I’m Sweet and Kind in Front of My Boyfriend, But Vicious and Cunning to His Sister I subtly turned this family upside down. Eventually, I drove his sister to jump off a building. In the bitter winter, her crimson blood seeped into the pristine snow. It looked exactly like the scene when my sister died years ago. This was the first time Ryan brought me to meet his parents. Looking at the upscale neighborhood before me, I nervously tugged at his sleeve and asked, “What if your parents don’t like me?” Ryan ruffled my hair reassuringly. “My parents aren’t that picky. Don’t worry, I’m here with you.” With that, he held my hand tightly and walked in. Having lived as a dependent for years, I was adept at reading people’s reactions. I could sense that Ryan’s parents were quite satisfied with me, especially when they saw the gifts I brought. They couldn’t stop praising my thoughtfulness. Ryan chimed in at the right moment: “Dad, Aria knew you’re into tech research, so she specifically bought you the latest Alienware laptop.” “Mom, this bag is from Aria’s business trip to Europe. She went to five different streets to get this new release. It’s not even available in the States yet.” Emma, however, looked at the clothes in her hands and asked confusedly, “What brand is this? Where’s the label?” I explained, “Emma, I heard from your brother that you’ve been into qipaos recently. As I studied fashion design, I thought I’d make one for you myself.” Of course, I had chosen ordinary silk fabric that only cost a few dollars wholesale. Emma frowned slightly, clearly unimpressed. “What’s with that attitude?” Ryan, displeased with his sister’s reaction, spoke up to defend me. “Aria stayed up several nights to make this dress for you. She even hurt her hands!” Emma glanced at her parents’ expensive gifts, then at the cheap item in her hands. She pursed her lips but said nothing more. That night, I deliberately ate two bowls of rice, my stomach aching from being overly full. Yet, I maintained a smile on my face, praising the deliciousness of the meal. “No wonder Ryan grew so tall. It’s not just Mr. Parker’s excellent genes, but also Mrs. Parker’s superb cooking skills.” Mrs. Parker was very pleased with this comment, beaming from ear to ear. She paused for a moment, then added regretfully, “But now Ryan rarely comes home, and Emma is always on about dieting. If only they were like you, I’d have more motivation to cook.” I smiled wryly. “Ryan is just too busy with work, it can’t be helped. But why is Emma on a diet? She’s already so thin! If it were me, I wouldn’t be able to resist Mrs. Parker’s delicious food. Who cares about gaining weight? Health is what matters.” “Exactly! Well said!” Hearing this, Mrs. Parker pointed at Emma, who was flipping through a magazine, and complained, “Look at you, you don’t know how good you have it!” Emma’s face darkened, and she gave me a meaningful look. She wasn’t angry because of the scolding, but because I wasn’t the one being scolded. I smiled. This was nothing compared to what was coming. I’ll never forget that winter night ten years ago. My older sister leaped from the rooftop like a desperate, broken-winged bird, shattering into pieces, her body a bloody mess. She died tragically, but resolutely. That image was etched deep into my bones, leaving me utterly hopeless. It turns out that when people are in extreme pain, they remain silent, unable to make any sound at all. At that moment, I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat. I stared blankly as the glaring red gradually became covered by the pristine white snow. My hand loosened, and the bag of candied chestnuts fell to the ground. A few rolled out, crushed under the panicked crowd’s feet, as if they were crushing someone else’s entire life. After our parents died in a car accident, our uncle took responsibility for caring for me and my sister, conveniently taking the compensation money as well. The two sisters lived under someone else’s roof, enduring cold stares. Fortunately, we were both diligent, always at the top of our class. My sister often told me to hang in there, promising that she would give me the best life in the future, and we wouldn’t have to swallow our pride and endure others’ contempt anymore. But for some reason, her grades started plummeting from her junior year of high school. In the end, unable to bear the pressure, she committed suicide by jumping off a building. At the time, this incident even made it to the newspapers, with the theme of caring for the mental health of teenagers. But I always felt something was off. My sister rarely came home as she lived in the school dorms. Her belongings were reluctantly packed up from her dorm room by our aunt and uncle. They put her things in a box. Aunt wouldn’t let me touch it, saying it was unlucky. She was hesitant to throw it away but also fearful of keeping it, so she ended