"Oh, sure. I'm 'unstable'," I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes to the solemn faces around me. My sister cried rivers that day, looking like the fragile little angel she'd perfected into a masterclass, while I got shoved into an asylum. Yeah, the perfect daughter gets a free pass. I get a year of padded walls and therapy sessions smelling like despair. Lovely.
ONE YEAR LATER
I clenched my fists as the memory of those long, pointless days clawed at me. But I'd survived. I'd rebuilt. I'd grown sharper, faster and smarter. And now? Now I had the perfect chance.
It had taken a year of pretending to be normal, of working odd jobs, of counting every cent towards tuition, to feel even a little like myself again. I'd learned to watch, to wait, to act just enough like the world wanted me to, while quietly plotting.
And then came the offer that made all of that time pay off.
The envelope was thick, official-looking. The letter inside was polite. Too polite.
"We need someone to... interfere," it read, as if ruining someone's life was casual dinner talk.
I smirked. "Interfere how?"
To... make her son lose interest in her," the woman who looked like she was in her early forties said.
My lips twitched. "You mean... the supposed fragile little angel with a scholarship who cries on command?"
The couple nodded, smiling like they were asking me water their garden. Cute.
I folded the letter, my mind already racing. I didn't just see an opportunity. I saw revenge.
They don't know I already have a reason to ruin her.
ARRIVAL AT THE ACADEMY
The first step was observation. The hallways of Lindenwood Elite Academy were pristine, shiny, intimidating. Students strolled around with confident steps, designer uniforms, and the kind of smug smiles that said, I belong here.
And there she was, My sister. The scholarship saint. Crying over a misplaced notebook like the world owed her something. Every head turned towards her, every eye softened, every teacher nodded in approval.
Perfect.
I stepped into the hall, carefully not to breathe too loudly, careful not to seeem like a threat. But already, whispers began:
"Who's that?"
"She's the one who transferred in?"
Do you think she's... here for her place?"
Oh, they thought I was the enemy. They have no idea.
I smiled faintly, soft and innocently pitiful. If my sister was the saint, I'd be the one everyone saw as meek, fragile, misunderstood... just enough to turn her perfect image upside down.
I didn't need to yell, I didn't need to fight. The cracks would show themselves. She would crumble... and I would enjoy every second.
As I walked past her, carefully avoiding eye contact, I felt that familiar surge of satisfaction.
She thinks she's untouchable. She thinks she's the hero. But heroes fall... especially the fake ones.
And with that, I knew exactly what my first move would be.