I Loved My Foster Brother, So I Fled

Chapter 3

After dodging a few more questions from my gossip-hungry coworker, I managed to clock out early.

Stepping out into the cool air, I clutched a plastic bag of near-expired convenience store food, ready to hail a ride home.

Just as I reached the curb, a sharp honk cut through the quiet night. A sleek black car pulled up.

I didn't need to look twice to know it was Jonah's.

I ignored him, keeping my head down and staring intently at my phone screen. Rides were notoriously impossible to catch at midnight. But after five minutes of zero hits, I finally surrendered to the cold and opened his car door.

I kept trying to soothe my racing pulse with a foolish thought: There's nothing wrong with a little sister accepting a ride from her big brother.

The second I slid into the leather passenger seat, Jonah, his lips pressed into a tight, hard line, handed me an insulated food container. The logo stamped on top belonged to my old favorite high-end restaurant.

"I already have food," I said, holding up my plastic bag.

"Throw it away," he replied, already shifting to get out and toss my bag into a nearby bin.

"No!" I swallowed hard, defeated. "Fine."

Jonah drove me back to the cramped, shared apartment I was renting.

As he stood six-foot-two in his sharp, tailored suit, his towering presence made my tiny room feel suffocatingly small.

"Eat," he commanded gently, setting out the warm dishes one by one before placing a spoon in my hand.

As I watched his quiet movements, my mind drifted back to our years in the family estate—to the venom I faced from everyone else, and the unconditional kindness he had sheltered me with.

*****

When I first joined the Miller family, I was wearing hand-me-downs from his older sister. The family sneered at me like I was dirt under their shoes. Even Jonah couldn't stand the sight of me at first.

They called me an "adopted daughter", but my life was barely better than the house staff's.

In bad health, Jonah had never been much of a student. But as the Miller family's only heir, Adam could never bring himself to lay a finger on him.

So I, the adopted child brought in to "take the punishment" in his place, became the outlet for every bit of Adam's frustration.

"If you fail, your sister will be punished instead."

It was one of Adam's favorite lines. Cold. Absolute. An order no one dared question.

The first time I was punished, he locked me in the storage room for two full days.

There was no window. No clock. Nothing but dust and suffocating silence.

When the door finally opened again, Adam stood in the doorway with Jonah beside him. Cold light spilled across my face.

Curled up in the corner, I'd cried until my voice was completely gone.

As Adam yanked me to my feet, he said impatiently, "It's your fault, you know?"

I couldn't remember how many times I apologized that day.

From that day on, Jonah became a different person.

He stayed up late solving practice problems, memorizing textbooks until his fingers grew stiff.

He wasn't doing it for himself. He simply didn't want Adam to have another reason to take his anger out on me.

Little by little, he became my shield... Even if I still had to take the blame from time to time, still, he was the only person who brought me warmth in that family.

*****

Snap!

The sharp c***k of the circuit breaker tripping severed my memories. The room plunged into absolute darkness.

Jonah clicked on his phone flashlight, preparing to check the fuse box, but I reached out and caught his hand.

He froze.

I took his phone, killed the light, and stood up in the dark.

In the blackness, my senses dialed up to maximum. Years of being locked in dark rooms as a child had left me with sharp night vision. Jonah, on the other hand, had always suffered from night blindness.

I could see his clear, innocent eyes blinking blindly into the shadows.

"Sit down," I murmured softly. "I'll go find some candles."

He nodded, letting my hand guide him back into his seat.

Swallowing down the prickle of tears, I leaned forward in the pitch-black room and pressed my forehead against his. It was a touch so light, so fleeting, that it was gone before he could process it.

Then, I whispered the title—the exact word that sliced through my heart like a blade.

"Jonah, brother... you had something in your hair."