My Parents Begged Me to Date My Brother Chapter 2

It wasn't always like this between us.

When my mother first divorced, I was sent to live with my father. He remarried, and every dollar spent on me became a new battleground between him and my stepmother.

I scrimped and saved, but it was never enough. One day, my father, head bowed in defeat, said to me, "Aria, can you please stop causing me so much trouble?"

So I moved into the school dorms, working odd jobs after class. But in high school, time was scarce, and the few dollars I earned never lasted. On hungry days, I filled my stomach with water.

One day, I collapsed from chronic malnutrition.

The school called my mother. She flew into a rage, calling my father every name in the book. By then, she had remarried and found herself with a rebellious teenage son. With her and her new husband busy building their business, they were exhausted by the boy's antics.

That’s when they remembered me, the daughter neither parent seemed to want.

They offered me living expenses in exchange for "looking after my brother." And so, I moved into the Sterling household, an outsider with a flimsy title.

I was only two years older than Ethan, and at first, he refused to listen to a word I said.

He'd go to an internet café for all-nighters, and I'd sit at the computer next to him, silently doing my homework.

He'd try to go clubbing, and I'd grab his collar and physically block his way.

After a while, he couldn't take it anymore and exploded at me.

Tears streamed down my face as I screamed back, "You think I want to do this? You have parents who love you, but I don't! If it weren't for the money, I wouldn't give a damn about you!"

He was just a freshman, all swagger and bravado, trying to act tough but with no real malice in his heart. Seeing me cry, he became flustered.

"Hey, don't cry. I won't go, okay? Fine. From now on… I'll be the one to look after you."

From that day on, I discovered my secret weapon.

Whenever I cried, Ethan would become putty in my hands.

His friends would tease him. "Dude, you're so whipped. You're gonna be terrified of your future wife."

Ethan would just grin and shoot back, "What's it to you? You're just jealous I have a gorgeous sister."

Over time, something shifted between us. I don't know who fell first.

The love of youth is a fierce, untamable thing.

Maybe it was because, after a lifetime of being treated as a burden, I finally tasted sweetness. Or maybe it was the way he’d always be waiting for me under the streetlight on my walk home, his voice warm as he called me "sister."

Our shadows tangled together under the blazing sun, our eyes holding a raw, unfiltered affection. I don't remember who reached out first, a tentative, searching gesture.

The air crackled, thick with a tantalizing, unspoken dare, stealing the very breath from our lungs and leaving our faces flushed crimson.

I was utterly captivated by him.

Then, one afternoon, as we were walking home from school, our fingers intertwined, I looked up and saw my mother. Her eyes were daggers.

A chill shot through me, and I snatched my hand away from his.

Our love was murdered in its cradle.

My mother, sobbing, screamed that I was a temptress, a vixen seducing her own brother. She hit me, her nails leaving bloody tracks across my skin, her slaps leaving my face burning and red. I didn't fight back.

Ethan was locked in his room.

But a love worth dying for requires a courage I didn't have.

After I graduated, I left without a word. I abandoned Ethan to his hunger strike, to his silent war with our parents. In that battle, I was the deserter.

I applied for a working holiday visa and went to Australia alone. I worked day and night, saving enough for my entire college tuition and living expenses. The only contact I had with my mother was a brief reply to her annual birthday text.

"Why did you come back?"

After the welcome-home dinner, Ethan drove me back. I was in the back seat, my eyes closed.

"How could I miss your wedding? You are my brother, after all. At least, in name." I said it with a playful smile.

Ethan's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He took a deep breath before finally asking, "Have you been okay all these years?"

"Fantastic," I replied. "I recently opened a boba shop in Seabrook."

The car screeched to a halt at a red light.

"You're leaving again?"

He turned to face me, his eyes intense.

I smiled faintly. "Of course. This isn't my home, after all."

My tone shifted. "But... your fiancée. She seems to be more in love with your money than with you, don't you think?"

Ethan’s gaze was steady, his voice low. "I would give the woman I love anything she desires, as long as I have it to give."

"Is that so? Then would you mind changing the woman you love?"

His breath hitched.

"Don't joke around... sister."

His voice cracked. "You were the one who ran. We promised... we promised no one would run."

He was lost in the memory, his eyes glistening.

"But you left anyway."

My smile vanished. "Ethan, how long has it been? Ten years?"

His voice was firm. "3841 days."

The number stunned me. A wave of guilt washed over me, and I had to look away. "3841 days... and you're about to get married. I'm glad. I'm glad you've moved on."

He let out a hollow, absurd laugh, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. I've moved on."

The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the roar of the engine.