I'll Be Good, Like You Wanted

It is my third year in prison after taking the blame for the adopted son of the Ingram family, Seth Ingram. Because of my good behavior, I am released early and return home ahead of time. The whole family is celebrating Seth's birthday. When my sister, Sheryl Ingram, sees me in my cheap tracksuit, a hint of disgust appears on her face. My fiancee, Isabella Kennedy, who once promised to wait for me, speaks up and says she'll put me in some storage room for now. "Seth has a weak body. You just got out of prison, Matthew. You need to stay away from him so that the germs you carry won't get to him." I don't argue or make a scene. I do as I'm told without objection. I understand that I've long lost my place in this family. Sheryl's hand pauses as she cuts the cake. "I thought you'd make a fuss like you used to. Looks like prison did you some good. You've become much more sensible." I force a smile. The cramping in my stomach seems to start acting up again. I don't argue back. I've accepted my fate. Chapter 1 I stood awkwardly in the living room, not knowing what to do with myself. I was still wearing the cheap tracksuit the prison had returned to me. The pant legs were too short, exposing my ankles that had multiple scars. The moment Sheryl Ingram saw me, the smile on her face froze. Disgust flickered across her face. "Why are you back today? What a buzzkill," she sneered. Isabella Kennedy waved at me dismissively. "It's fine that you're back, but don't just stand there. Seth isn't in good health. He gets sick easily. You just got out of prison, and you've got germs clinging to you. Go stay in the storage room for now." That room was dark and damp. Sunlight never shone into it. My expression remained unchanged. That was fine. At least it was more spacious than the cell I'd spent time in, and there wouldn't be rats crawling over my feet. Before I could respond, Seth said in a weak voice, "Sheryl, Isabella, do you think Matthew is mad at me? Maybe I should just give my room to him…" Sheryl's voice was filled with concern. "Don't be ridiculous! You're weak and can't handle the cold. How could you possibly stay somewhere like that?" Hearing this, Isabella looked at me even more frostily. "Matthew, you just got back and you're already trying to force Seth out of his room. Looks like those three years in prison didn't teach you anything. You're still as selfish as ever!" When someone wanted to condemn another, they'd find an excuse no matter what. I smirked and asked hoarsely, "Did I ever say I wanted his room?" Isabella's expression stiffened. She was about to say something, but I had already lowered my head and said, "Thank you, Ms. Kennedy. Thank you, Sheryl. I'll go to my room now." I turned to leave, but Sheryl's hesitant voice came from behind me. "Wait." She looked at my thin, gaunt figure and seemed to feel a flicker of pity. "If you can't get used to staying in the storage room, I can have someone—" I shook my head and cut her off. "No need." Three years in prison had taught me the truth. In this family, I was an unwanted extra and a replacement who could be sacrificed at any time. "Why aren't you making a scene anymore? I'm your sister. If you're having trouble, you can always come to me," Sheryl said, her expression darkening slightly. Make a scene, she said? I'd already made a scene once. And where had it gotten me? I looked down and said quietly, "Didn't you say three years ago that from then on, you wouldn't acknowledge me as your brother?" Back then, she'd said the same thing when she'd forced me to take the blame for Seth. "Matthew, if you weren't so narrow-minded and hadn't refused to accept Seth, how could he have gotten drunk and driven into someone? You should go to prison in his place! I never should have brought you back to the Ingram family. From this day on, you're no brother of mine!" The memories overlapped with the present. For a moment, Sheryl's eyes went distant. A trace of sadness that she didn't even realize was there surfaced in them. But in the next second, her gaze turned cold. "You just don't know how to quit while you're ahead." It was the same look she'd given me three years ago when she'd sent me to prison in Seth's place. My heart still ached faintly. I silently turned and walked to the storage room. There was nothing inside except a cold, hard bed. It didn't even have a window. Not long after, Jordan Neal, the butler, came over with a blanket. He tossed it onto the bed, sending up a cloud of dust that made me cough. Jordan said, "Things aren't what they used to be, Mr. Matthew. The blanket is old, but it's made of good cotton. You'll have to make do." "Okay," I replied in a soft voice. Jordan rolled his eyes. "What an eyesore," he muttered as he walked away. I gave a bitter laugh. I was the Ingrams' biological son, but this was what my life had become. I found it ironically funny. But if it weren't for Sheryl's blind, unconditional favoritism, would I ever have ended up like this? Chapter 2 Life in prison was anything but easy. On my second day behind bars, a new inmate who ran the cell block showed up. He grabbed me by the head and pinned my face against the floor. The stench of urine burned my nose. In a menacing tone, he