Beyond Their Plot: My True Calling

For years, I, Ethan, poured my family's wealth and my own mentorship into Sarah and Emily, cultivating them into tech prodigies destined to lead our industry. Their acceptance to MIT, cemented by their victory in the National Coding Competition, was supposed to be the crowning achievement, our shared golden ticket to the future. Then the email dropped: they'd deferred MIT for some 'unremarkable' junior developer, Alex. My attempts to reason with them were met with empty excuses, until a chilling blue holographic warning materialized before my eyes, threatening a "career-ending injury" if the "male lead" interfered with the "plot." I was forced to comply, to watch them choose a path I knew would lead to ruin, but I wouldn' t just stand by; my family's resources, the very foundation of their genius, quietly slipped from their grasp. They didn't realize that without me, they weren't prodigies; they were just two smart girls about to compete on their own. Their rage was palpable when they realized their access was revoked. "Are you punishing us?" Emily accused. I met their eyes. "This isn't punishment. It's policy. You made a choice. These are the consequences." Later, I overheard them. "He's just trying to make us come crawling back," Emily hissed. "He thinks because his family paid for things, he owns us." Then the true venom of their betrayal struck me: "We'll flatter him... hint I might reconsider the marriage arrangement... Once he restores our access, we'll get what we need for Alex, win the competition, and then dump Ethan and his whole arrogant family for good. He's just a stepping stone." "Stepping stone." My stomach clenched, the years of gratitude replaced by entitlement. How could they betray everything we built?" When they brazenly invaded my home with Alex, demanding my office for their "male lead," the holographic text flickered back, labeling me an "obstacle" to their "plot." But just as Emily, her gentle facade shattered, grabbed my arm, and Sarah slapped me across the face, trying to physically enforce their warped reality, a cold resolve settled in. I stared at the red mark blooming on my cheek, the pain a searing clarity. They would hurt me to get what they wanted. "No." My voice was calm despite my throbbing cheek. This wasn't just about them anymore; it was about reclaiming my life. I would not be a stepping stone. I would not be an obstacle. I would not be written out of my own story.