up locking it in the attic. A year later, when I graduated from middle school, my uncle’s family of three went on vacation during the summer break, leaving me the key and telling me to watch the house. I took the opportunity to open the attic door, found the box, and discovered my sister’s diary. It was filled with detailed records of her being bullied. Some of the writing was blurred by tears, but it couldn’t hide the horrifying experiences. It was as if I had opened Pandora’s box. My hands couldn’t stop shaking. The culprit was Emma Parker. She wasn’t from a wealthy family, but her family was well-off. She was pretty and always had a group of followers who obeyed her every command. My sister had excellent grades, but because of her aloof personality and a birthmark on her face, she inexplicably became Emma’s target and a source of amusement during her reckless years. Emma and her gang cornered my sister in the bathroom, stripped her clothes off, and took photos to blackmail her into keeping quiet. In the dorm room, Emma tied up my sister’s hands and feet, gagged her, wrapped her in a quilt, and beat her. Apparently, this was a method used by prison inmates to bully newcomers. It was very painful but didn’t leave visible marks. Emma never tired of it, constantly coming up with new ways to torment her. Putting thumbtacks in her shoes, throwing her backpack in the pool, pouring drinks on her bed… Teenage girls are like apples on early autumn branches, slightly sour but sweet, waiting to ripen and fall. But if a worm gets in, and isn’t removed in time, the rot will only spread until the fruit completely withers. Emma was that worm. Finally, my sister couldn’t take it anymore and sought help from a teacher. But her classmates all said Emma was cheerful and generous, and had never bullied anyone. The matter was dismissed. Things seemed to calm down for a while. Little did we know, it was just the calm before the avalanche. One night, as my sister was dozing off, she was suddenly tied up and gagged. When the lights came on, it was Emma’s sweet yet vicious smile. Her followers surrounded them. Emma held an electric shaver in her hand. The buzzing sound was like a demon’s whisper, beating against every nerve in my sister’s scalp. Chunks of black hair fell, stripping away her last shred of dignity. Emma stroked my sister’s bald head, very satisfied. But it wasn’t over. She produced a thick iron chain from somewhere and put it around my sister’s neck, laughing wildly, boasting that this was her pet dog. Then she took out her phone and video called her brother. The camera was pointed at my sister. The siblings critiqued my sister’s appearance, their words like cold knives stabbing into her organs. Through the screen, my sister heard Ryan’s deep, contemptuous voice. He said, “What an obedient dog. I’ve taken a screenshot, I’ll share it with the boys.” “Wait,” Emma added, “Bro, I have even better photos here, the kind where she’s not wearing anything. I’ll send them to you.” She looked at my sister, raising her eyebrows triumphantly: “I warned you before not to talk nonsense, but you were just too disobedient.” The mocking laughter never ceased, successfully breaking down my sister’s last psychological defense. After that, rumors spread throughout the class, saying she was dirty, so dirty that she had lice in her hair. Everyone avoided her, building an invisible wall three feet away, standing on top of it to point and whisper. Even the places she walked and the things she used had to be sprayed with disinfectant. She started having frequent nightmares, couldn’t rest well, her grades plummeted, and she often had hallucinations, her mental state becoming abnormal. I remember when my sister came home one weekend, she looked at me quietly, her bright eyes clearly reflecting my image. At that moment, it was as if I was her entire world. I froze and asked, “Sis… where’s your hair?” “It was so itchy, itchy to the point that my heart and lungs were burning with discomfort, so I shaved it off.” She caressed my cheek with a loving expression. I was about to say something when I heard our aunt’s impatient voice from the living room: “Which one of you is going out to buy groceries? Two extra mouths to feed out of nowhere, and not a bit of consideration!” Hearing this, my sister smiled at me gently, took out five dollars, and said, “You go. And buy a bag of candied chestnuts while you’re at it. I know you’ve been craving them.” “Okay, we’ll eat them together when I get back!” I ran hurriedly, wanting to come back and have a good heart-to-heart with my sister. Little did I know, that would be our final goodbye. I never forgot Emma Parker. Nor did I forget her brother who aided and abetted her. Apparently, he was the campus heartthrob at his university. I found his photo on the school website and learned about his post-graduation whereabouts from the