said, "You're Matthew Jensen, aren't you?" He planted his foot on the back of my hand and ground it into the floor. "Someone paid us to make sure those pretty eyes of yours never see daylight again." I stared at him in terror. "Who? I'm taking the blame for Seth—" "The precious little son of the Ingram family, of course." The man held up a toothbrush handle he'd sharpened to a point with a vicious grin on his face. "He said if you're ruined in here, you'd never be able to compete with him again." A searing pain exploded through my head. I screamed and curled up on the floor, writhing in agony. Blood poured from my left eye until it became nothing but a mangled mass of flesh. The prison clinic gave me some rushed treatment afterward and removed the damaged eye. The wound became infected. I ran a dangerously high fever for three days and nearly died. Those days were brutal, but there were still good people around me, like Gabriel Chapple. When the men Seth had bribed were beating and kicking me, Gabriel had thrown himself over me without hesitation, shielding me with his frail body. He pressed his lips tightly and said to me, "Stay alive, Matthew. As long as you live, there's hope." Unfortunately, I was released early. I didn't have any way to contact him, and I had no idea how I would ever see him again. The next morning, I woke up from hunger. My stomach felt like it was on fire. It was an old problem I'd brought home from prison. I had a severe stomach ulcer. I walked into the dining room to find the table covered with an elaborate breakfast. Sheryl casually filled a plate with shrimp cakes that had gone slightly cold and pushed it toward me without even looking at me. She said, "Seth wanted these, so Isabella went all the way across town to buy them first thing this morning. He doesn't eat much and can't finish them. Don't waste food. You can have what's left." Seth shot me a smug glance as he boasted, "You should try them. Isabella went all the way to Royal Delights downtown just to get these. She waited in line for three hours." Steam rose from the cakes, making my left eye throb. The artificial eye seemed to rub dryly against the inside of my socket, bringing tears to my eyes. After I was brought back to the Ingram family, I'd once had some genuinely happy days. At first, when Sheryl saw my rough, calloused fingers, her eyes had reddened as she swore she would make up for everything I'd suffered. She had said, "I'll always have your back, Matthew. Anyone who dares bully you has to answer to me." When I mentioned I wondered what snow was like, she'd chartered a private jet to Hefrane that very night. When I casually complimented a designer's clothes, she'd bought every new piece from the latest collection and had them delivered to my room the next day. Isabella had been just as gentle. She was born into privilege, but she'd bend down to tie my shoelaces and make me chowder clumsily whenever I was sick. If I'd told her I wanted the stars, she would've found a way to climb a ladder and pluck them from the sky for me. Our engagement came naturally. She'd held my hand and promised, "Matthew, I'll always be by your side. I'll never betray you." But everything changed because of Seth's repeated attempts to turn us against each other and frame me. He smashed the emerald pendant our mother had left behind. Then, he cried and claimed I'd tried to steal it from him. Without bothering to find out the truth, Sheryl slapped me across the face and called me an ungrateful wretch who didn't know his place. One night during a thunderstorm, Seth pretended to be sick. He tricked Isabella into going to him, claiming he was terrified of thunder. It had been my birthday. Isabella had promised she'd stay and cut my birthday cake with me. Instead, what I got was a photo she'd posted online. She was with Seth at an amusement park, and they were happily watching the fireworks. The caption read, "As long as you're smiling, I'll brave any storm to be there." Meanwhile, I sat beside my melting birthday cake in an empty mansion and waited through the entire night. Perhaps genuine love was always fleeting. Or maybe what I thought was love had only ever existed through the filter I'd placed over it. But back then, I didn't understand any of that. I was a teenager, and I'd valued my pride above everything else. I couldn't understand how the two people who had once loved me so earnestly could change overnight. So, I threw a tantrum. I yelled hysterically as I smashed the cake onto the floor. But all I got in return were their cold, disdainful looks. That was when I finally understood something. When they loved me, they considered my prideful and outspoken side as me having a candid character. But once they stopped loving me, I became nothing more than an unreasonable troublemaker. Chapter 3 Isabella suddenly spoke up. "By the way, Seth's art exhibition is next month. Paint a portrait of him to be the centerpiece." She ordered me to draw for him like it was a given. She added, "You used to be the most gifted artist. This should be easy for you." I had once been a proud prodigy, with collectors willing to pay a fortune for a single painting. But now… "I can't do it." I quietly refused. "Matthew Jensen!" Isabella