Freed From the Toxic Bloodline

After being locked away in an asylum for two years, I finally learned my lesson.

When my brother got into another bloody fistfight with a trust-fund billionaire over his unrequited love, I turned around and walked away. I didn't interfere.

When my sister insisted on marrying an abusive monster, I kept my mouth shut. I didn't utter a single word.

When my father risked our entire family estate on a high-stakes corporate betting agreement, I pretended not to see.

When my mother embezzled company funds to bail out her deadbeat brother, I minded my own business.

The perk of cutting ties with them? My bank account is overflowing, and I actually smile now.

But they? They've completely lost their minds.

On my very first day out of the asylum, I stumbled upon my brother, Rory, in a brutal alley brawl with a group of trust-fund elites.

He was throwing wild, desperate punches, burying his fists into one of the rich heirs like a rabid dog.

I stood a few yards away, a look of simulated terror plastered on my face. I trembled, feigning cowardice, and didn't take a single step forward.

One of the main reasons they locked me away in that hellhole was because I had tried to stop him from picking a fight with a prominent high-society heir two years ago.

Back then, Rory was obsessed with Isla, the girl of his dreams. But Isla only had eyes for Barrett, a prominent billionaire heir. Out of sheer, blinding jealousy, Rory looked for any excuse to pick a fight with Barrett.

I had been there. I held Rory back with everything I had, taking two heavy blows to my back from his wild fists, but I didn't let go. Seeing how desperately I was trying to prevent a tragedy, Barrett took his security team and walked away, avoiding a bloodbath.

But afterward, Rory blamed me entirely. He claimed I ruined his big moment, that I prevented Isla from seeing his raw masculinity. When Isla eventually rejected him and moved to Europe, Rory directed all his burning hatred toward me.

This time? I turned on my heel and walked away. No way was I getting involved.

I didn't go home either.

After my entire family conspired to throw me into a psychiatric ward, leaving me to rot for two painful years under the guise of doing what was best for me, I learned one absolute truth.

Stay as far away from the Whitmores as possible.

Every ounce of misery in my first twenty years of life came from them. From now on, I only live for myself.

That night, a phone call dragged me back to the Whitmore estate. I didn't want to start an open war with them, there was no benefit in that, so I decided to see what they wanted.

The moment I stepped through the door, my father roared at me, "Your brother was in a street fight this afternoon! Why didn't you stop him?!"

Just as I figured.

No matter what choice I made, the blame would always land on my shoulders. When you're the unloved child, even your breathing is an offense.

I replied coolly, "I was terrified. I didn't even realize it was Rory."

My mother glared at me with pure venom. "You did it on purpose! Rory said you were standing less than ten feet away! How could you not recognize your own brother? You wanted him to get hurt, didn't you? How did you become so utterly malicious?!"

They hadn't visited me once during my two years in the asylum. Now that I was finally out, their only concern was that I hadn't played meat shield for my golden-boy brother. Rory was the one who went looking for trouble, and the fight was basically over by the time I walked past. My intervention would have changed nothing.

But in their eyes, my lack of self-sacrifice was a crime. In the past, I had taken his punches to keep him safe, only to be rewarded with his eternal hatred. Why would I ever play the savior again?

Ignorance is bliss.

"If you don't believe me, there's nothing I can do," I said.

I had no energy to argue with them.

Just then, my father's phone rang. It was the police department. Rory had been arrested.

He had broken three of Barrett's ribs and slashed his face.

The Whitmores were moderately wealthy, but we were nothing compared to the true, untouchable elite. Offending a billionaire's son meant our family could be crushed overnight.

Hearing that her precious son was locked up, my mother wept hysterically, insisting that the rich kid was using dirty political connections to suppress them. She threatened to go to the media to expose the corruption.

My father, possessing a shred of sanity, immediately hired a top lawyer and began looking for mediators. They were willing to pay any amount of hush money as long as Barrett dropped the charges.

Watching them scramble and panic for Rory, a bitter smile tugged at my lips.

I had never once experienced that kind of parental devotion.

When I lay in bed for three days and nights with a scorching fever, their only reaction was to ask why I hadn't gone to school. When I was harassed by a boy at school and begged them for help, they told me to tell him to stop and reflection on my own behavior. When I earned my advanced classical piano credentials, they accused me of showing off because my sister, Jenny, couldn't even read sheet music. When I got accepted into an Ivy League university, they frowned and asked if I had cheated on the SATs.

The list of micro-cruelties was endless.

For years, I kept testing them, hoping for a shred of affection. I had been pathetic. But those days were over.

"I remember that rich boy was your high school classmate," my mother suddenly said, grabbing my wrist tightly. "Go to the hospital right now. Find him and beg him to drop the charges against your brother!"

Her nails dug into my skin, her eyes wide with desperation.