forum. I closely followed his social media accounts and went to great lengths to guess his preferences. In my junior year of college, I interned at Ryan’s company, deliberately getting close to him, creating an image of a Mary Sue protagonist from a poor background, orphaned, but excellent in academics and working part-time jobs, refusing to bow to fate. Little did he know, I was following a revenge script. I was pretty, smart, and had a good personality. I quickly caught Ryan’s attention and made him actively pursue me. I didn’t love him, so I could also keep him in check. In the second year of our relationship, I proposed breaking up, saying I had fallen for someone else. Ryan didn’t believe it. He started following me. When I returned to the old neighborhood and deliberately provoked my aunt to get angry, deliberately forcing her to lay hands on me, with my cries echoing in the alley, Ryan kicked the door open. He played the role of a hero saving the damsel in distress. At that time, I was covered in bruises. I bit my lip, tears in my eyes, looked at him, and said word by word: “You should go. I don’t want to drag you down.” I had practiced this expression in front of the mirror countless times, not missing a single detail. Even the loose strands of hair falling on my forehead added a touch of beauty to the scene. Pitiful and helpless. Like a desperate and helpless little deer. Ryan’s eyes were full of heartache. He reached out and hugged me, saying firmly: “Don’t say such nonsense. As long as I’m here, no one can bully you.” I buried my face in his chest, the corners of my mouth slightly curled up. The fish had taken the bait. Later, that sentence would come true for Emma. That night, there was a heavy rainstorm with thunder and lightning. I stayed at Ryan’s place. The next day, however, I found a qipao in the kitchen trash can, cut to pieces. My shoulders trembled slightly, and I looked at Emma in disbelief. She explained nervously: “I didn’t cut it! I just threw…” Her voice trailed off. Emma lowered her head guiltily. She had never liked the gift and didn’t think much of me, so she was naturally eager to throw it away. At the time, the qipao was still covered by a pile of fruit peels and paper scraps. I had secretly dug it out in the middle of the night and cut it to pieces myself. Ryan shouted angrily at Emma: “You’ve gone too far! No manners at all!” Hmph, manners? The pot calling the kettle black. I suppressed the cold mockery in my heart, my eyes slightly red, head lowered, and said to Emma in an almost humble tone: “I’m sorry, I didn’t consider it properly this time. I’ll get you something else next time, as an apology.” Ryan was extremely distressed. He put his arm around me and said angrily: “What apology? If anything, she should be apologizing to you!” Mrs. Parker was also disappointed: “Child, how come you’re getting more and more ill-mannered as you grow up? It was Aria’s heartfelt gift after all!” Emma was stunned, feeling wronged. Under Ryan’s stern rebuke, she very reluctantly apologized to me. On the way back, Ryan looked guilty: “Emma has been spoiled by the family, doing whatever she wants. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I shook my head: “This little grievance is nothing to me. Besides, your sister is just a bit spoiled, but she’s not bad-hearted. Ryan, you don’t need to blame her too much.” Ryan stroked my cheek, his eyes filled with even more guilt. After that, I often visited Mrs. Parker. I was always courteous and never empty-handed. When she cooked, I helped cut vegetables. After meals, I took the initiative to wash dishes. I found various ways to praise her culinary skills, invited her to go shopping and watch plays on weekends, shared trivial matters around me, and health tips I saw online. From time to time, I would sigh: “It feels so good to have a mom around.” Every time Mrs. Parker heard this, she couldn’t help but sigh, then hold my hand affectionately and say, “Aria, from now on, you’re a member of the Parker family.” I’m not stupid. I’m not Mrs. Parker’s child, how could she truly care about me? She was just too lonely. Ryan and Emma had grown up and had their own lives. Mr. Parker was a university professor, always either writing papers or doing experiments. Mrs. Parker was getting on in years, with no friends and no social life. She just hoped to have someone to keep her company. Occasionally when we went shopping and met sweet-talking salespeople, they would enthusiastically praise: “Ma’am, you’re so blessed. Your daughter is beautiful and filial, buying you so many things.” It didn’t matter, I was using Ryan’s card anyway. At first, Mrs. Parker would explain that I was her daughter-in-law, but soon, she just smiled and accepted it. One day, I was carrying bags of shopping with Mrs. Parker when we returned home. We turned on the lights to find Emma looking displeased. She