1 For a year, my roommate Rachel and I waged a quiet war over Tristan, the campus golden boy. I woke at five for his favorite pastries. Rachel spent a fortune on a Times Square billboard. I worked three jobs for his birthday sneakers. Rachel gave him a Porsche. Seeing my exhausted eyes, Rachel sneered. Give it up, Kelly. Your broke devotion means nothing. I would trade my eight billionaire brothers for him. Can you? A leaked DNA test exposed her. She was a fraud. I was the true heiress, finally home. At the estate gates, I still clutched the cheap scarf I had knitted for Tristan. Inside, eight men awaited. A Wall Street titan, an aloof star, a surgical genius. Staring at these perfect faces, my obsession shattered. Why pine for a college boy? I was born to be their sister. Tristan was merely a footnote. With eight masterpieces before me, who needed a boyfriend? “Kelly, so what if they brought you back? You can never wash off that cheap, poverty-stricken stench. Tristan won’t even spare you a second glance!” Rachel’s shrill voice still echoed in the back of my mind. I stepped fully into the foyer. There was no melodramatic, wealthy family hostility waiting for me. Just eight men staring at me with quiet intensity. The man at the front wore a tailored black suit, his sharp features exuding absolute authority. “You’re Kelly?” I shook my head slowly. “My name is Kelly Hickey.” The eldest brother paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes, before he gave a firm nod. “I am Arthur Hickey. Your oldest brother.” His voice softened. “Welcome home.” Beside him, a man with a chillingly handsome, unapproachable vibe offered a slight nod. “Second brother, Rowan.” “Third brother, Oliver.” A man in a pristine white doctor’s coat massaged his own wrist gently. The rest of the brothers introduced themselves down the line, ending with a rebellious-looking guy leaning against the wall who let out a soft huff. “I’m your eighth brother, Zane.” Eight impossibly attractive men, bound to me by blood, just crashed right into my reality. I looked down at the handmade scarf in my hands, then back up at these eight incredible brothers. Tristan couldn’t even compare to a single strand of their hair. Without a second thought, I tossed the scarf straight into the nearest designer trash can. My eyes sparkled as I looked at Arthur. “Arthur, do you have a headache?” He froze, his fingers instinctively dropping from where they had been pressing into his temples. “An old habit. It’s nothing.” “How can it be nothing?” Rule number one of being the ultimate sister: A brother’s pain is my pain. I immediately poured a glass of warm water, pressed it into his hands, and guided him to the plush leather sofa. “I learned deep tissue therapy at one of my old jobs. Let me help you ease the tension, okay?” Just then, Rachel strutted through the front door. She playfully shook her wrist, showing off a glittering crystal bracelet with a sickly sweet smile. “Tristan insisted on buying me this bracelet today. I told him it was too much, but he just wouldn’t listen.” I didn’t even spare her a glance. Tristan buying gifts? What did that have to do with me? I only cared about fixing my brother’s headache. Meeting my stubborn gaze, Arthur finally took a sip of the water and sighed. “You don’t need to massage me. You just got home. Go rest.” He set the glass down. “Since you’re back, just settle in and breathe. If you are missing anything, tell me.” The words were spoken so lightly, but they crashed into my heart with the force of a tidal wave. A sharp, burning sensation surged at the back of my nose. I finally had a brother. Countless times in the past, I had stood in the pouring rain, watching classmates get picked up by their older brothers with warm smiles and dry umbrellas, while I had to run through the mud with a heavy backpack dragging me down. Now, someone who shared my blood was asking me what I needed. I blinked hard, forcing back the wetness in my eyes. “I’m not tired.” “Just sit still, Arthur. I promise you’ll feel better in ten minutes.” My fingers found the exact pressure points on his neck and shoulders. I had learned these techniques working at a shady spa just so I could earn extra cash to buy Tristan those