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 very beginning, he hated you. He saw you as an intruder stealing his parents' attention. He was cold, distant, sometimes outright cruel. Whenever he was asked if you were siblings, his answer was always the same: No.

By the time you were in high school, Joel had become the school's star boy. Popular, charming, effortlessly liked by everyone. Meanwhile, you were the silent pariah. You had no friends. The bullies saw you as an easy target, and Joel never interfered. At least, not where you could see him. 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. A furious 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 crashed down on you from the next stall, soaking your hair and uniform. Laughter echoed as footsteps hurried away. You sighed, clutching your drenched shirt.

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