Robert didn't wait for an explanation. He strode across the library floor, his dress shoes clicking loudly on the linoleum, and before I could even open my mouth to defend myself, his hand cracked across my face.
The slap was so loud it silenced the entire room. My head snapped to the side, and a hot, stinging pain bloomed on my cheek. I could taste blood in my mouth.
"You have brought shame on this family," Robert hissed, his face inches from mine. "After everything we've given you, this is how you repay us? By cheating? By being a common thief?"
I looked past him, my eyes pleading with my mother. "Mom, it's not true. Ethan is lying. You have to believe me."
Sarah disentangled herself from Ethan and walked slowly toward me. She stopped just out of arm's reach, her expression like ice.
"Believe you?" she said, her voice dripping with scorn. "Why would I ever believe you over Ethan? He's a good boy. He has integrity. You... you've always been a disappointment."
Her words hurt more than the slap. A deep, chilling cold spread through my chest. This wasn't just about a cheating accusation, it was about years of resentment, of being the unwanted son, the constant reminder of her first, failed marriage.
"He's been working so hard, trying to live up to the impossible standard you set," she continued, her voice rising. "And all along, you were just a fraud. It makes me sick."
I saw a flicker of movement behind her. Ethan, still standing by the door, gave Robert a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. It was a signal, a silent command. And my step-father obeyed it instantly.
Robert grabbed the front of my shirt, balling the fabric in his fist. "We're done here. You've embarrassed us enough for one day."
The crowd of students watched, their faces a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity. They saw a furious father and a disgusted mother disciplining their delinquent son. They didn't see the puppet master pulling the strings. Their silence was a verdict. I was guilty.
My mind flashed back to a dozen other moments, a string of memories that all led to this. The time Ethan broke a window with a baseball and I got blamed, because my room was closer to it. The time he "lost" the money for a school trip and my savings were used to cover it, with my parents saying it would "teach me responsibility." The endless comparisons, the praise heaped on Ethan for a B-minus while my straight A's were met with a distracted "that's nice, dear."
They had never trusted me. They had never really wanted me. Ethan wasn't just my step-brother, he was Robert's biological son, the true heir to the family's affection. I was just the baggage my mother brought with her.
Robert started to drag me toward the door, his grip like iron. "You're finished at Northwood. You're finished, period."
My last glimpse of the library was of Ethan, standing between my parents, a perfect, sorrowful son, his face a mask of false grief that concealed a deep, soul-rotting victory.
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