What’s the big deal? Couldn’t he have just told me the new password?
Annoyed, I stood in the shade, waiting for Ethan.
Fifteen minutes later, Ethan came rushing over, and I noticed a girl following behind him, walking at a leisurely pace.
So that’s why he said “we.” He’s dating someone.
The girl, Madison “Maddie” Cole, had flawless, fair skin and perfectly applied makeup. But as she walked over, she shot me an unfriendly look, as if I had interrupted her date and offended her.
Sensing that I was on the verge of exploding, Ethan quickly handed me an ice–cold Coke.
“Sis, this is Maddie. Maddie, my girlfriend. She’s been staying here for a few days.”
I took the Coke, and it cooled me down a bit, but the second I realized my brother had his girlfriend staying at the house without even telling me, my anger reignited.
Ethan, knowing my temper all too well, immediately added, “Maddie, this is my sister, Harper. She’s in the finance department at school.”
Maddie clearly didn’t want to talk. It wasn’t until Ethan nudged her that she gave me a half–hearted nod as a greeting.
The atmosphere was incredibly awkward.
Ethan broke the tension by punching in the new password and opening the door.
The new code was clearly a birthdate. It wasn’t mine, Ethan’s, or our parents‘. It had to be Maddie’s.
The previous code had been set by me, but Maddie had apparently found it too complicated and had Ethan change it to her birthday.
When Ethan explained this, I couldn’t help myself and punched him in the shoulder.
This idiot gave the house code to someone outside the family, and not only that, he changed it to something she could remember?
Ethan, sensing my irritation, resorted to his usual tactic–playing the pitiful little brother.
Fine. I’ll let it go this time since Ethan seems to like her.
After all, it was our first time meeting. Who knows if we’ll even see each other again? No need to make things too hostile.
But as soon as I stepped into the living room, I was in complete shock.
Can someone explain why everything was pink?
I had hired an interior designer to create a sleek, minimalist look. Now, the walls were covered with tacky, country–style paintings and posters. Cheap, mismatched decorations hung everywhere, like something out of a bargain bin at a discount store.
I swallowed my anger and walked inside. Ethan followed behind me but kept quiet.
I glanced at the staircase and saw my books scattered all over the steps. The table had an empty cup of instant noodles on it, with one of my expensive hardcover books underneath it, being used as a coaster.
What enraged me the most was that the upstairs suite–my room–had become their bedroom.
The second floor had a shared bathroom and a master suite with a walk–in closet and private bathroom, which was originally mine. Now it was a complete mess, and they had replaced the bedding with a hideous, bright red set.
Surveying the scene, I saw that my vanity, which had been lined with my collection of skincare products and makeup, was now nearly empty.
“Where’s all my stuff?” I asked, pointing to the now–bare wall where my perfumes and lipsticks had once been neatly displayed.
