Chapter 1: The Bank Vault Face and Broken Beginnings

I shot a sideways look at my little brother—face locked down tighter than a bank vault—and started rubbing my hands together like I was about to pull off a magic trick.

"Hey, Caleb, someday your big sis wants a giant house."

"And a mountain of gorgeous clothes and purses."

"Oh, and I want to eat at all the fanciest restaurants."

Caleb stared at me, completely thrown: "..."

Suddenly, a flurry of comments rolled across my vision like a live chat ticker:

[LMAO, is big sis using her brother as a magic 8-ball now?]

[No way—who's the real villain here? Look at that face!]

[But for real, the villain’s gonna be loaded someday...]

I had to bite my lip to keep from cracking up—half expecting a sitcom laugh track to kick in. Caleb’s brows just drew tighter, but he kept blinking, silent as ever, like he was trying to crack a secret code.

---

After our parents died in a car accident, my brother and I wound up living with our aunt.

At first, she put on a good show for everyone else, but as soon as I turned eighteen—maybe when the inheritance dried up—she took my eleven-year-old brother to Six Flags, bought him an ice cream, and then vanished without a trace.

The memory still stung every time it surfaced. It was the middle of July, heatwaves rippling over the cracked driveway, cicadas buzzing in the trees, the air thick with the smell of sunblock and melting asphalt. I just knew something was off. My phone felt like a brick as I dialed 911, my voice strung tight as wire. Thank God the cops were quick—they found him wandering by the ticket booths, gripping his melted ice cream like it was the only thing keeping him upright. That day, whatever was left of our relationship with our aunt went up in smoke.

When I left the Harris house with Caleb, my aunt stood by the door, arms crossed, every ounce of fake kindness gone, her eyes slanted with pure mockery: "Is this your home? Fine, stay here. See if I keep putting food on your table."

She leaned on the chipped doorframe, glare sharp enough to slice bread, but I just kept my chin up and stared right back. My chest burned with something ugly, but I wouldn’t let her see me flinch. I ignored her barking, grabbed Caleb’s hand, and walked out, step by stubborn step.

God, give me a break.

Sure enough, everything in this world is a lie—except being dead broke. Penniless. The struggle was real.

Suddenly, subtitles flashed across my vision:

[So this is what the villain was like as a kid? Guess he was always so shut down. If he hadn’t followed his aunt to Six Flags, none of this would’ve happened.]

[Big sis, don’t waste your kindness on that little wolf. He’ll turn on you.]

[Looks like the villain and his sister never got close, or he wouldn’t have only regretted it after she died...]

Me: "..."

I bit my tongue, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. Who writes this stuff? People who've clearly never had to count every penny in their life.

---

What the heck is all this?

I was so distracted, I walked smack into a glass door—thud! Everything went black for a second.

The next instant, a tidal wave of jumbled memories crashed into me, my blood roaring in my ears.

So... I’m the cannon-fodder sister in a fluffy romance novel, barely any scenes, and my brother’s the villain. He had a rough childhood, clung to his sister, and will someday go toe-to-toe with the male lead over the heroine—ending up bankrupt and dead. Tragic.

Wait a minute.

I caught the key detail: My brother’s gonna be richer than God someday, right up there with the story’s male lead?

Is that for real?

Or am I just hallucinating from being so broke?

I pressed my lips together and turned to size up Caleb, head to toe.

He was watching me too, his face tense, no extra expression, but if you looked close, you’d catch the worry in his eyes.

Because of malnutrition, he wasn’t tall—thin as a beanpole—but he had the kind of face that’d make you look twice.

Give him a few years, he’ll be breaking hearts left and right.

Just as I was lost in thought, I felt a tug on the hem of my shirt.

I snapped back and saw Caleb, who hadn’t said a word the whole way.

Maybe because he’d always depended on others, he was different from other kids—cold, withdrawn.

Plus, I’d been away at school most of the time, barely coming home, only tossing a few questions his way. He’d always answer with silence.

We were siblings on paper, but in real life? We were strangers.

The air between us was brittle—like walking on thin ice. Even the way he trailed half a step behind me, hands jammed in his pockets, felt like we were two actors faking a family.

"What’s up?"

I hesitated before asking.

Suddenly, I remembered what those subtitles had said.

Was he blaming me for dragging him away from his so-called "blessed nest"—the one where he never had to worry about food or clothes?

Before I could finish the thought, I saw the always-withdrawn Caleb lower his lashes, as if wrestling with something. Those long lashes trembled like butterfly wings. After a long pause, he finally spoke, voice so soft I almost missed it: "I’m sorry."

He hesitated, then added, "I shouldn’t have wanted to go to Six Flags with Aunt..."

His voice was barely there, heavy with the shame of a simple wish.

I was floored.

My heart twisted at his words. Eleven years old, already blaming himself for wanting something as normal as a day at the park. Sometimes I wished I could go back and punch every adult who’d let him down.