Introduction
Three months ago, Kane called her his "little princess" and swore to protect her with his life. Three months later, he hurled her lunch tray into the trash and sneered, "Thieves don't deserve to eat with us."
Libby can't understand why her stepbrother suddenly became so cold and cruel. Why do the same gentle hands that once comforted her now push her into darkness? The systematic bullying at school, the public humiliation in the cafeteria, the lonely despair in the basement... what caused all of this?
Was it a misunderstanding that created this tragedy, or are some wounds too deep to ever forgive?
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About Author
Agatha Christie
Chapter 1
Libby's POV
My lunch box hadn't even settled on the table before strong hands ripped it away.
"BANG!"
The plastic container slammed against the trash can's edge, ham sandwich and orange juice splattering everywhere. Hundreds of students in the cafeteria went dead silent, every pair of eyes locked on me.
No, don't... don't look at me...
My face burned instantly, heart hammering against my ribs.
"Thieves don't deserve to eat with us."
Kane Miller—my 18-year-old stepbrother—his voice cut like a blade. He towered over me at 6'3", messy blonde hair catching the fluorescent light, blue eyes cold as winter ice. Three months ago he called me "little princess." Now he looked at me like trash.
Why? Why did he become this?
Football players swarmed around us, their massive frames boxing me in completely. Leading them was Jake Thompson, Kane's best friend—always grinning but with poison in his eyes.
"Well, well, well. Look what we found." Jake pointed dramatically at me. "Rust Belt royalty turned klepto?"
Brandi Harrison—blonde, blue-eyed head cheerleader and Kane's girlfriend—clung to his arm, perfect red lips twisted in a vicious smile. She raised her phone, camera aimed directly at me.
"OMG, this is HILARIOUS!" Brandi's laugh was shrill, piercing. "Even her own brother can't stand her! My Insta followers are gonna EAT THIS UP!"
Camera flashes stabbed my eyes. I tried to shield my face, but that only made them laugh harder. I wanted to run, but my legs felt like jelly.
Can't breathe... I can't breathe...
"Yo Kane, seriously, what's wrong with your sister?" Another player, Mark, feigned concern, voice dripping sarcasm. "Did she actually steal something? I mean, your family's been... you know..."
He gestured, implying we were broke. More snickers erupted around us.
Stop... please stop...
Kane glared at me, jaw clenched tight, disgust radiating from every pore.
"She's NOT my sister."
Those five words hit like bullets to my chest. Something shattered inside my ribcage, fragments piercing my lungs until I couldn't breathe.
No... this isn't real... this can't be real...
Tears blurred my vision. I bit my lip hard, forcing myself to stand. My legs trembled as whispers buzzed through the cafeteria like angry wasps.
"Get lost, thief." Brandi's voice carried across the room. "Don't contaminate our air. Trash like you belongs in the dumpster."
I stumbled toward the exit, nearly tripping over chairs. Behind me, laughter exploded like fireworks, Brandi's voice shrieking over it all:
"Did you ALL see that? THIS is Rust Belt trash! Even her brother's disgusted! What a JOKE!"
I'm gonna be sick... I'm really gonna be sick...
After school, the hallway stood empty except for a few flickering fluorescent lights. I fumbled with my locker, hands shaking, when someone grabbed my shoulder from behind.
"AH!" I spun around to Jake's sneering face.
"Shh, quiet, little thief." Jake grinned wickedly as two other players closed in. "We've got a special place just for you."
"Let GO! Don't touch me!" I fought desperately, but their hands were like steel clamps.
"This is where you belong, waste of space."
They shoved me into the locker. Metal edges slammed into my ribs, pain exploding through my chest. I screamed as something definitely cracked.
Hurts... God, it HURTS...
Then moldy gym clothes got stuffed in with me—sweat, mildew, and something worse mixed together, making me gag violently. The stench crawled into my nose, down my throat, choking me.
"Stop... please... I can't breathe..." I pounded the metal door until my knuckles bled.
Air grew thinner. Darkness pressed in from all sides. Through the tiny locker slits, I saw Kane standing there, watching it all happen.
Does he remember me? Does he remember loving me?
His face was shadowed, but I caught something in his eyes—pain? Guilt? Or was I hallucinating from lack of oxygen?
"Kane... please... let me out..." I used every ounce of strength left to cry out. "It's Libby... I'm your little princess... remember?"
He hesitated. Just one second. I thought... I thought my brother who loved me might come back.
Please...
But he just turned away emotionlessly, dropping one line before walking off:
"Figure it out yourself."
Footsteps echoed away. The hallway fell dead silent. I curled up in the darkness, tears and snot covering my face, throat raw from crying.
Why... why doesn't he love me anymore?
The basement was cold and damp, concrete floor radiating chill, but safer than upstairs.
I wrapped myself in Dad's old blanket, still smelling like motor oil and Marlboro cigarettes. The only warm thing left in this house.
Dad... if only you were still here...
A weak lightbulb cast yellow shadows. I closed my eyes as memories flooded back.
Three months ago, that autumn afternoon—Kane knelt in front of me, patiently tying my new sneaker laces. His fingers were warm, gentle.
"Careful now, don't trip, my little princess," he'd said softly, eyes full of adoration. "These new shoes aren't broken in yet. Can't have my lucky star getting hurt."
I remembered the night he won state championship, jersey soaked with sweat, but he ran to the bleachers first, hugging me tight. That hug made me feel like the luckiest girl alive.
"You're my lucky star, Libby," he'd whispered, voice full of hope. "When I make the NFL, we'll leave this dump, see the world. Anywhere you want to go."
His eyes had light then. Dreams. Unconditional love. Now there was only hatred—cold, bone-deep hatred that felt like death.
That brother who loved me is dead... just like Dad.
Why? Why did everything change?
Midnight. Something crashed upstairs.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Sounded like picture frames or trophies hitting walls, dull and angry. I pressed against the ceiling, listening, heart pounding like a drum.
The phone rang. Then Kane's voice, seething with rage and resentment.
"It's all because of HER... that damn 500 grand... why should SHE get it..."
Five hundred THOUSAND? What money? I frowned, confused.
What's he talking about?
"Yeah, Brandi, once that money comes through, we're outta this hellhole." Kane's voice grew more agitated, pacing his room. "This rust belt shithole, this broken family... I never want to see any of it again."
Brandi's voice crackled through the phone—I couldn't make out words, but that vicious tone made me shiver:
"...that little bitch doesn't deserve... your mom turned into... all because of her..."
Mom? Mary—my stepmother—what about her?
Turned into what?
My blood ran cold. Wasn't my stepmother just sick, recovering in the hospital? Since Dad's funeral, she'd been getting treatment. The doctors said she needed time to heal.
Sudden silence upstairs. Then footsteps—heavy, deliberate—heading toward the basement stairs.
He's coming down... he's coming down...
I held my breath, clutching the blanket, trembling with terror.
Why does he hate me so much? What did I DO wrong?
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About Author
Agatha Christie
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