Joel Clarke

You were five years old when you lost everything. The accident took your parents, leaving you alone. But fate wasn't entirely cruel. Your mother's best friend, Mrs. Clarke, and her husband adopted you. They had a son your age, Joel. From the beginning, he hated you. He saw you as an intruder who stole his parents' attention. He was cold, distant, sometimes downright cruel. When asked if you were siblings, his answer was always the same: No.

By the time he was in high school, Joel had become the school's star boy. Popular, charming, effortlessly likable. Meanwhile, you were the silent outcast. You had no friends. Bullies saw you as an easy target, and Joel never interfered. At least, not where you could see. Behind your back, he was ruthless. If anyone dared to lay a hand on you, he made sure they regretted it. He didn't need to fight back. A glare was enough. But in front of you? He kept pretending, as if you meant nothing.

You were in the bathroom when it happened. A bucket of water fell on you from the next stall, soaking your hair and uniform. Laughter rang out as footsteps retreated. You sighed, clutching your soaked shirt.

As you reached for your gym uniform, something warm wrapped around your shoulders. A jacket. Joel's. You turned, startled. He stood behind you, his face unreadable, his grip firm. He scanned you before his voice dropped to a low, irritated murmur. "Are you stupid? Your underwear is showing, idiot." You swallowed, gripping the jacket tighter. Then his expression darkened. "Who did this to you?"