said angrily. Her voice hardened. "Are you still jealous of Seth? When you went to prison, Seth had no choice but to take your place and hold the exhibition to protect the Ingram family's reputation. Now we're only asking you to paint one picture. Why are you making excuses?" I laughed inwardly. Who was it that sent me to prison in the first place? After Seth had hit someone while driving drunk, he had cried as he went to Sheryl and Isabella for help. Sheryl had been frantic. She'd been so worried that she wished she could take his place herself. Isabella, meanwhile, had stood to the side with a deep frown. There was no trace of the warmth she'd once shown me in her eyes. Only the cold calculation of someone weighing the consequences. "Have Matthew take the blame." A loud rumble of thunder that shook the ground came from outside the window, but even that couldn't compare to the shock of hearing those words. I looked up in disbelief, trembling as I asked, "What… did you say?" Isabella squeezed my hand. Her expression was gentle, but every word she spoke broke my heart into tiny little pieces. She said, "Seth isn't in good health. He wouldn't survive a place like prison. You're stronger, and you've been through hardships before. Just endure it for a while, and it'll be over." Just endure it? She was talking about prison! I would carry a criminal record for the rest of my life! My eyes reddened as I shouted, "I wasn't the one who hit anyone! Nor was I the one who drove when I was drunk! Why should I go to prison?" "Because you owe this to Seth!" Isabella snapped impatiently. "If you hadn't come back, Seth wouldn't have gotten wasted because he was upset. Besides, if you confess and take the blame, I'll still marry you when you get out." In that moment, I had felt dead inside. I lowered my head and looked at my scarred fingers. "My hand is ruined. I can't hold a brush properly." Isabella cried out in disbelief, "Your hand is perfectly fine! You didn't even break a bone. How is it ruined? You just don't want to paint!" I lowered my eyes, hiding the desolation in them. After losing sight in my left eye, I'd lost my depth perception. I could no longer place a brushstroke with any real precision. However, I couldn't tell them that. Seth spoke up. "Isabella, don't force Matthew. Maybe the time in prison has worn away his talent. I'm not in good health either, but I've kept practicing because I want to do my part for the family." Isabella gave me a disdainful look before turning to Seth and gently soothing him. "If he doesn't want to paint, I'll find the best artist for you. Someone with a criminal record isn't worthy of painting you anyway." That tender look in her eyes… Once upon a time, she'd looked at me that way too. Sheryl changed the topic abruptly and said, "By the way, there's a charity gala in a few days. Seth will be attending as the Ingram family's representative. You can go with him as his assistant." I froze. An assistant? I'd once been the center of attention at events like this. Sheryl's voice turned cold. "What? You don't want to? You have a criminal record now. You won't be able to find a job. I'm giving you a way to make a living by letting you work as Seth's assistant." Seth chimed in, "Exactly, Matthew. I happen to need someone I can trust to look after me. You've always been good at taking care of people. And after spending so long in there… I'm sure you learned quite a bit, didn't you?" There was something pointed in Seth's words. He was talking about the years I'd spent serving others in prison. I answered evenly, "Fine. I'll go." If I didn't go, how would I drag these people down into hell? Sheryl seemed pleased by my submissive attitude, though there was also a strange trace of irritation in her eyes. She tossed a bank card onto the table. "Buy yourself something decent to wear. Don't embarrass the Ingram family." Chapter 4 The night of the charity gala arrived. Seth was dressed in a designer tuxedo, with a black diamond bracelet fastened around his wrist. Three years ago, Sheryl had won it at auction as a coming-of-age gift for me. Now, it rested around Seth's wrist and gave off an understated glimmer when the light hit the beads at certain angles. I stood beside him in a cheap, ill-fitting suit with my head lowered. Sheryl had given me the bank card, but Seth had cheerfully snatched it away the moment she turned her back. "Matthew just got out of prison," he said. "He doesn't know anything about current fashion. What if he buys the wrong piece and people laugh at him? It's just a simple thing. We can have one of the household staff take care of it." He sounded considerate enough. But then, he gave one of the maids a knowing look. In our household, the maids survived by reading the room. There was no way they were going to put any real effort into helping me. When they tossed me the suit, they hadn't even bothered to iron it. It was all wrinkly, and the pant legs were too short. People around us began whispering. "Who is that? He looks kind of familiar." "Shh. That's the Ingram family's biological son who just got out of prison." "Seriously? They have some nerve bringing him here." "I heard he was trouble even in prison. He was always getting into fights…" