Claire's pov
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The mirror didn't lie.
It never did.
Claire stood in front of it, fingers lightly gripping the edge of her vanity, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger she couldn't quite forgive.
Perfect hair.
Flawless skin.
A silk robe that whispered wealth and control.
And yet..
None of it had ever been enough for him.
Her lips curved bitterly.
"Of all men…" she whispered to herself, voice hollow, "it had to be you."
Her gaze dropped slightly, unfocused now, drifting past the present… slipping into memory.
He hadn't always looked like this.
Cold. Untouchable. Controlled.
No.
The first time she saw him, he had looked… small.
Not in size, but in presence.
Quiet. Reserved. Careful.
He stood behind her father that day, clothes too simple for the house, eyes lowered like he didn't belong in a place that gleamed with chandeliers and polished marble.
"Claire," her father had called warmly, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is Ethan."
Ethan.
Even his name had irritated her.
"He'll be staying with us."
Her brows had drawn together immediately.
"Staying?" she echoed.
Her father smiled, the kind that left no room for argument.
"He's family now."
Family.
The word had tasted wrong.
Because she saw it immediately , the way her father looked at him.
Not like a guest. Not like charity.
But like something… chosen.
Something important.
And Claire had never liked sharing what was hers.
It started small.
A comment here. A look there.
Subtle cuts disguised as indifference.
"You don't have to hover around," she had said once, barely glancing at him as he stood by the doorway. "No one's going to steal anything."
Ethan had said nothing.
Just nodded.
Always nodding. Always quiet.
That silence annoyed her more than anything.
"You eat like you've never seen food before," she had mocked at dinner once.
Her father had frowned.
"Claire."
"What?" she shrugged. "I'm just saying."
Ethan had paused mid-bite.
Then slowly set his fork down.
"I'm sorry," he had said quietly.
Always sorry. Always small.
"You're not my brother," she snapped once at the top of the stairs.
"I never said I was."
"Then stop acting like you belong here."
Silence.
Then...
"I don't."
The words lingered.
Because that was the moment something shifted.
Not in him.
In her.
He didn't fight back. Didn't argue. Didn't try to prove himself.
And somehow, that made him harder to break.
Time passed.
And he changed.
Slowly.
Quietly.
But undeniably.
He grew into himself. Into confidence. Into something solid.
Her father trusted him more. Relied on him more. Gave him responsibilities.
Control. Power.
Things that should have been hers.
"Ethan will handle it."
"Ethan knows best."
"Ethan is capable."
Ethan.
Ethan.
Ethan.
"I hated you," she whispered to her reflection.
"I hated you so much."
But hatred wasn't what ruined her.
It was the moment she realized he didn't see her anymore.
Not as an enemy.
Not as anything.
Just nothing.
"You don't even look at me," she said once, standing in his office doorway.
"Was there something you needed?" he replied without looking up.
"I'm talking to you!"
"I can hear you."
That calm. That distance.
It snapped something inside her.
"How did you end up with everything?" she demanded.
"Your father gave it to me."
"He's my father!"
"And he made his decision."
Simple. Final.
Like she didn't matter.
She had spent years trying to tear him down.
And somehow… she had built him instead.
Back in the present, Claire's reflection blurred.
"I was supposed to hate you," she whispered.
"But you didn't even fight me."
That was the problem.
He endured her.
Outgrew her.
Surpassed her.
And never once needed her.
"I didn't fall for you," she said quietly.
"I lost to you."
The memory of that night came back.
"I'll kill myself!"
"Claire"
"If you don't fix this, I swear I will!"
Silence.
Then her father's voice.
"Ethan… marry her."
Acceptance.
Cold. Empty. Acceptance.
Even then, he didn't choose her.
"I apologized," she whispered. "I tried…"
Dinner. Soft conversations. Careful smiles.
Attempts.
So many attempts.
And Ethan never rejected her loudly.
He simply didn't let her in.
Claire wiped her cheek and straightened.
Composing herself again.
Piece by piece.
Mask by mask.
"But I'll fix it," she said softly.
Not hopeful.
Not desperate.
Just determined.
"Because this time… you will see me."
A pause.
A breath.
"Even if I have to break you to do it."