In Possession of Love

My sister introduced me to the boy she was hopelessly in love with.
She pointed at me, her voice swelling with pride. See? I told you my sister was drop-dead gorgeous and a total genius. I wasn't lying, was I?
The boy stared at me, a flicker of pure astonishment in his eyes.
I smiled. My sweet, naive little sister hadn't noticed.
The boy she loved had just fallen for me at first sight.

1
I hate Summer.
It’s a hatred without reason, without origin. It just is.
She's my half-sister. My parents divorced when I was just over a year old. My father then quickly married the other woman and had Summer.
For as long as I can remember, I have been the extra person in my own home.
A biased father, a wicked stepmother, and a sister who stuck to me like something foul you couldn't scrape off your shoe. Anything good in this world, anything Summer wanted, became hers.
The piano, the dresses, the dolls, the trips to Disneyland…
When I was little, I didn’t understand. I didn’t know I was the child my own mother had abandoned in this house. All I could do was watch, confused and hurt, wondering why the world treated Summer and me so differently.
I remember one time, I was very young, just started kindergarten. The teacher had taught us not to touch sharp knives or open flames. That afternoon, desperate for attention, I climbed onto a stool in the kitchen to reach for a fruit knife on the counter.
Of course, I knew it was dangerous. I was just starved for a single scrap of concern.
Elaine—my stepmother—was standing five feet away. She watched me with cold eyes as I played with the sharp blade, and she said nothing.
I deliberately pointed the tip at myself. Just then, Summer, still a toddler, came stumbling into the kitchen. She saw the knife and burst into tears, stammering, "Vivi… Vivi, knife… scary…"
She tried to reach me, as if to protect me, to snatch the knife from my hands. Only then did Elaine move. She walked over, scooped Summer into her arms, and cooed, "Shh, sweetie, that's dangerous. Let's stay away."
Then she looked down at me, her gaze flat and empty. The smile on her lips was pure malice. "Vivian," she said, her voice like honeyed poison, "be careful when you play with knives next time, okay?"
I stared at her for a long time before finally putting the knife down.
She didn't know it, but the game was over.
As I grew older, I became quiet, cold, and distant. I stopped craving fairness or affection.
But my sister, Summer, still effortlessly commanded the family's entire attention.
She was innocent and kind, bright and lovely, a true believer in all the goodness the world had to offer. And most of all, she adored me, her older sister.
She was always clinging to me. When she was little, my father brought her back a custom-made talking doll from Paris. She must have wondered why she had one and I didn't, because she offered it to me, a hopeful look in her eyes. "Vivi, do you want it? You can have it."
I had just learned the truth about my family then—that my father had cheated with her mother, that if not for them, I might have had a happy, whole family of my own.
I looked at her with disgust. "Who would want something your filthy hands have touched?"
Tears welled in Summer's eyes as she tried to explain. "My hands aren't dirty, Vivi."
I sneered. "Your mother is a disgusting homewrecker, and you're her child. It's in your blood. You were born dirty."
Summer wailed, a storm of tears that brought my father running.
That winter, he made me kneel on the sharp cobblestones in the garden, dressed only in my thin pajamas. He whipped my back with a thin cane, asking if I knew what I'd done wrong.
I was only eight, but my back was ramrod straight. No matter how much it hurt, I wouldn't cry.
I bit my lip until it bled, staring at the man before me with cold, hard hatred. "Wrong about what?" I sneered. "Was I wrong that Elaine isn't a homewrecker? Or that the bastard child you two created isn't a bastard?"
He beat me until my skin broke. The punishment only stopped when Summer, unable to sleep, came looking for him to tell her a story. She walked into the garden, clutching her teddy bear, and saw me being whipped. She screamed.
The shock sent her into a fever that lasted all night.
They all gathered around her bed, their faces etched with worry. In the dead of night, as I lay twisting in pain from the welts on my back, she snuck into my room. Her eyes were still glassy with fever as she whispered, "Vivi, does it hurt?"
I just laughed at her, a cold, empty sound.
In elementary school, she loved to brag to all her friends that Vivian Reed was her sister. When some of them, skeptical, came to ask me, I would look them dead in the eye and say, "I don't know her."
And so, throughout her childhood, she was known as "the pathological liar."
She was bullied and isolated. To "protect" her, my father and Elaine made me repeat two years of school so I could be in the same grade as her.
Summer stood timidly behind Elaine as she explained it to me. Elaine was a master of public performance; all the neighbors praised her for being such a wonderful stepmother. Only I knew the thousand little cruelties I suffered at her hands.