stupid shoes. I never imagined I’d be using the skill to comfort my own flesh and blood. Under my steady hands, Arthur’s rigid posture slowly melted into the sofa. The other brothers exchanged surprised glances. Ignored by everyone, Rachel pivoted and latched onto Oliver. “Oliver, Tristan’s stomach is really acting up today. Could you write him a prescription?” Oliver continued massaging his own wrist, his expression cool. “Rachel, I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon. I don’t do gastroenterology. Tell him to book a regular hospital appointment.” Rachel pouted, ready to whine again. I immediately stopped massaging Arthur and looked at the doctor. “Oliver, what’s wrong with your wrist?” He looked momentarily caught off guard. “Just occupational strain from long surgeries. It’s fine.” I spun around and bolted toward the kitchen. By the time I came back, Rachel was already throwing a fit. “Tristan is in so much pain he can’t even eat, how can you be so cold-blooded!” Oliver’s face darkened, but before he could speak, I marched right past Rachel and firmly pressed a steaming hot herbal compress against his wrist. “Don’t you dare yell at my brother! Do you have any idea how important a lead surgeon’s hands are?” Rachel glared at me, her teeth grinding together. “Stop acting so high and mighty, Kelly! You didn’t have this attitude when you were following him around like a stray dog!” “Now you flip the script the second you get some money. It just proves I’m the only one who truly loves him!” She stormed off, muttering toxic complaints under her breath. I kept my head down, carefully adjusting the heat pack on Oliver’s skin. Oliver stared at me, the deep crease between his brows slowly smoothing out. For the first three months at the Hickey estate, I was a blur of motion. Mornings meant brewing a restorative stomach-soothing tea for Arthur. Evenings were for applying heat therapy to Oliver’s joints. Right before bed, I’d set up specialized aromatherapy diffusers for Rowan’s insomnia. As for Rachel and Tristan? Sorry, my schedule was fully booked. One morning, as I walked into the lecture hall, whispers erupted around me. “I heard Kelly got taken back by the Hickey family.” “So what? Rachel still gets chauffeured in luxury cars while Kelly takes the subway. Plus, Tristan still hates her.” I tuned out the noise, took a seat in the back corner, and pulled out my textbook on Advanced Kinesiology. Sebastian, my seventh brother, was having flare-ups with his cervical spine. I needed to memorize some new physical therapy techniques. Barely a page in, Tristan slid into the seat next to mine. He was wearing the limited-edition sneakers I had bled myself dry to buy, flashing a smile he probably practiced in the mirror. “Kelly, I haven’t seen you around lately.” I looked up, staring at him with absolute zero emotion. How did I never notice how asymmetrical his eyes were? And his nose bridge was incredibly flat. He didn’t possess even half the raw magnetism of my fifth brother, Jax. “Do you need something?” My voice was ice. Tristan looked genuinely taken aback by my tone. “I know you just moved back to the Hickey house, and it might be hard to adjust. If you’re feeling wronged, you can always talk to me.” He slid a ridiculously expensive chocolate bar across the desk. “This is your favorite brand. I went out of my way to get it for you.” I stared at the chocolate, feeling utterly empty. In the past, a crumb of attention from him would have kept me high for days. Now, it was just pathetic. “No thanks. I don’t like sweets anymore.” I shoved the chocolate back to his side of the table. “Tristan, unless someone is dying, don’t bother me. I have a life.” He froze, an ugly shade of red creeping up his neck. Right on cue, Rachel practically glided into the classroom and threw her arms around him. “Babe, were you looking for me?” She shot me a triumphant, venomous glare. “Kelly, he just pities you. Don’t go getting delusional.” I genuinely didn’t hear the rest of her sentence, too busy highlighting a diagram of spinal nerves. “Rachel, don’t talk like that,” Tristan scolded weakly, though he made no effort to remove her hands from his chest. Rachel’s ego only inflated. “Jax lent his