Chapter 2

Chapter 2

From the moment we were born, my parents treated Kieran and me like heaven and earth.

We were identical twins sharing the exact same genetic code and the exact same face.

Yet my parents despised every breath I took.

During delivery, Mom suffered severe postpartum hemorrhaging and nearly died on the operating table. The obstetrician offhandedly mentioned that the older twin had a slightly larger head, and Mom pinned all the blame for her trauma on me.

Even when the medical staff explained that birth complications had nothing to do with the infant, my parents held on to that resentment like a grudge.

Ever since I could remember, names like "murderer," "leech," and "curse" defined my identity.

We were twins, yet my brother was given the graceful name Kieran, while I was simply named August.

They named me August solely because I happened to be born in August, not wanting to waste a single second thinking of a proper name for me.

The inequality extended far beyond our names.

Kieran was exclusively breastfed, while I was tossed cheap powdered formula.

Kieran was raised in my parents' warm embrace, while I was dumped in the corner with a resentful nanny.

Kieran had a lavishly decorated master nursery, while I was shoved into a windowless storage closet under the stairs.

Spoiled rotten, Kieran started stealing cash from Mom's designer purse to buy expensive toys.

When I caught him and gently tried to stop him, he turned around and stabbed me in the back.

At only seven years old, Kieran cried big, fat tears in front of our parents. "I tried so hard to stop August, but he insisted on stealing the money. I told him it was bad, but he wouldn't listen..."

I stood there frozen, watching my twin brother spin blatant lies without a hint of shame. Before I could utter a single word of defense, Dad's heavy hand struck my face with terrifying force.

A high-pitched ringing pierced my left ear, followed by a warm trickle of blood running down my neck.

That was the year I turned seven, the year my left ear went completely deaf.

The abuse never stopped, and framing me became Kieran's favorite game.

Every bad deed was pinned on my head: I was the habitual thief, I was the school bully, I was the delinquent secretly smoking behind the gym.

No matter how many times I cried and begged my parents to believe me, my pleas were answered only with brutal beatings that once left me in the hospital with fractured ribs.

On our fourteenth birthday, Kieran specifically requested a rich seafood bisque for dinner.

He looked at me with an angelic, innocent smile in front of the whole family. "I want August to share this bisque with me. We're twin brothers, after all. He wouldn't reject such a small request, right?"

He knew full well that I was severely allergic to shellfish, and that eating it could kill me.

Yet my desperate refusal was treated as an act of insolent rebellion.

To make Kieran happy, Dad pinned my arms behind my back while Mom pried my jaw open, pouring the scalding seafood chowder directly down my throat.

I choked and thrashed in sheer terror, but nobody cared.

Chloe stood nearby, recording the whole thing on her phone while laughing hysterically. "Drama queen! It's just a sip of soup! Let's see if you actually drop dead!"

I had to drag myself to the emergency room that night with a burned throat and life-threatening anaphylactic shock.

Not a single family member checked on me; they stayed home, cheerfully celebrating Kieran's birthday over the rest of the seafood feast.

That incident caused permanent damage to my vocal cords, leaving my voice rough and hoarse.

Hearing me speak only made my parents despise me more.

"Shut your mouth if you sound like a dying crow! Stop embarrassing our family!"

Chloe would sneer in disgust, crossing her arms. "You sound disgusting. Don't you dare tell anyone at school you're my brother, I have a reputation to protect."

Meanwhile, Kieran, the architect behind it all, sat quietly on the sofa, admiring the aftermath of his work.

The smug smirk playing on his lips felt like a jagged blade twisting inside my chest.

In the dead of night, he barged into my storage closet more than once, wrapping his hands tightly around my neck.

"August, just looking at your face makes me sick. You should have died back in August!"

Perhaps because I didn't die back then, eighteen years later on our birthday, Kieran got behind the wheel of a luxury sedan completely wasted and crushed my body beneath the tires.