She smiled gently in front of my father. "Vivian, your sister is scared to go to school alone. Would you mind being held back a couple of years to wait for her? Your grades are so good anyway, what's two years?"
I smiled back under the glittering crystal chandelier. By then, I had learned to appear weak, to hide my true feelings, to play the part of the obedient daughter and the loving sister. I was a guest in their house, and I knew this was an order, not a request.
Everything in this family revolved around Summer.
So I obediently wasted two years of my life to become the only student in the entire school who had ever been held back.

2
Growing up with Summer, I thought about revenge constantly.
Why? Why did you get to be happy, to be cared for, to be loved by everyone?
Why? Why were you, the daughter of the other woman, allowed to be so naive, so untouched by the darkness of the world?
Why?
I wanted to see the pure snow stained with mud. I wanted to see her hurt, to see her in pain. I wanted her to stop calling me "Vivi" with that cloying sweetness, as if she were some kind of angel sent to save me.
But before I had a plan, I waited. I watched.
And then Adrian Pierce entered our world.
Adrian—the biggest player in the entire school. He was Summer's classmate, her deskmate, her best friend, and the boy she secretly, desperately loved.
After we started high school, I tested into the advanced honors program, placing first in the entrance exams. Summer was in the general track, so we were finally separated. But every day at lunch, she would fill my ears with his name.
"Vivi, I sit next to Adrian, and all the girls already hate me."
"He gets so many love letters every day, and I'm right there. It's so annoying."
"But they all bring him homemade cakes and cookies, so I get to eat them all, hehe."
Or she'd blush and say, "Oh my god, Vivi, it was so embarrassing today. I got my period in gym class, and Adrian gave me his jacket to tie around my waist."
Or, "Today was the worst. I copied your homework and got all the answers on the wrong lines. Then Adrian copied my homework. The teacher asked if we shared a brain—all the answers were right, just not for the right questions. I could have died."
"Vivi, Adrian said I'm so dumb. He can't believe I have a sister like you, who's practically a school legend."
"He asked me if you were one of those nerdy types with bottle-cap glasses and a bowl cut who just studies all day. I was so mad!"
"Vivi, Vivi, can we bring Adrian to eat with us after school today? He's never eaten in the cafeteria. He wants to see the amazing sister I'm always talking about. You don't mind, right?"
I didn't answer. I was used to Summer using me to show off.
"Vivian Reed is my sister"—it was the only interesting thing about her, the one shiny fact she could use to dazzle people. She basked in the gasps of surprise, the envy, the attention. It was as if by being my sister, my accomplishments somehow became hers.
But I never refused any of her requests. It was a "good" habit Elaine and my father had drilled into me since childhood. Never say no to your sister.
So that day, thanks to Summer, I met Adrian for the first time.
I was late to the cafeteria, delayed by a discussion with my math teacher about an olympiad problem. As I reached the second floor, I saw them from a distance—Summer and a boy who looked thoroughly bored.
That was Adrian. He was undeniably handsome, lounging in a blue cafeteria chair with the lazy, restless energy of a panther. Summer was chattering away beside him, gesturing wildly. As I watched, his boredom melted into a kind of teasing, half-amused smile.
I walked toward them, my expression carefully neutral. When I was about five steps away, I let a small smile touch my lips and called out softly, "Summer—"
Adrian, who had been slouching, looked up at the sound of my voice. His casual glance sharpened, and for a split second, he froze. I saw the look—the flicker of shock, of pure, unadulterated captivation.
I'd seen that look on boys' faces before. I knew I was beautiful.
Delicate features, a cool demeanor, an aloof air. I was standing against the light, and I knew the sun pouring through the windows behind me was framing me in a way that made me look ethereal, stunning.
My gaze swept past him to Summer. "Sorry," I said with a small, apologetic smile. "I got held up with a math problem."
My "innocent" little sister was completely oblivious to the currents swirling around us. She beamed at me, then nudged Adrian with her elbow. "See, Adrian? I told you. My sister is ridiculously beautiful." She added, as an afterthought, "And a genius."
Adrian had already masked his surprise, tucking it away behind a smooth facade. Unlike other boys who would look away and then steal glances, he held my gaze directly. It was the look of a predator who had just spotted its prey, a look that said, You're mine.
He smiled, and under my own knowing gaze, he straightened up in his chair, subtly putting a bit of distance between himself and the oblivious girl beside him. "Yeah," he said to Summer, his eyes still locked on me. "You weren't lying."
The words were for her, but the message was for me.
It was so blatant.
Summer looked from me to Adrian, and the motion of her spoon slowed. A confused frown creased her forehead.
I just smiled and began to eat my food.
