossible to ignore.
“I’m so sorry! Everyone, I’m so sorry! I’ll clean this up right away…” Rosie’s face was crimson with shame as she bowed apologetically. She then knelt down and began to pick up the shards of broken glass.
Ian quickly grabbed her hand. “Don’t use your hands,” he said softly. “You’ll cut yourself.”
Rosie looked up at him, her eyes shining, and nodded obediently.
I watched the scene unfold, my face impassive. And then I noticed something.
My eyes narrowed, fixing on Rosie. “Why are you wearing my dress?”

3
Dozens of pairs of eyes instantly fell on Rosie’s attire. She was wearing a stunning, strapless gown that clung to her curves. No one would have ever guessed she was just the help.
I’d hardly ever worn the dress, which is why I hadn’t recognized it at first glance. But now, looking closer, a memory slammed into me.
My brother had bought it for me.
My gaze sharpened, threatening to bore a hole right through her. Rosie’s face went pale, but her eyes immediately filled with tears. She clutched the fabric, her voice a small, innocent whisper. “I thought… I thought you weren’t going to wear this one either.”
She sniffled. “It looked brand new, and I couldn’t bear to see it thrown away, so I…”
I had no patience for her lies. It was true that I had a lot of clothes and that I regularly had my housekeeper clear out the ones I no longer wore. But every single item my brother had ever given me was kept in a separate wardrobe at the very back of my closet. I had made it explicitly clear to her mother that those were never to be touched.
This wasn't discarded. It was stolen.
I fought back the furious rage boiling in my chest. “Take it off,” I said, my voice dangerously low.
Rosie froze. The tears in her eyes welled up and spilled over, a single, perfect drop of humiliation.
I took a deep breath, my fists clenched so tight my body trembled. Ignoring the dead silence that had fallen over the room, I repeated, my voice now a raw shout, “I said take it off! Didn't you hear me?!”
Rosie covered her face and began to sob, as if she had suffered the world’s greatest injustice.
Ian finally stepped in. He moved to stand in front of her, shielding her from my view. He looked at me with open disapproval.
“Nina, that’s enough.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a sharp, painful throb that sent waves of dizziness through my head. The resentment and hurt I had suppressed all night finally erupted.
I lunged, grabbing a handful of broken glass from the floor and hurling it at Ian.
Robby moved to intercept me, but I swung my arm back and slapped him hard across the face.
The room filled with gasps and whispers. The prying, judgmental eyes hidden in the shadows only fueled my fury.
“Get out! All of you, get out!” I screamed. “Get out of my house!”
I was beyond reason. I started grabbing anything I could reach, throwing and smashing things indiscriminately. The guests, terrified, scrambled for the exits. Soon, only Robby, Ian, and Sean were left.
Ian had angry red scratches on his face and neck from the glass. He was seething, watching me with cold fury. Robby touched the red mark on his cheek, his own expression dark. Sean, who was usually the calmest and best at handling me, wasn't there.
So Robby had to be the one to step in, swallowing his anger. “Nina, calm down. Just calm down…”
His words were meaningless. My eyes were locked on Rosie, who was hiding behind Ian, a triumphant smirk on her face. A fresh wave of rage washed over me, and I lunged at her, intent on tearing that dress off her body.
But Ian—my boyfriend—held her protectively. He grabbed my wrists, his voice frigid. “Haven’t you had enough? No one can put up with you when you’re like this!”
My head was spinning. Before the pain of his words could even register, Robby grabbed me from behind, his arms locking around my waist.
He spoke over my shoulder, his voice laced with impatience. “It’s just a dress. Can’t you be generous for once? I’ll buy you a new one, okay? Is that enough?”
My eyes were raw and bloodshot. My throat felt like it was clogged with sand. But I refused to cry. I would not show weakness in front of these people, my tormentors.
That was the last gift my brother ever gave me.
I couldn’t be generous. I would rather burn it to ashes than let her have it.
I struggled violently in Robby’s arms. Suddenly, I ducked my head and bit down hard on his wrist.
He swore in pain. Enraged, I twisted around and clawed at him, my nails accidentally scratching the corner of his eye.
That was the last straw. Robby’s anger exploded. In a purely reflexive act of rage, he swung his hand and slapped me across the face.
The force of the blow sent me staggering. I lost my footing and collapsed to the floor.
A roar of static filled my ears. And then, the world went silent.

