I Trusted Them, and They Destroyed Me

Ten years old, I followed my mother into the Black family as her new wife’s child.

My stepbrother, Karen Black, always mocked me as a parasite. He pushed me down the stairs and watched coldly as I lay in a pool of blood. “Don’t think you can just become my sister because you followed your mother—the mistress—into this house.”

He tore up my homework, used paint to draw turtles on my skirt, and humiliated me on purpose. Even though I obeyed him in everything, his malice never stopped.

Until Nolan showed up.

Nolan Gray was Karen’s best friend.

That day, he blocked me downstairs at the company, holding a bouquet of red roses. Some people stopped to watch; others raised their phones to film. I glanced at him and walked around him.

“I don’t like you.”

In my twenty-six years of life, Karen had made one thing clear: no one could be my salvation.

Nolan pursued me for three months. He showed up every day in the company cafeteria, handed me coffee in the elevator, and left a potted green plant on my desk. My coworkers all said he was good—good family, good looks, good temper—and that I was ungrateful.

“If you don’t want him, leave him to me. I’m not picky.”

Three months later, it was Nolan’s birthday. He hosted a small party at his place and, in front of everyone, said, “If you came today, that’s the best birthday gift I could ask for.”

That night, I drank a lot—glass after glass. Nolan sat beside me and refilled my cup every time it ran dry. Later, everyone left, and only the two of us remained in the living room. Half the lights were off, and a slow song played through the speakers. When he leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t move away.

I thought: Karen was never going to let me have an easy life anyway. Whatever Nolan wanted, I could give it.

After we got together, he treated me well—so well that I almost believed the rumors were false. He texted me every morning to wake me up, waited for me after work so we could eat together, and took me to art exhibitions on weekends. I started getting used to his presence.

That Friday, I left work early and planned to meet him for dinner. When I arrived at his place, the door to his study was slightly open, and I heard him talking inside.

“Got her photos— I won the bet!” His voice carried a light, careless laughter, like he was talking about something insignificant.

On the other end of the call, Karen sounded furious. “Figures. A mistress’s kid is a cheap slut! Come get your prize yourself!”

Nolan laughed again. “Honestly, she’s kind of interesting. Whatever I tell her to wear, she wears it. That bunny-girl outfit—guess whether she put it on?”

My hand froze on the doorknob.

“Alright, alright. I’ll treat you to dinner some other day.”

So that was it. Nolan had chased me because he and Karen had made a bet—whether he could get “intimate” photos of me.

I turned and left.

By the time I reached the building entrance, my legs felt boneless. I braced myself against the wall for a while, then pulled out my phone and texted my boss: “About the UK assignment you mentioned last time—I’m in. When do I leave?”

The reply came quickly: “Next week. The company will book your ticket.”

That night, I went home, dug out half a bottle of red wine from the fridge, and finished it in one go. It didn’t feel like enough, so I found a bottle of white. Two swallows in, everything went black.

My mother shook me awake.

I didn’t know when she had come. She stood by my bed and slammed her phone onto my face. On the screen were my photos—bunny-girl ones, nude ones. Every single shot showed only me. Nolan wasn’t in any of them.

“Are you that desperate?” My mother’s voice trembled. “If these get out, where is your stepfather supposed to put his face?”

I stared at myself on the screen for a long time.

“Nolan took them.”

My mother’s hand paused for a beat. Then she said, “The Gray family? How did you provoke him?”

“And even if you and Nolan were dating normally, your stepfather couldn’t do anything to him. Why didn’t you take better care of yourself?”

I lifted my head, disbelief turning my throat tight, and looked at the woman I had known my whole life.

She avoided my eyes and lowered her voice. “Do you think I didn’t know I was wrong back then? Why do you think I tried so hard to marry into the Black family? After your grandmother died, I was a woman with a child—I couldn’t survive. It’s not like I didn’t know I was wronging you, but what choice did I have?”

She stopped, as if something stung behind her eyes. They reddened for a moment, then cooled again.

“I’ve already had someone delete those photos,” she said. “After some time, no one will remember. Just stay away from him from now on.”

She left.

When the door closed, I saw someone standing in the hallway.

Karen leaned against the wall with both hands in his pockets, head tilted as he looked at me. The curve of his smile—thin, effortless—cut deeper than any words.

I closed the door, pulled the curtains shut, and sat down on the floor.