The "compensation" Kurt promised never happened.
These past few days, he stayed glued to Olivia's side.
If he wasn't "helping her get a new ID," he was "accompanying her to school to handle paperwork."
Every day they came home together looking like an ordinary couple.
And every evening, he would hand me a small cake—a token apology, a prop to placate me.
He hadn't called me "little sister" in a long time.
But these days, he said it constantly, avoiding words like "baby" on purpose.
I noticed every change.
My heart stung a little, yet my determination to leave grew firmer by the day.
I prepared the supplies I would bring to Africa.
Using my own savings, I bought a house in a city far away from him.
I even went back to the old house I once vowed never to return to... and dug out the surveillance footage I'd spent all my money to obtain back in high school—the video of Kurt pushing my father down the stairs.
While I was drawing out my path to freedom step by step, my phone suddenly rang.
The caller was one of Kurt's friends, his voice shattered with panic. "Daniella! Come quick! Kurt is drunk—he's allergic to alcohol! If you don't come, something will—"
Before I could respond, he hung up.
I froze.
My heart clenched so tightly it hurt to breathe.
After all, we had depended on each other for more than ten years.
I couldn't truly let him destroy himself. I closed my eyes and whispered to myself, "...Just one last time."
I carried my plane ticket in my bag and rushed to the private room.
But the moment I pushed open the door, I stopped dead.
Kurt was sitting neatly on the sofa, clothes spotless, expression calm. His hands were steady.
There were no wine glasses on the table. Only juice.
The people around him all stiffened when they saw me.
Their eyes looked at me like I was some joke they had summoned for entertainment—surprised, uncomfortable, impatient... and threaded with a pity that cut deeper than disgust.
I understood instantly.
I had been played.
My chest felt like it had been struck by a blunt weapon.
I stepped back, ready to leave.
But just then, someone spoke up. "So this is Kurt's little sister? Wow, you've grown."
I forced a polite smile.
If this were before, I would've run over happily, chatting with them like old friends—because I used to believe they were just like Kurt, that they treated me as family.
But now—I could feel it clearly: hidden beneath their gazes was an unmistakable layer of disdain.
Some looked at me with emotions barely restrained: contempt, suspicion, wariness—as if I were some troublesome stray dragged in from nowhere.
They believed Olivia's story about being "bullied."
They thought I had inherited my parents' "violent genes."
They looked at me like I was a walking problem.
Needles pricked all over my skin.
Worse still—I couldn't explain.
Not yet.
Not until the truth came out in three days.
Right now, I had to pretend I knew nothing of their hostility. So I swallowed every ounce of injustice, as if swallowing burning stones.
A senior who had always treated me kindly pulled me over. "Since you're here, sit with us."
Her motions looked natural, but I could feel her grip was tighter than before—as if she feared I might suddenly cause trouble.
Kurt added gently, "Sit. We're just about to eat."
His tone was the same as always, but his eyes... his eyes were distant, veiled with something unreadable.
Different from before.
I realized he must have heard from Arturo that I was planning to leave.
I tugged the corner of my lips and let the senior guide me to a seat.
The room was filled with laughter, and his classmates talked around me as if I didn't exist.
"Back then, Kurt and Olivia really were a great match."
"They almost ended up together, right? Too bad her parents were against it."
"I heard she messed up her college entrance exam around that time..."
My knuckles whitened as I clenched my hands under the table.
They weren't even lowering their voices.
Each sentence sliced into me like a blade.
The more I listened, the clearer the truth became.
After Olivia "confessed," she and Kurt only grew closer. Teachers and classmates practically treated them as a couple. Until her parents stepped in and tore them apart.
They even spoke to Kurt personally. Only then did he distance himself from her.
After that, she failed her college exams and went abroad...
At this part, some of their expressions turned complicated.
Their eyes swept over me with barely hidden resentment.
I knew exactly what they were thinking, "If Olivia hadn't been bullied, she wouldn't have failed her exams."
"If not for this little sister, those two would've been together already."
"She's the cause of everything."
They didn't say the words, but their eyes had already hurled every accusation at me.
Under the bright lights,
I sat there like a criminal on trial.
A waiter brought out a plate of salted egg yolk pumpkin, gleaming golden under the light.
My favorite dish.
In the past—whether at home or out—the moment it appeared, Kurt would wordlessly serve me a piece.
Today, he picked up his chopsticks as usual.
But halfway through, he changed direction and placed the pumpkin into Olivia's bowl.
She lowered her head shyly and thanked him.
The people around them cheered, teasing her into drinking.
She refused a few times, and then Kurt suddenly took her glass.
"She can't drink. I'll drink for her."
But he was allergic to alcohol— even a sip would leave him flushed, gasping for air.
I knew he was doing it on purpose.
He knew I wouldn't watch him trigger a reaction.
Because I couldn't watch the only family I had die.
My eyes burned. I snatched the glass from him and downed it in one gulp.
"Daniella—"
For some reason, panic flashed across his face.
He reached toward me as if to stop me, but Olivia held onto his arm, and he couldn't get a word out.
The alcohol scorched down my throat into my stomach.
Someone whistled, calling me bold, calling me loyal.
Then more glasses appeared in front of me.
I took them mechanically.
Drink after drink, I gulped down everything.
Kurt frowned, lips parting as if to speak—but his classmates teased him for being "too protective," calling him a "sister-obsessed fool."
Laughter drowned him out. He lowered his head awkwardly, unable to say a thing.
Still playing the role of "helpless," aren't you?
I laughed—and tears slid silently from the corners of my eyes.
