Chapter 2

At that moment, Alex's bright voice came from upstairs: "Mom, look! Does this new outfit second sister got me look good?"

The sound was like magic.

Mom's anger melted away like snow.

"Coming, sweetie!"

She walked a few steps, then suddenly turned back and yanked me up from the floor.

"Zachary, listen up! This home had Alex first, then you. Blood means nothing! Don't think being biological lets you do whatever you want."

My head lolled back weakly, eyes half-open, pupils dilated and lifeless, staring at the ceiling.

She stared into my vacant eyes, as if searching for submission or fear.

But I was dead, no reaction to give.

That seemed to enrage her.

She gripped my collar fiercely: "Know your place! Try scheming against Alex again... and you can crawl back to your countryside hole!"

She let go.

My head hit the ground with a thud.

She didn't look back, clacking up the stairs in her heels.

Second sister kicked me: "Who are you putting on this dead act for during New Year's? Enough already."

Third sister grinned and pulled out her phone, snapping a photo.

"For the memories. Next time you fake it, I'll show everyone what the real Thorne heir is like behind closed doors."

Last was eldest sister.

She stood there watching me for a long time, so long I thought she'd notice something.

Finally, she sighed.

With obvious reluctance, she dragged me back to my room and dumped me on the bed.

Before leaving, she paused at the door, offering like charity: "Zachary, if your finger hurts too much, come find me. Don't bother Alex."

"I can take you to the hospital without the wheel. But medical bills come from next month's allowance. You caused the trouble, you deal with it. Got it?"

I replied over and over: "Thank you, but I'm dead now. I don't need the hospital..."

But she'd never hear me.

The door closed.

Outside, fireworks bloomed, firecrackers popped, full of cheer.

Next door, families laughed joyfully, so lively.

Only me, floating alone in the air, dead and unknown.

I'm sorry.

In my heart, I whispered to the me from three years ago, stepping into this house, gazing up at the crystal chandelier, thinking I'd found home.

You see.

Alex is the perfect good son.

And me, even biological.

To them, just a stranger with the "real heir" title.

The next morning, Dad rushed in, travel-worn.

He expanded business overseas year-round, only home for holidays, carrying two gift boxes—one big, one small.

"Dad!" Alex fluttered into his arms like a happy butterfly.

"What goodies did you bring me this time?"

Dad ruffled his hair, scanning the living room: "Where's Zachary? He usually brings my slippers."

Mom was brewing tea, pausing: "He had to fight with Alex during New Year's. I said a few words yesterday, so he's probably sulking in his room."

Dad frowned but didn't press.

He pointed to the boxes: "New Year's gifts for the kids. The big one's that new limited Lego race car set—called in favors to get it. The small one's... a souvenir keychain from the airport."

A Lego worth thousands versus a five-buck keychain. The gap was laughable.

"Dad! This one's mine, right?" Alex pounced on the fancy big box.

Dad gently scolded: "Alex, don't be silly. You know we value fairness here."

Solemnly, he placed the wheel on the coffee table: "Old rules. Red for the big one, black for the small."

Mom yelled toward my room: "Someone's always whining we're biased? Not coming to spin? Then I'll let your brother go, and don't come crying later that we're ganging up!"

"I'll spin! Anyway, it's always the same." Alex bounced over eagerly.

His finger flicked, and the pointer began to spin.

Dad watched smiling, Mom doting, sisters taking it for granted.

Only floating me, tears streaming—turns out, like Mom said, I was bad and stubborn.

Even dead, I still foolishly hoped for one red spin.

Unwilling, I hovered by the wheel, trying to nudge it, blowing with all my might.

Maybe heaven took pity on me. The pointer slowed, wobbling toward black...

Then stopped.

The living room went quiet.

I froze, then jumped in joy—oh my God!

Red was finally mine!

But I was dead.

Burying that expensive toy with me would be a waste. Better to let Alex have it.

I thought.

Maybe it really was just my bad luck all along.

Had I misunderstood them?

Maybe they weren't biased after all.

Mom suddenly checked Alex's wrist, shocked: "No wonde! Sweetheart, where's the magnet in your bracelet? It's gone?"

I felt struck by lightning.

Magnet?

So, Alex's bracelet... had a magnet hidden inside?

Three whole years, over a thousand blacks.

I'd knelt and prayed countless times, practiced secretly late at night, believing it was my cursed fate, gods despising me, me undeserving of any favor...

"...I don't know." Alex pouted, aggrieved. "Dad, since Zachary's not here, can... this not count?"

Dad looked conflicted.

Then, the sisters exchanged glances.

Eldest sister got it, stepped forward, and gently nudged—the pointer landed firmly on red.

"See, it's clearly red."

Her tone flat.

"Yay!" Alex cheered. "Thanks, Dad! Thanks, sis!"

Dad nodded smiling: "Looks like the gods favor our Alex."

Mom smiled too: "Yeah, Alex is always blessed."

The family basked in harmony, as if that little "glitch" never happened.

A massive wave of sorrow and absurdity swallowed me.

So in this family, rules weren't just flexible—even luck could be rigged.