Adrian returned to his own meal, casually remarking, "This cafeteria food is actually pretty good."
Summer visibly relaxed, her bright smile returning. "A rich boy like you can actually stand our food?" she teased. "You should come eat with me more often, then."

3
And so he did.
Our daily lunch for two became a lunch for three.
The honors classes often ran late, so Adrian would wait with Summer outside my classroom every day.
At first, Summer was thrilled. She would walk between us, chattering nonstop. Adrian would chime in occasionally, while I mostly listened in silence.
That changed one day when Summer’s shoelace came undone. She bent down to tie it. By the time she caught up, Adrian had smoothly, naturally, moved to walk beside me. The space between us was just enough for two, with no room for a third. She hesitated for a moment, then fell into step on my other side.
After that, she never walked between us again.
About a week later, on our way to school, she stammered, "Vivi… could you… could you maybe eat by yourself at lunch today?"
I raised an eyebrow. She looked down, kicking at a loose stone on the sidewalk, too embarrassed to explain why.
But I knew instantly. It was almost funny. "Sure," I said.
Her head shot up, her eyes wide with surprise. "And… and if Adrian asks…"
"I'll tell him I'm busy studying."
She threw her arms around me, nuzzling my shoulder like a happy kitten. "Vivi, you're the best!"
She didn't see the cold, mocking smile on my face.
It was time for Summer's first lesson.
I didn't go to the cafeteria. But as I sat in the classroom eating a sandwich and reading a history text, Adrian showed up.
He and Summer had gotten takeout. He sat across from me and placed a beautifully packaged bento box on my desk. "Summer said you were studying," he said thoughtfully. "But you still have to eat. This is all I could grab today, but tomorrow I'll have my family's cook make you something."
My gaze shifted from the bento box to his face, then to Summer, standing behind him, her face pale with a dawning, horrified realization.
I looked at her, my expression impassive, studying every flicker of disappointment and pain she tried to hide. A silent, bitter laugh rose in my chest.
Oh, Summer. My sweet, stupid sister. Did you really think he was eating cafeteria food every day for you? Look. The moment I'm not there, you lose your chance to even be alone with him. Are you still so happy now?
Of course, I let none of this show. I simply opened the bento box and politely thanked Adrian.
After that, his pursuit became public and relentless.
Fresh red roses on my desk every morning. Desserts from exclusive bakeries that required hours of waiting in line. Exquisite jewelry, first-edition books I’d been saving up for… he presented them to me without a second thought.
He went to the school radio station and sang for me, his voice a low, gentle melody over the guitar. "How much further until I can reach your heart? How much longer until I can be close to you?"
He would look at me with raw frustration. "Vivian, what do I have to do to make you like me?"
Summer, swallowing her own despair, would force a smile and warn me, "Vivi, Adrian's a total player. He goes through girlfriends like sneakers. Please don't fall for him."
I’d watch her with an amused smile. I wanted to ask her: in that moment, was she more afraid of me getting my heart broken by a player, or of him actually being serious about me, meaning she would lose him for good?
But I didn't ask.
To be honest, I was a little curious myself. Just how deep did this "love at first sight" run?
He was handsome and came from a wealthy family. He was the undisputed king of the school, the alpha wolf. His romantic history was legendary.
Purely out of that curiosity, I began to test him.
It was a game many men play with the women who adore them. You could call it an obedience test. They push the boundaries, little by little, to see how much she will tolerate, to find her breaking point.
With me, Adrian seemed to have no breaking point.
This golden boy, so used to being worshipped, became a puppet in my hands.
He spent two months building me an intricate black pearl model ship from thousands of tiny pieces. When he handed it to me, I let my hand "slip," and it shattered on the floor. He didn't even flinch. He just looked at the scattered fragments and said quietly, "It's okay. If you like it, I'll build it again."
He asked me what kind of guy I liked. I tossed out a random answer. "Someone who can cook?" For the next few weeks, he learned from his family's chef, preparing my favorite dishes. He would watch me with hopeful eyes as I took a single, indifferent bite, and then I would smile and say, "This is terrible."
I agreed to go hiking with him one weekend and then stood him up. A torrential downpour started that day. Worried that I might have shown up and not been able to find him, he waited for me at the trailhead for two hours in the pouring rain.
All this time, Summer trailed after him like a shadow, watching the boy she cherished be played and humiliated by me. It was as if his pain was her own, magnified.
I found it all very, very interesting.
The day she finally burst in to defend him, she was filled with a righteous fury, like the pure, good-hearted heroine of a novel.
