The Manipulating

Sam's POV

 I sat stiffly at the polished mahogany table, surrounded by those I despised most: the elders. Or, to put it bluntly, the wealthy old guard forever scheming to amass more.

 Tricia's voice sliced through the clinking crystal. "I just wanted to announce," she declared, her gaze locking onto mine with deliberate, gleaming triumph, "that I will have branches again."

 The elders murmured their approval, smiles spreading like spilled wine across their faces. I kept my eyes down, pushing food silently around my plate, the clink of silverware the only shield against their self-satisfied chatter.

 Then Brandon's voice cut through the murmur. "I also wanted to announce," he declared, loud enough to claim the table's attention, "that Sam and I are getting married soon."

 My fork froze mid-air. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his. An icy glare—sharp enough to draw blood—locked onto him. We agreed to keep the engagement secret, the look screamed. But as his oblivious grin widened, I dropped my eyes back to my plate. What else could I truly expect from Brandon? Only the familiar knife of his recklessness, twisting when least expected.

"That's wonderful news, and it's good you two are thinking of marriage," remarked one of the elders.

 Tricia added with a teasing lilt, "Brandon, you are rushing into this with Sam. After all, Sam hasn't achieved much—she dropped out of medical school, didn't she? Though it's obvious Sam adores you, Brandon. I daresay she'll happily choose to stay home forever. A rather smart decision, really; handling a business is terribly stressful."

 I turned abruptly toward Tricia, my voice low but deliberate. "I plan to continue medical school," I declared. "In fact, I intend to become a neurologist." A cold edge crept into my tone as I met her eyes. "Then I might finally look at you the way you deserve—like you have a mental disorder."

 The words hung sharp in the air. Across the room, the elders' gazes snapped toward me, their expressions hardening like stone.

 I'm not fighting you Sam. Why is what I'm saying causing you such anger?" Tricia's voice cut through the tension, sharp as glass. "Look at Sam," she announced, gesturing theatrically toward her clenched fists and flushed face. She was already weaving her way toward the circle of elders, her posture radiating wounded dignity. "Complaining to them," I muttered under my breath, watching her performance unfold, as if she's the one being oppressed here.

"That's enough." Brandon's voice, low but resonant, cut through the tension like a blade through smoke. He stepped deliberately between Tricia and me, his posture radiating weary authority. "Let's put this aside," he continued, his gaze sweeping over the simmering anger and wounded pride, "and celebrate what our family has achieved tonight." His words were an anchor, dropped not just to halt the heat between us, but to remind everyone of the fragile peace they were meant to uphold.

After the elders' meal, I stole a quiet moment in the moonlit gazebo, nursing a glass of wine. A weary sigh escaped me just as Tricia materialized from the shadows, her presence as sudden as a whisper.

"May I join you?" she asked, her voice soft against the night breeze.

I gestured to the empty seat beside me. Without another word, I lifted the bottle and filled the waiting glass before her, the deep crimson liquid catching the faint light.

"You know, Sam," she said, a strange softness in her voice, "if you weren't a girl, I might've already fooled you. But we're both girls."

The words struck me silent. It was the first time Tricia had ever lowered her guard with me—until now, all she'd offered were boasts and bravado.

The air hung thick with unspoken fears—the same fears that had always bound us. I realized we were mirrors, Tricia: both trembling at the edge of mistakes, both crushed beneath the dread of disappointing those we loved.

You stood there, already a testament to quiet triumph—your branches stretching wide, roots deep, a life others might call success. Yet still, you hesitated. Why?

This fear... it cages us. Whispers of "what will they say?" coil around our throats. The weight of family expectation settles like cold stone upon the heart.

But Tricia... can we truly call this living? Trapped in a prison built of others' opinions? Afraid to breathe, to stumble, to simply be?Let the wind take those whispers. 

Tricia studied me as I spoke, her gaze distant as though weighing each word in some private balance.

"So... can we be together?" she asked, the question hanging like fragile glass between us.

I gave a hollow laugh. "That won't happen." The words came out colder than I intended.

"You're in love with Brandon, after all."

She turned to leave. When she spoke again, her voice dripped with venomous sweetness: "How I wish someone in this family actually listened to you. Unlike Brandon—he glides through life doing exactly as he pleases, consequences be damned.Tricia said 

My heart knows its truth: not Brandon, but Aryang. She is the one who claims my thoughts, my love residing solely in the realm of mind.

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Aryang's POV

My face turned deathly pale, eyes squeezed shut against the wave of nervousness.

"It's done, Miss Aryang. No need to fear," the doctor reassured me.

Kemei's warning had sent me rushing here—a frantic dash to the company hospital where our insurance covered the cost. Cats carry rabies, she'd insisted, her voice tight with urgency. People die from it. The memory of her words, and the cat's claws breaking my skin, left me trembling until the needle's sting offered grim relief.

Doc scheduled my vaccination for next week. Without lingering, I left the clinic's chemical tang behind and made straight for Bun's room; it was barely a minute's walk.

 Pushing into his room, I saw him immediately – head down, focused on a meal. My steps faltered. He was eating... but who had brought it? "Bun?" I asked, my voice tight. "Who gave you that food?"

"Sister, are you hungry? Earlier... the one who used to bully me came by. With Sir Liam. They brought food—Bun told me.

I looked away just then. Someone had emerged from the crate nearby...

Sister... sheg. My classmate.

Ahh, you bun, huh?" I teased, nudging him playfully. "Didn't tell me you had a girlfriend?

Bun nearly fainted on the spot. I couldn't help but laugh, especially seeing his classmate standing nearby, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"She's my classmate, sis," Bun snapped back, his voice sharp with annoyance.

I'd just teased Bun, half-joking, when I turned to leave.