quickly glanced at me, then looked at Mrs. Parker, her expression aggrieved, and asked, “Mom, today is my birthday. Do you remember?” There was a birthday cake on the table. The candles had already gone out. Mr. Parker was out of town for an academic conference. Ryan was also away on a business trip and couldn’t return anytime soon. Emma had recently broken up with her boyfriend and had a falling out with her best friend. In the empty house, there was only one forgotten birthday girl. Mrs. Parker was stunned. She had clearly forgotten. But I remembered. That’s why I deliberately took Mrs. Parker to see a comedy show she liked, and deliberately bought tickets for the late show. I smiled and said to Emma, “Of course we remembered. That’s why Mom specifically took me shopping today to buy you lots of new clothes.” Mrs. Parker came to her senses and hurriedly said, “Yes, yes, Emma, try them on quickly.” She looked at me with disgust and asked, “Who do you think you are? What right do you have to interfere in matters between my mother and me? What, you don’t have a mom so you’re trying to steal someone else’s?” Mrs. Parker’s face changed. She frowned, “Emma! How can you talk like that!” Hearing this, I silently put down the bags. As I bent down, I bit my tongue hard, immediately causing tears to flow. When I raised my head again, it was a face streaked with tears. I sniffled and said in a choked voice, “Emma, I know you don’t like me, but shouldn’t there be at least some basic respect? Besides, your birthday is also the day your mother went through hardship to give birth to you. If you can’t be grateful, at least don’t blame your elders, right?” With that, I ignored Mrs. Parker who wanted to wipe my tears and left directly. That night, Ryan called. His voice was lazy as he asked, “Honey, where did you and mom go play today?” I didn’t say anything. I just kept sniffling. There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then his tone became serious: “Are you crying?” I let out a long sigh and said chokingly, “No, I just watched a pretty heartbreaking movie.” “What’s it called?” “… I don’t remember.” Ryan wanted to say something more, but I interrupted him: “Ryan, I’m a bit tired. I’m going to sleep now.” I immediately turned off my phone. The next morning, Ryan appeared at my doorstep. There were faint dark circles under his eyes, clearly he hadn’t slept all night. I put on a surprised expression: “Why did you come back?” Ryan reached out and hugged me, saying guiltily, “Aria, Mom told me everything.” “I scolded Emma harshly. That girl is really hateful. She’s three years older than you, yet not even half as good as you.” I said helplessly, “Let it go, I won’t hold it against her. But Ryan, I was really embarrassed yesterday. I left without saying goodbye to your mom. I feel bad about it now. I want to buy her a necklace.” “It’s okay, my mom feels like she owes you an apology instead.” I pursed my lips and said nothing. Ryan tapped my nose. “Why don’t we buy two necklaces? One for each of you.” He increased the credit limit on his card. I bought two identical diamond necklaces, which were quite expensive. When I gave it to Mrs. Parker, I said, “Mom, as they say, ‘a child’s birth is a mother’s ordeal.’ This is my heartfelt thought. From now on, whenever it’s Ryan’s or Emma’s birthday, I’ll prepare a gift for you too.” She was so moved after hearing this that she couldn’t help but say, “If only Emma was half as thoughtful as you.” On the day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, everyone gathered for a meal. When Emma saw her mother and me wearing matching necklaces, her face turned extremely cold. It wasn’t hard to see that she was eating this meal with a heavy heart. But my appetite was excellent. Mr. Parker was a man of few words. I heard that he was single-mindedly devoted to his research, hoping to win a Nobel Prize in his lifetime, and never cared about anything else. Sure enough, Mr. Parker hurriedly ate a few bites and then left, heading straight for the university laboratory. After the meal, Mrs. Parker suddenly had the urge to show me Ryan’s childhood photos. I smiled and played along for a few sentences, then said, “Mom, I’d like to see Emma’s photos too. She’s so beautiful, she must have been pretty since she was little.” No mother dislikes others praising her children. She hurriedly took out another photo album, explaining as she flipped through it, finally coming to Emma’s high school years. There were two group photos. One was from freshman orientation, and one was from just before graduation. My sister wasn’t in the latter. She originally had a bright future ahead of her, but was forever stuck at seventeen. Mrs. Parker was still chattering on, boasting that Emma often received love letters from boys in high school. Ryan came back from smoking on the balcony and heard this. He sneered, “Emma even