limited-edition supercar to Tristan today! We’re going for a coastal drive later.” My highlighter stopped dead on the page. Jax treated his cars better than most people treat their children. He didn’t even let the valet touch the steering wheel. How did Rachel manage to get the keys for Tristan? A knot of anxiety tightened in my chest, but it had nothing to do with jealousy. I was terrified for Jax’s car. Tristan was an absolute menace on the road. When I got home that afternoon, my fears were confirmed. Jax was sitting on the living room sofa, his face resembling a thundercloud. “Jax, did the car get scratched?” He didn’t say a word, which was answer enough. I jogged down to the massive underground garage. Sure enough, a nasty, jagged scratch marred the custom paint job on the passenger side. Back when I worked at an auto detailing shop, I handled surface-level damage like this all the time. I grabbed the premium compound and polish from the garage shelves. Apply, buff, blend. In less than ten minutes, the scratch was a ghost. Jax came down and stared at me, dumbfounded. “You know how to do this?” “Picked it up at one of my old jobs.” I wiped my hands on a microfiber cloth. “Jax, if you cherish something, don’t let outsiders who don’t understand its value touch it. Don’t lend your babies out anymore.” He fell silent for a long time. Finally, he pressed a clean wet wipe into my palm. “Yeah. You have good hands. Thanks… little sister.” My head snapped up, my heart skipping a massive beat. That was the very first time Jax had called me his sister! I felt like I was floating, my brother-complex radar screaming at maximum volume. “Anytime! Whatever you need, Jax, I’ve got your back!” Watching my beaming face, the hard, cold lines around his mouth finally broke into a genuine smile. During dinner, Rachel boldly suggested that Sebastian make a guest appearance to endorse Tristan’s upcoming amateur art exhibit. “Sebastian, Tristan really needs this industry exposure. Please just help him out,” she begged. Sebastian was a reclusive soul. He despised networking and loathed the media. When no one spoke up, Rachel’s eyes filled with calculated tears. “Please…” Sebastian set his silverware down, a deep crease forming between his brows. Before he could even utter a word of refusal, I snapped. “Sebastian’s cervical spine is acting up. He can’t stand around for hours.” I glared across the table. “And what does Tristan’s little vanity project have to do with my brother?” Rachel shot me a death glare. “You’re just bitter because he chose me over you!” “Tristan is overflowing with talent. If Sebastian goes, it’ll be two geniuses joining forces!” “Joining forces?” I let out a harsh, barking laugh. “Tristan paints like a blindfolded toddler. You think that garbage deserves to even exist in the same room as Sebastian’s fine art?” “You!” Rachel trembled with rage. “Enough.” Arthur massaged his temples. “Sebastian, it is your call.” Sebastian looked at Rachel’s furious face, then shifted his gaze to me. “My health hasn’t been great lately. I won’t be attending.” Rachel’s face drained of color. She stared at him in pure disbelief. I felt a rush of absolute victory. I picked up a perfectly braised short rib and placed it in Felix’s bowl. “Felix, you need to eat more.” The usually aloof music producer looked at the meat in his bowl, the corners of his lips curling up ever so slightly. “Thanks.” Over the next few months, Rachel threw a new tantrum almost weekly. She cried and screamed when Rowan refused to throw his studio’s weight behind Tristan’s audition. She was caught red-handed stealing Felix’s priceless vintage vinyl records to impress Tristan’s indie friends. Whatever tolerance the brothers once held for her was completely eroded by her relentless, toxic obsession with that boy. Yet she remained entirely oblivious, her arrogance only growing. “Kelly, I haven’t seen you throwing yourself at Tristan lately,” she mocked me in the hallway one afternoon. “Finally realized you’re too trashy for him?” Recently, she had stooped to a new low, forging Arthur’s signature to secure millions in corporate sponsorships for Tristan’s “start-up.” Tristan, being the parasite he was, blew through the cash in weeks. The sponsors