I looked down at her phone screen, which was playing the security footage of the fight. The boy Rory had brutally beaten was indeed my former classmate, Barrett. But Barrett had ruthlessly bullied me in high school. I despised him, and the thought of seeing him made my stomach churn.

I shook my head. "He bullied me in high school. He dragged me by my hair across the courtyard. I'm not going."

My mother gripped my wrist even harder, her eyes bloodshot. "Perfect! If he bullied you, he definitely remembers you! Use that to make him feel guilty so he'll let your brother off! Go now!"

Her tone was entirely transactional. I simply nodded. "Fine."

Fine, my ass. Once I walked out that door, she would have no idea where I went. I had absolutely no intention of begging my bully to save my abusive brother.

If they could be this monstrously biased, I could match their coldness. I turned and walked away.

But before I could reach the car, my mother caught up with me. "I'm coming with you." She didn't trust me. I let out a dry laugh. "Suit yourself."

On the drive over, she uncharacteristically asked if I had been comfortable at the facility.

"It wasn't a facility, Mother. It was an asylum," I corrected her.

She offered a tight, awkward smile. "I just remember the grounds were lovely. It seemed like a good place for you to rest..."

"Was it? Is why you explicitly instructed the doctors to give me monthly electroshock therapy sessions to teach me how to be obedient?" I asked, my voice flat.

During my first year, I was subjected to monthly ECT sessions, the agony so intense it made me lose control of my bladder. During the second year, because I started playing along, they let me off the shocks and made me memorize books on family morality instead, slapping me across the face whenever I missed a word.

My mother's fake smile vanished. "I... I only did it for your own good..."

"Of course," I murmured. The atmosphere in the car turned dead silent.

When we arrived at the hospital, my mother explained our purpose to the receptionist.

Barrett refused to see her, but he agreed to let me in alone. He still remembered me.

He sat in his luxury suite, his bruised face twisting into a cruel smirk. His terms were simple: become his kept mistress for two years, and Rory goes free.

I gave him a direct answer: "In your dreams."

He seemed entirely confident I would bend to his will, telling me I had one night to think it over.

I didn't even give him a second glance as I walked out.

My mother was waiting in the corridor. Seeing the cold fury on my face, she assumed I had failed. She immediately began screaming at me, right there in the hallway.

"You useless, worthless disappointment! You can't do a single thing right! I don't even know why I bothered raising you!"

I looked at her with total detachment. "Then let's sever ties. Officially."

She hadn't expected me to say those words. Her furious expression froze, but before she could utter another sound, I turned and walked out of the hospital, leaving her behind.

The following morning, my phone rang. Somehow, they had found out about Barrett's disgusting proposal.

Their tone was suddenly incredibly gentle, practically begging me to sacrifice myself for Rory. They wanted me to sell my body to my high school bully. I refused immediately.

My father tried playing the good cop. "Gemma, the Whitmores need this. Barrett comes from an incredibly powerful family. Countless women would kill to be in his bed. You're not just saving your brother; you're elevating yourself. If you play your cards right and bear his child, you'll secure a spot in high society."

My mother took the bad cop approach. "If you don't save your brother, you are no longer a Whitmore. We will disown you."

Since the gloves were entirely off, I didn't hold back. I let out a sharp laugh and fired back through the speakerphone:

"I have never met parents as repulsive and depraved as you. You're actually encouraging your own daughter to become a rich man's whore. If your precious son is too stupid to keep his fists to himself, he should face the consequences. He is a brainless idiot!"

I slammed the phone down and blocked their numbers.

To prevent them from trying to kidnap me again, I immediately packed my bags and moved out of my apartment. Two years ago, the four of them had physically forced me into a car with the asylum staff, claiming my depression and mild anxiety made me unfit for society. I wasn't going to give them a second chance to lock me up.

I went completely off the grid. They had no way of tracking me down, so they eventually had to give up.

A week later, Rory was released. My parents had to pay nearly three million dollars in medical expenses and settlements to resolve the issue. Barrett's family eventually dropped it to avoid a public scandal.

The moment Rory was freed, he went straight to find Isla, who had recently returned from Europe. Instead of a romantic reunion, he found her kneeling by Barrett's feet, gently massaging the rich heir's legs.

Assuming Isla had degraded herself to save him, Rory lost his mind. He charged in like a heroic idiot, screaming about how a real man takes responsibility for his own actions and telling Barrett to leave Isla alone.

But Barrett had brought a full security detail this time. Rory's pathetic display of chivalry earned him a brutal beating in a back alley. The entire incident was filmed and sent directly to my parents.

My father nearly had a heart attack. He had just spent millions to bail the idiot out, only for Rory to immediately pick another fight. My mother wept for her darling boy but didn't dare retaliate against an untouchable dynasty. Ultimately, they locked Rory inside the estate to keep him out of trouble.

It was useless. In a desperate bid to escape and see Isla, Rory jumped from his second-story bedroom window. He broke his leg in three places.