"Oh, sure. I'm 'unstable'," I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes to the solemn faces around me. My mother said it sofly, gently. Like she was doing me a favor. My sister cried rivers that day, hands clutching her sleeves, looking like the fragile little angel she'd perfected into a masterclass, anyone watching would think she was the victim, 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.
"I'm not crazy," I said, my voice steady despite the way my nails dug into my palms.
No one answered.
Not my father. Not the doctor. Not even her.
Just silence and signatures, papers sliding across the table, the decision already made.
The perfect daughter stays. The inconvenient one disappears.
Lovely.
ONE YEAR LATER
The asylum smelled like antiseptic and false sympathy, white walls, locked doors, smiles that never reached anyone's eyes.
I clenched my fists as the memory of those long, pointless days clawed at me.
At first, I fought. I argued, explained, tried to make them understand. That my sister wasn't who she pretended to be, that something was wrong.
But the more I spoked, the more they wrote things down.
"Paranoia."
"Delusion."
"Emotional Instability."
So I stopped talking.
I learned something important in that place, not about myself. About people. People don't believe the truth, they believe what looks right.
But I'd survived. I'd rebuilt. I'd grown sharper, faster and smarter. And now? Now I had the perfect chance.
A year later, I walked out of those gates with nothing but a small bag and a name I barely recognised anymore.
No family.
No home.
No one waiting.
Just silence... and the quiet understanding that if I wanted a life, I'd have to build it myself.
So I did. I worked odd jobs. Saved every cent towards tuition. I'd learned to watch, blend in, to wait, to act just enough like the world wanted me to, to look harmless.
Because harmless people aren't questioned.
Harmless people aren't watched.
And I had no intention of ever being watched like that ever again.
And then came the offer that made all of that time pay off. An envelope came on a random afternoon, I had just finished my part-time job at the cafe, and was sitting in my one room apartment, when I noticed the envelope.
The envelope was thick, Expensive and official-looking. The kind of thing that didn't belong in my small, quiet world.The letter inside was polite. Careful. Too polite. I dialed the phone number on the back of the envelope, a person answered on the second ring
"We need someone to... interfere," the woman said, going straight to the point, as if ruining someone's life was casual dinner talk.
I smiled faintly. "Interfere how?"
To... make her son lose interest in her," she said, I leaned back in my chair, rereading the next line from the letter slowly.
My lips twitched. "You mean... the supposed fragile little angel with a scholarship who cries on command?"
"Yes, our son has become... quite attached to a certain girl.
Attached.
What a gentle way to say obsessed.
"We need you to make him lose interest in her."
Ah, so that was the game.
Rich parents, problematic romance. A girl they didn't approve of.
Classic.
"Who is she?" I whispered, as my eyes dropped to the name, and for a moment... everything went still.
Then I laughed. Soft, quiet, almost amused. Of all the people in the world, of all the possible targets.
Her.
My sister.
The fragile little angel.
The girl who cried her way into everyone's trust... And out of my life.
I folded the letter carefully, my mind already racing, my lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. I didn't just see an opportunity. I saw revenge.
"You really should've made sure I was gone for good". I thought to myself.
Because now?
Now they were paying me, to ruin her.
I stood, grabbing my coat, heading to the address I saw on the envelope.
I knew I wasn't doing this for the money.
Not even for the opportunity.
But for something far more satisfying.
They don't know I already have a reason to ruin her.