demanded answers from Hickey Corp. Arthur hit the roof and ordered Rachel into his study. I was in the kitchen simmering a nutrient broth for Silas, listening to the muffled screaming from upstairs without a shred of sympathy. Moments later, Rachel sprinted down the stairs, tears streaming down her face. “This is all your fault, Kelly!” she shrieked. “You snitched to Arthur! You’re trying to ruin Tristan’s reputation!” I looked at her with pure ice in my veins. “Rachel, if you’re clinically insane, go see a doctor. Tristan is a failure who can’t hold onto money. How is that my problem?” “Liar!” she screamed. “He isn’t like that! You’re just jealous that he loves me, so you framed him!” The commotion drew our parents out. Rachel instantly threw herself into our mother’s arms, hyperventilating. “Mom! Just because she can’t have him, she’s spreading rumors and tattling to Arthur! Now Tristan is drowning in debt!” Mom’s heart broke for her. She turned a severe, disappointed glare on me. “Kelly, are you really playing these dirty little tricks behind our backs over some college boy?” I took a slow, deep breath. “I have absolutely no idea what Tristan does with his money.” “Stop lying to my face!” Mom raised her voice. “Rachel has had a pure heart since she was a child. She wouldn’t make this up. You just got back here, why is your heart so full of venom?” I stared at the heavy disappointment in my mother’s eyes. “I will say it exactly one more time. I didn’t do it. Believe what you want.” Without another word, I picked up the tray and walked straight up to the sixth brother’s room. “Silas, I made you some broth. And I got these new active noise-canceling headphones. Try them out, let me know if they help you focus.” Silas took the bowl and the sleek black case. “How did you know my old ones broke?” I smiled softly. Rule number two of being the ultimate sister: Know every tiny detail about your brothers’ lives. By the next day, vicious rumors that I had framed Tristan out of spite were flying around campus. “Look, that’s her. If she can’t have him, she destroys him. Psycho.” “How did the Hickey family end up with trash like that? Rachel is way classier.” I walked through the whispers like they were made of air. At lunch, Tristan blocked my path in the cafeteria, wearing an expression of deep, wounded sorrow. “Kelly, why are you doing this to me? Even if your feelings faded, you didn’t have to push me toward bankruptcy.” Looking at his incredibly punchable, hypocritical face, I felt a wave of nausea. “Are you going to stand there and tell me you didn’t blow that money yourself?” His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second. “That was just a bad investment! Why are you so obsessed with ruining me?” I let out a sharp laugh. “Get out of my way, you stray dog.” I shoved past his shoulder and marched out of the cafeteria. When I got home, Rachel was curled up next to Mom on the sofa. The second she saw me, she flinched and shrank back, playing the terrified victim. Mom’s expression hardened further. “Where have you been, Kelly? You couldn’t even bother to come home for dinner?” “I was at the library.” I bypassed the living room entirely, heading straight to the kitchen to prep a fresh herbal compress for Sebastian. They could think whatever they wanted. I only cared that Sebastian’s spine got treated on time. Rachel sniffled, her voice dripping with venom. “Who knows if she was out meeting some shady thugs. Mom, look at her attitude…” After months of relentless begging, weaponizing Mom’s guilt, and exploiting twenty years of sibling history, Rowan finally caved and agreed to bring Tristan onto a reality TV show. As a devoted sister, there was zero chance I was letting Rowan go alone. I marched right into the production crew as an assistant. “Babe, don’t be nervous. Rowan is here, no one will dare mess with you,” Rachel cooed in the green room. Tristan patted her hair. “I know. Don’t worry.” I clutched a thermos tightly to my chest, scanning the room entirely for Rowan. He was in the makeup chair. I set the thermos down in front of him. “Rowan, it’s chamomile and valerian root. Drink it while it’s hot, it’ll help with the anxiety.” He had barely taken the cup when Rachel dragged