After that day, Mathew backed off.

I heard he was busy launching his business, often entertaining clients until midnight.


My parents never mentioned the elephant in the room, only asking about my breakup with Ivan.

I didn't tell them the real reason.

My phone buzzed—Mathew:


"Crystal, are you really not going to answer my messages?"

He'd been texting me about mundane things lately.


I never responded.

Back at the orphanage, Mathew had rarely spoken.

Getting ten sentences out of him in a day was a miracle.

Yet this same boy, during the months I was terrified of ghosts, would sit by my bed every night telling stories until I fell asleep.

I asked how he knew so many stories.

He said his parents told them to him when he was little.

He had parents who loved him once.

I asked why he ended up in the orphanage.

He said nothing.

Just as sleep claimed me, I heard him whisper—

"Because I'm not normal."

I wanted to tell him that wasn't true.

But sleep pulled me under, and the memory faded into dreams.

Now I remembered.

...

I didn't see Mathew again for two months.

I got off work early that day. Stepping out of the elevator, I spotted a figure slumped against my door.

"Mathew?"

No response.

I moved closer. His eyes were closed.

He must be exhausted to fall asleep standing.

I poked his cheek, right where his dimple would form.

He frowned. I pulled back, but he caught my fingers.

I looked up to find him watching me with clear eyes—not at all like someone who'd just woken up.

I tugged my hand free. "You were faking?"

Mathew smiled, then took my hand and placed a cake box in it.

His voice rasped in the quiet hallway.

"Happy birthday, Crystal."

...

I let him in.

Mathew beamed, unwrapping the cake and setting it on the table. He inserted candles and lit them.

In the dancing light, his eyes shone. "Make a wish."

I closed my eyes.

I wished for my family's safety, for everything to work out, for Mat to take back—

Something warm and soft pressed against my lips with undeniable force.

My mind went blank.

My eyes flew open. Mathew's face was inches from mine, close enough that I could see the naked desire in his eyes.

Raw. Unfiltered. Burning.

That fragile pretense of siblinghood shattered with his kiss.

*SLAP!*

The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek shattered the moment.

My palm stung, my arm tingling.

"Have you lost your mind?!"

My voice shook. "Do you realize what you're doing? I'm your sister!"

Mathew chuckled darkly, turning his face back to me, fingers tracing the red mark blooming on his cheek.

His eyes bored into mine. "I know," he whispered. "I like you."

...

Wax dripped down the candles. The "Happy Birthday" on the cake seemed to mock me in the wavering light.

Mathew gripped my trembling hand, pressing his face into my palm. "Why push me away when you approached me first? You took my hand, promised to teach me. Why did you lie?"

"You think I'm a freak too... you're scared of me like everyone else. Disgusted. Why didn't you answer my messages? Do you know how much I've missed you? How I've longed to hear you say my name..."

"That's not it," I backed away, shaking my head. "You're confused. You don't really have those feelings for me. I'm your sister..."

I kept repeating "I'm your sister," but my mind flashed back to four years ago—my birthday, when Mathew kissed me while I was drunk.

I was afraid. So afraid that I distanced myself, stopped asking about him.

Yet our bond had once been so deep.

I couldn't help asking if he really wanted to go abroad.

That was when he first called me "sister"—but I knew we could never truly be siblings again.

When he left, I breathed easier, hoping time would fade his twisted feelings.

Instead, he'd returned to tear away our last pretenses.

"I don't like you that way, Mathew."

The candles had burned low. I forced a smile. "Do you know why I pulled away? Because I saw you kiss me when I was drunk. I heard you calling my name while you..."

"It disgusts me! I only see you as a brother. What you're doing is wrong. We grew up as siblings..."

Mathew's hand trembled against mine, his cheek still pressed to my palm.

"Siblings?"

He echoed my words, then grabbed my chin and yanked me closer. I struggled, but his grip only tightened.

"Let me go!"

"What about now?" His lips crushed against mine, biting, bruising. His voice was unrecognizable, each word forced through clenched teeth. "Still see me as just your brother?"

...

"Mathew," I turned away from his fevered eyes, "don't make another mistake..."

Silence fell like a shroud.

After what felt like forever, Mathew laughed softly.

He kissed my lips, my cheeks.

He leaned to my ear, teeth grazing my earlobe.

His hot breath washed over my skin as he whispered:

"It's too late, Crystal."