"Vivian, you've gone too far!" she yelled at me. "How can you treat him like that? Do you have any idea he waited two hours in the rain for you? He has a fever of 104 now!"
I looked up from my book, a lazy smile playing on my lips. "And? What does that have to do with me?"
She stared at me in disbelief. "He likes you, Vivian! Why are you playing with his feelings?"
I raised an eyebrow, my voice light. "What does him liking me have to do with me? Summer, you need to understand something. He likes me. Not the other way around. He's the one who fell, who made the first move. Any pain he suffers is his own to deal with. He can always just… stop liking me."
My smile sharpened. "He had the guts to fall for me, but not the skill to make me fall for him. That's his failure, not my crime."
Summer stared at me, and for the first time, I saw real anger on her face.
"Vivi," she said, her voice trembling, "I love Adrian. I'm begging you. Stay away from him."
And you know me. I never refuse her requests.
So I smiled, casually turning a page in my book. "Alright."

4
Summer was the first one to break her own rule.
Not long after, she came to me, nervously holding an invitation. "Vivi… Adrian's birthday is next Saturday. Will you come with me?"
My gaze lifted from the invitation to her face. I looked at her, a slow, knowing smile spreading across my lips. "Weren't you the one who told me to stay away from him?"
She bit her lip, a mess of hesitation and guilt. She looked down, avoiding my eyes. "But… Adrian would be really happy if you came."
I studied her blankly.
You see, that was my dear sister. All her life, she's loved using me to curry favor. When we were kids, it was: "My sister is first in her class, she can help you with your homework." Now, it was: "Adrian would be really happy if you came."
She was always trading on my name to make others like her.
I looked at the invitation and laughed. For the first time, I refused her. "You know I don't go to things like that."
A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but I didn't miss the wave of relief that followed it.
Her feelings were so easy to read. She wanted me to go to make Adrian happy, but she also wanted me to stay away so she might, one day, have a chance with him.
I watched her, a thought idly crossing my mind. Taking a break from my studies to amuse myself with this little drama was proving to be more entertaining than I'd expected.
On the day of Adrian's party, Summer looked beautiful. She'd had her hair professionally styled in soft curls and was wearing a frothy designer dress Elaine had brought back from France. She carried an expensive, carefully chosen gift. Before she left, Elaine fussed over her skirt, murmuring, "Adrian is the only son of the Pierce family. Summer, if you can get close to him, I'll be so proud."
I sat reading by the large living room window. As Summer climbed excitedly into the car, I glanced out, my eyes cold.
I arrived when the party was already winding down.
A magnificent cake lay in ruins. Champagne bottles littered the floor. Most of the guests were passed out on sofas and carpets.
Summer was sitting in a corner, watching Adrian, who was at a grand piano.
I followed her gaze. Adrian sat there, his head bowed, looking completely lost in thought despite it being his own birthday. His long fingers rested on the keys, pressing them aimlessly, producing a string of disconnected notes.
I stood in the doorway and smiled. "Summer," I called out. "I'm here to take you home."
The moment the words left my mouth, Adrian's head snapped up. His impassive expression transformed. A slow, subtle smile spread across his handsome, cold face.
He looked right at me. "Vivian," he said. "You came after all."
My expression didn't change. My gaze flickered over Summer's pale, shocked face.
You see, the world is just that unfair.
She had spent a week preparing for this night. I showed up in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, empty-handed, and did nothing. And still, he was mine for the taking.
I did it on purpose. I wanted to strike when she was at her happiest. All her life, she got whatever she wanted, while I could only watch. But now, the one thing she wanted most in the world was something I could have with a snap of my fingers.
I gave Adrian a slight nod. "Sorry, I'm just here to pick up Summer. I didn't bring a gift."
I smiled at him, and as Summer watched with wide, nervous eyes, I walked over to the piano. I pressed a few random keys. "Let me play you a little bit of Für Elise," I said casually. "Consider it your birthday present."
I hadn't touched a piano in years. The feel of the smooth keys under my fingers always brought a wave of nausea. So I only played a short, careless fragment.
But Adrian smiled, a real, genuine smile. "Vivian," he said, "that's the best gift I've ever received."
I said nothing, just smiled back.
As I led a shell-shocked Summer out of the room, I glanced back. Adrian was standing where I had been, his head bowed, gently tracing the keys my fingers had just touched, as if trying to feel the warmth I'd left behind.
A new curiosity sparked within me. Just how far would the infamous player Adrian Pierce go for me? How deep could his devotion run?
I glanced at my dear sister. She was still looking at Adrian, the raw hurt on her face impossible to hide.
She was in pain, I thought idly. But she needed to be in more pain. Much more.

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