Jier

He arrived home with that dull heaviness that always settled after a long contract—exhaustion layered over silence. The house was dark except for the warm light spilling from upstairs, and at first he didn’t think much of it.

Then the shouting hit him. Sharp. Panicked. Angry.

He took the stairs two at a time.

At the top of the landing, the chaos unfolded like a blow to the chest.

His sister—his real sister—was lunging forward, teeth clenched, eyes blazing with something he had never seen in her before. And Jinhu stood in front of the adopted girl—Meilin, as if shielding her from an explosion. Meilin’s hands trembled behind him, her breath quick and uneven.

Before his sister could reach them, Jier caught her around the waist. She jerked violently in his arms, light but frighteningly determined, her fingers curled as if reaching for something she needed to reclaim.

“What the hell happened here?” he snapped.

No one answered.

But the silence only made the answer louder.

His gaze landed on the floor, and his stomach dropped.

The white stuffed animal—the one their parents had given her, the one she never let go of—lay torn apart. Cotton scattered across the polished wood like snow. The stitched smile ripped open.

His hands tightened around her. Fury coiled inside him, cold and heavy.

He had known Jinhu didn’t care for her return. He had known Meilin’s discomfort. He had even known his sister wouldn’t be welcomed the way she should have been.

But this—breaking her last reminder of their parents, and mocking her pain—was cruelty he wouldn’t allow under his roof.

His sister’s breathing was rapid, shallow. Her body trembled, not with fear, but with something raw—betrayal, grief, desperation. For a moment he felt her slipping into a place he couldn’t reach.

He forced his voice to soften. “Hey… hey. Look at me,” he murmured.