"Gonna check at the nurse's station," I called over my shoulder. "I'll ask if they'll spring you from this place."

Pausing at the door, I glanced at Sheg. "Can you go see Bun? Make sure he's alright?"

Sheg nodded, her voice a low rumble. "Yes, Sister."

Bun's voice chased me into the hallway, sharp but familiar:

"Sister , you're really annoying."

The door sighed shut behind me, swallowing his complaint.

The hospital hallway hummed with sudden urgency. Nurses darted like scattered leaves, voices taut as one hissed near my ear: "Move—Dr. Wrights is minutes away!"

Then I saw her: Dr. Wrights, Sam's mother, advancing down the corridor. Her focus cut through the chaos—fingers skimming charts, eyes already diagnosing patients before she reached their doors. 

A wave of greetings rose around her ("Doctor—" "Good evening, Dr. Wrights—"), but I pressed myself flat against the cold tile wall. Let the current of white coats part around me. Let her pass without notice.Some encounters were better avoided.

Only when Dr. Wrights turned the corner—her crisp white coat vanishing beyond the nurses' station—did I let my shoulders drop. A slow breath escaped me, cool against the sterile hospital air. Safe. For now.

Sam's mother was miles away, swallowed by the maze of corridors, yet my pulse still thrummed like a trapped bird against my ribs. I hadn't realized how tightly I'd been holding myself until that space opened between us. Distance was armor. And for this moment, at least, I wore it.

"Nurse," I inquired, leaning towards the station, "could you please check if there's a discharge notice for Patient Bun from the doctor? I asked ,"

The nurse glanced up, a reassuring smile touching her lips. "Ah, yes, Ms. Aryang! The notice has come through. Bun is cleared for discharge right away." She held up a small paper bag. "And here are Bun's prescribed medications for when you leave."

Relief washed over me as the nurse confirmed my brother would finally be discharged. Without hesitation, I scrawled my signature across the discharge papers she offered, each stroke a silent vow to bring him home.

A chill crept up my spine as a voice, low and unfamiliar, spoke from the shadows behind me: "Is that you Aryang?"

I turned around and saw my mom and half-sister Tricia. The joy that my brother could leave was suddenly replaced by a stark sadness.

When Mom hugged me, I pulled away. "Can we talk?" she said. I nodded mutely, and we found a bench in the hospital park. She smiled, offering an envelope. Seeing the money inside, I sighed, pushing it toward her. "I don't need that, Mom."

"When I learned Bun was being bullied at school," Mother said, her voice tight, "we agreed he would stay home. Please allow this. I need to make it up to him—I owe him that, as his mother."

"We had an agreement, Sis," Tricia cut in, her voice like chilled steel. "Bun goes to a proper school. And you? You manage on your own."

I don't need this. Bun and I lived together—I survived alone, we survived every day. This trial Bun has subjected us to is nothing compared to the depths we endured before. When I first sought you out, Bun and I were little more than scraps scraped from the gutter. And you dare to suggest you'll take him from me? I raised him – not you!"

As I walked away from them, tears welling in my eyes, the hardships I'd endured suddenly flooded back.

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Sam's POV

I saw myself running on the street. Someone was chasing me a housekeeper was chasing me. I quickly hid in the trash, and they didn't see me; they just passed by.

I was carrying my things. I didn't want to go back home because of the pressure I was experiencing in studying. I came in second place in the science competition. When I got home, I was scolded because I wasn't the champion they expected.

Tears streamed down my face as I walked the street, clutching my small belongings and my grandfather's gun. The weight of despair pressed upon me; I wanted to give up on my life.

I stumbled into an abandoned place dominated by a massive tree. There, in my naive mind, I truly thought about hanging myself. I pulled the gun from my bag—only to discover it was just a toy. So I stood beneath those skeletal branches, thinking instead about hanging myself from the tree.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

A voice cut through the silence. I whirled around—so shocked that I fell—my body crashing down onto the damp earth. In my haze of despair, I hadn't realized this was a tree house, its hidden platform looming above me like a forgotten secret.

"Move!" she whispered fiercely, glancing back. "Dad might see. Treehouse – now!" As I started climbing, she thrust a small packet at me. "Look hungry. Stole this from home."

Tears streamed down my face as I forced down the food she'd offered.

"This is Sasa," the girl said, gesturing to the cat twining around her ankles. "Come say hello." She tilted her head, a curious smile touching her lips. "What was your name again?"

"Sam," I told her, my voice rough.

"Ah, Sam." Her smile widened. "I'm Aryang." She extended a slender hand towards mine.

That was where I first met Aryang. But one day, flames engulfed the tree house. I found Aryang outside, tears streaking her face as she screamed for Sasa to save her cat. By the time I saw it, the fire raged too fiercely—too late. 

Nearby, Mom's car idled in the shadows, a silent witness. There was something in its stillness, something almost satisfied, as if it reveled in the tree house's destruction. Anger coiled in my chest. Hot tears blurred my vision, and my hands clenched until the knuckles turned white.

Heart pounding, I jolted upright in bed. The dream's residue clung to me—a familiar trauma echoing in the stillness. Needing air, I threw off the sheets and stumbled toward the kitchen for water.

Halfway down the hall, shadows shifted in the kitchen's dim light. Instinctively, I pressed myself flat against the wall, breath catching. There stood my mother, her back to me, speaking in hushed tones. And beside her—Brandon.

My mind reeled. Not just because they were deep in conversation long past midnight... but because Brandon was standing. Walking. Moving with a steadiness I'd never witnessed. A cold shock seized me as I watched, hidden and silent, the impossible unfolding mere steps away.

They're shameless, from the beginning, Mother really planned everything!