Billionaire's Perfect Revenge [18+]

EIGHTEEN

When I revealed to mom about the new place I had planned to buy, mom was ecstatic. Although Brandon seemed a little sore at the disclosure. He grumbled about being used to home-cooked food and that he wasn't sure if moving out this soon was a good idea.

But I knew it was more than that.

After completing his graduation, the first thing Brandon did was leave his home. Despite his parents' best efforts to call him back, he stubbornly refused to step back into their house. Not many people knew, but Brandon's parents had fallen out of love long before he turned twelve. He didn't like to talk much about them, but I had seen him growing frustrated and reluctant to return home after school.

He used to stay at our place for as long as possible and always ate whatever mom fed him. I tried to talk to him about his problems, but he always brushed me off or circled the topic back at me. He was good at distracting, and because I was the person who ran more on emotions than my brain cells, I always became the prey of his persuasion.

I still remember the day when he came to my home drunk as a skunk. It was his birthday and his parents had thrown a grand party, inviting all the important people in town. But he did not even care to show up. He was so drunk that he could barely walk.

That night, he couldn't hold back whatever he had been swallowing down for so long. He cried for hours. Even after mom had gone to sleep, we sat on the roof. It was the first time he opened his heart to me. Shared his sorrow and the struggle he faced living with two parents who had nothing to do with each other. The only reason they were staying together was less for his sake and more for the warning by his grandfather to toss them out of his will if they even thought about separating. Brandon admitted his parents were miserable together. They could barely stand each other, barely ate a meal together. And even though he wasn't at fault, he always felt guilty for being the reason for their unhappiness.

It was also the same night when we almost kissed, well, before he threw up all over my dress. But neither of us talked about it. Letting it rust in the past as if it never happened.

So, when I told him about my plan to move out, he did his best to reason with me. Tossing lame excuses left and right, trying to convince me why moving out was such an awful idea.

The truth was: he had gotten used to us, used to not being alone.

Perhaps that was the reason I agreed to let mom stay a little longer with him. He had literally begged me for it. And after everything he had done for us, I couldn't say no.

"I can't imagine Brandon in a pigtail—I just can't," Armonica cracked up, gazing at an old photo album that I found earlier this month with the rest of my packed stuff. "He's so cute, though. And he's even blushing."

Brandon, on the other hand, looked like he wanted nothing more than a hole to shove himself into. The photograph was of the third grade and he was obsessed with having long hair. His were even longer than mine.