chased after the sports representative in her class back then, but unfortunately, he liked the class monitor and rejected her.” Mrs. Parker was surprised, “Oh my, I didn’t know about this. Looks like you two siblings kept quite a few secrets from me.” Ryan’s lips curled into a smile as he continued, “And that class monitor was an ugly girl with a weird personality. It really pissed off your precious daughter at the time.” My sister… was the class monitor. So there was this layer of history. Whether it was suicidal thoughts or jealousy, the impulsiveness of youth was like a bolt of lightning during a tribulation. My sister didn’t dodge it, but Emma successfully cultivated herself. As if on cue, she came out of the shower, drying her wet hair, and said disdainfully, “Just thinking about that short-lived ghost makes me feel unlucky.” I struggled to steady my trembling voice and asked, “Short-lived ghost?” Mrs. Parker suddenly remembered, “Oh, that girl who committed suicide by jumping off a building because her grades dropped? Tsk tsk, with such poor ability to handle pressure, she wouldn’t have amounted to much in society anyway.” Emma sneered, “Mom, you can tell just by looking at her face. Your face reflects your heart, and she had a birthmark on her face, proving her heart was dark too.” What absurd logic! I looked at Emma and raised an eyebrow, “So, you knew her well?” Emma’s face flashed with discomfort. She shrugged, “Anyway, the whole class disliked her.” Then she looked at Ryan meaningfully and said, “In the past, when someone upset me, my brother would always stand on my side. Now it’s different.” Ryan seemed to think of something, his expression stiffened, and he didn’t speak anymore. I lowered my eyes, caressing my sister’s face in the photo, and calmly said, “This girl must have been bullied a lot in class.” Mrs. Parker didn’t seem to care much, “Well, she should look for reasons within herself. Why bully her and not others?” …Well, it’s parents like this that raise children like that. Emma said coldly, “That’s right. Anyway, she deserved to die. If she were alive, she’d just be wasting social resources. She might as well be reborn as a dog.” I took a deep breath, barely suppressing the hatred surging in my heart. Emma suddenly said, “Aria, actually, I have something to give you. It’s in my room.” This caught me by surprise. Once in the bedroom, Emma took out a brand new bottle of perfume. She smiled maliciously, leaned close to me, and said in a low voice, “Use it generously. It might cover up your slutty and poor smell.” Oh, so she called me to the room just to say this. Since that’s the case, I couldn’t let her kindness go to waste. I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. Emma couldn’t bear this insult. After a moment of shock, she angrily said, “You dare to hit me!” With that, she went crazy, grabbing my hair and banging my head against the wardrobe repeatedly. I didn’t fight back. The commotion was loud. Mrs. Parker and Ryan rushed in, quickly pulling her away. Ryan shielded me and shouted, “Emma Parker, what the fuck is wrong with you!” Mrs. Parker was also furious, “Emma, how could you hit someone!” Emma pointed at the red mark on her face and cried, “Aria hit me first! I was being kind and giving her perfume, thinking that since we’re going to be family, we should get along. But who knew she wouldn’t appreciate it and even mocked the gift for being cheap! Mom, do you think I would slap myself?” “This…” Mrs. Parker looked at me in confusion. I wiped the blood from my forehead and nodded, “That’s right, I hit her first, and I did say the gift was cheap.” Under Emma’s astonished gaze, I raised my face and said solemnly, “It’s not my fault that my parents died. I’m not a harbinger of doom like you say, nor did I ever intend to bring misfortune to your family.” At this point, I became increasingly choked up, “You try to get rid of me with a bottle of perfume and tell me to get lost. Who could bear such humiliation?” I looked at Ryan, tears streaming down my face, “Ryan, I’m not a harbinger of doom. I want to have parents too…” Emma was stunned, hurriedly trying to explain, “She’s lying! I didn’t say she was a harbinger of doom! I didn’t…” “Slap!” This time, it was Ryan who hit her. He hit her hard, causing her to fall to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Emma held her face, looking at Ryan in disbelief, “Brother… you hit me?” “You’d rather believe an outsider than your own sister?!” Ryan looked at her with extreme disgust and said coldly, “That kind of filthy talk does sound like your style.” Emma cried bitterly, feeling wronged. She shouted at Mrs. Parker, “Mom! Tell me who’s right and who’s wrong!” But Mrs. Parker just frowned and said nothing. As Emma cried, her face gradually showed helplessness,anger, and intense hatred.
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