Tristan into the space. “Rowan! It’s Tristan’s first time on a variety show, you have to guide him!” Rowan frowned. After the sponsorship disaster, he had less than zero respect for the kid. He offered a noncommittal grunt. Once the cameras rolled, Tristan was an absolute catastrophe. He refused to follow the script, constantly interrupted to steal screen time, and deliberately dragged his feet during team challenges. It all went to hell during the high-altitude obstacle course. Paralyzed by fear, Tristan didn’t just fail to secure Rowan’s harness during a transition—he panicked and shoved Rowan hard. If Rowan hadn’t possessed god-tier reflexes and grabbed the safety line with his bare hands, he would have plummeted. The set erupted in chaos. The director screamed to cut the feed. Rowan was lowered down by the panicked crew. His face was chalk-white, the skin on his palms and wrists torn to shreds by the friction of the rope. I sprinted through the crowd, dropping to my knees with antiseptic spray and bandages. “Rowan! Are you okay? God, does it hurt?” He looked at my trembling hands and terrified eyes. The hardness in his gaze cracked. “I’m fine. Don’t panic.” Leaked footage of the incident hit the internet, and Tristan was slaughtered in the comments. He hid in his apartment, too terrified to show his face. But barely twenty-four hours later, the narrative violently flipped. [Who the hell does Rowan Hickey think he is? Bullying rookies just because he’s a mega-star?] [Poor Tristan. He almost died and still had to smile for the cameras.] [Cancel Rowan! Get this toxic trash out of the industry!] Inside the Hickey mansion, the atmosphere was absolute zero. Our parents were livid. “What is the meaning of this?” Rachel pointed a trembling finger at me, tears streaming down her perfectly contoured face. “Dad, Mom, she did it! I swear!” “She sabotaged the safety gear and paid troll farms to smear Rowan’s name, all just to destroy Tristan and frame him for hurting her brother!” I stared at her, my mind blanking at the sheer audacity. “Are you psychotic? Why would I ever hurt Rowan?!” “You did it!” she shrieked. “I saw you sneaking into the prop room! You are pure evil, Kelly!” The house staff whispered nervously in the background. “The real daughter is terrifying. Hurting her own brother.” “Miss Rachel is too innocent for this house.” Smack. Mom’s hand connected violently with my cheek. “You have disappointed me for the last time!” she screamed. “Has Rowan not been good enough to you? How could you try to kill him!” I held my burning cheek, the tears pooling hot and fast in my eyes. Right on cue, Tristan stepped out from the hallway shadows. “Kelly, I know you only did this to get my attention.” He sighed like a martyr. “If you just admit what you did, I’ll go online and ask the fans to forgive you.” I looked at his sickeningly fake face. I looked at Rachel, squeezing out crocodile tears. A surge of pure, unadulterated rage erupted from the very core of my soul, drowning out everything else. I lunged forward, grabbed Rachel by the collar of her expensive blouse, and slapped her across the face with everything I had. “You can insult me! You can call me poor! You can steal my life!” “But you will NEVER touch my brothers!” “What the fuck is Tristan? He isn’t even fit to wipe Rowan’s shoes! And you bet my brother’s life on a stunt just to protect this absolute garbage?!” Dead silence fell over the sprawling living room. All eight brothers froze in place. Rachel clutched her rapidly bruising cheek, staring at me like I was a monster. “You hit me?” “I hit a heartless, backstabbing parasite!” I roared. Dad surged to his feet, his face purple. “You ungrateful brat! You commit a crime and then dare to assault your sister?!” He raised his hand high, aiming a brutal strike at my face. I didn’t blink. I didn’t dodge. I stared him down. But a millisecond before the blow landed, a strong, pale hand wrapped like an iron vice around my father’s wrist. It was Rowan. He slowly turned his head, looking at my bloodshot eyes, and spoke with terrifying, absolute clarity. “Dad, I believe her.”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “534512”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply