Chapter 3

Camera flashes erupted in rapid succession, capturing every humiliating and disheveled detail of my appearance.

"This is a private hospital! Who authorized you to barge into patient rooms?"

Sister burst in, roaring as she drove them out.

Mom quickly covered me back up with the blanket, while Dad angrily berated the reporters:

"Get out now or I'll press charges! Scram!"

"King Brown, Lady Liu, as veteran icons in the industry, are you really choosing to cover up plagiarism?"

"I guess blood is thicker than water after all, right?"

The reporters persisted relentlessly until a pleasant, magnetic male voice rang out.

"My parents are both accomplished and respected pillars of the music world. Without their careful nurturing, I wouldn't be who I am today."

"They've never shown favoritism. If anything, it's me, the older brother, who's always been jealous of how good they are to me."

John, dressed like a young aristocrat, gracefully made his way through the crowd.

His eyes were red and swollen, as if he'd been crying for a long time.

"Brother, please don't make another mistake. Haven't Mom and Dad suffered enough because of you?"

"If you want the Grammy, I'll give it to you! If you want our parents' and sister's love, I'll give you all of that too!"

"Please, just stop doing these foolish things, okay?""I feel heartbroken seeing you like this..."

He fell to his knees beside my hospital bed, tears streaming down his face.

My emotions flared up, and I struggled to tap out a message with my palm:

[You're lying! That song was clearly written by me, and I have proof!]

The room erupted in chaos, with reporters snapping photos, but they still didn't believe my claim.

Sister yanked him to his feet, her brows furrowed.

"It's not your fault, Nolan. Don't do this."

She turned to me, her gaze as cold as ice, and spoke:

"Xavion, stop making excuses at this point. Sister doesn't want to see you going further down the wrong path."

She then whispered something to John.

John's face turned pale as he bit his lower lip and shook his head desperately.

"No, we can't. This would completely ruin my brother's reputation..."

"At this point, if you don't bring out the evidence, he'll keep stubbornly clinging to his lies!"

Sister's voice rose in frustration.

Everyone heard clearly that John apparently had damning evidence of my plagiarism.

Our parents sighed and urged John to bring it out quickly.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, John slowly produced several sheets of paper.

They were unmistakably the original handwritten drafts of my creation!Even the few lyrics I had deleted were quoted verbatim!

John broke down in tears as he spoke about his original inspiration for creating the song.

He somehow knew exactly what I was thinking, and even explained my entire creative process.

I stared at him in shock, only able to let out a few low grunts.

How could he possibly know so much? It's impossible!

But the crowd didn't give me a chance to respond. The reporters all clamored for me to produce evidence.

I frantically searched through my phone, but discovered that all of my original songwriting drafts had completely disappeared!

In my moment of despair, my parents and sister rushed in to shoo away the reporters.

Mom hugged me as tears fell, "Where were the security guards we posted at the door?! How did they just let everyone in like that?!"

"Xavion, I'm so sorry. It's our fault for not keeping a closer eye on things and letting them barge in here. We'll have your sister work on suppressing any footage they captured right away! It doesn't matter which one of you wrote this song - you're both our precious children!"

My heart was filled with despair and bitterness.

It doesn't matter? Then why did you destroy me for John's sake?

Subjecting me to abuse and ruining my reputation.

And now that you've achieved your goal, you put on this show of fake family affection. Isn't it sickening?A wave of suffocation surged in my chest, and I abruptly coughed up a mouthful of blood.

"Xavion!"

"Little brother!"

Before I completely slipped into darkness, I heard my parents and sister frantically calling for a doctor.

"Even with a new vocal cord, he'll barely be able to speak, let alone sing. The injuries to his fingers and legs have dragged on for too long, I'm afraid there might be lasting effects..."

My parents roared in anger, "No matter how much it costs, you must do everything to heal him!"

My sister shouted from the side, "Yes! Treat him according to the standard we discussed earlier!"

She held me tightly, the warmth from her chest reaching me, yet I felt a chill run through my entire body.

The standard they discussed earlier... was it the one where they'd replace my vocal cords with a dog's, leaving me unable to play the piano or even stand up again?