4
I raised a hand, gingerly touching my swollen, throbbing cheek. Then I just sat there on the floor, dazed.
I glanced down and saw the deep, red lines crisscrossing my palm where I had grabbed the broken glass. It was only then that I felt the sting. The pain, physical and emotional, finally washed over me.
Above me, I heard a sharp, panicked intake of breath. Robby stepped forward, reaching down to help me up. But before his fingers could touch me, I flinched away.
I scrambled to my feet on my own. Head down, I started toward my room.
Ian suddenly blocked my path. He looked at me, his expression a complicated mess of emotions, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
My brain felt slow, sluggish. It took me a moment to process what he wanted. Then it clicked.
I looked him in the eye and said, with perfect clarity, “Let’s break up. I’m ending it. It’s not your fault.” I added, “I hope you and your new girlfriend will be very happy together.”
Ian stared at me, completely stunned. There was no relief on his face, only shock.
I didn’t understand what I’d said wrong. I had given him exactly what he wanted, so why did he look so unhappy?
It was too much to think about. I sidestepped him and fled up the stairs to my room.
I locked the door but didn’t turn on the lights. Moving by muscle memory, I went to my bedside table and picked up the photo frame that always sat there.
The thorns that surrounded my heart retracted. The storm of rage inside me finally subsided.
I sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, holding the frame. By the faint moonlight filtering through the window, I tried to make out the picture inside. But I had forgotten about the cuts on my hand. A drop of blood fell onto the glass. I frantically tried to wipe it away, but it only smeared, blurring the faces into a crimson haze.
I stared at it, a wave of despair washing over me.
It’s been five years. My parents died when I was young, leaving me with only my older brother. But five years ago, he left me too.
He had promised. He promised he would not only watch me grow up, but he would take care of me when I was old. We were going to be family forever, the best in the entire world.
He broke his promise.
I hugged the frame to my chest and curled into a ball on the cold floor.
“You’re not here,” I whispered into the darkness. “And now they’re all bullying me…”
The exhaustion was absolute. I closed my eyes, seeking escape. I expected another sleepless night, but this time, sleep came quickly.
I had a dream. It wasn’t of my brother. It was of Sean.
Flames licked the sky, thick black smoke churning in the air. In the distance, an explosion roared. The heat was suffocating, stealing the oxygen from my lungs. The acrid smell of smoke filled my nose and mouth. I stared at the world twisting and melting in the inferno, unable to tell if it was real or a nightmare.
But it was just as I had imagined it a thousand times before. I was curled in a corner, with no desire to escape.
The temperature climbed higher and higher. My skin felt dry and hot, as if it were about to cook. In the midst of the unbearable agony, a single, lucid thought cut through the haze.
So this is how much it hurt. This is what my brother felt when he died.
“…Nina?! NINA!!!”
The bedroom door was kicked open with a violent crash, and a desperate, frantic shout ripped through the haze.
Sean rushed in, smothering the flames that had begun to catch on my clothes with a damp blanket. He swept me up into his arms and carried me out of the inferno.
But when we reached the safety of a tree outside, his arms went limp. He let me drop to the ground. I let out a muffled groan of pain.
Sean was gasping for breath, soaked through with what was either sweat or water. His eyes were bloodshot as he knelt down and screamed at me, his voice raw with rage. “Why didn’t you run? Didn’t you see the fire? Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”
I slowly pushed myself up, leaning against the tree trunk. My gaze drifted past him to the firefighters battling the blaze, my mind a million miles away. His words didn’t register.
Sean’s face, normally so gentle and composed, was twisted into a terrifying mask of grief and hatred. There were tears in his eyes.
His voice dropped to a choked whisper. “Sometimes, Nina… I really wish I could just strangle you.”

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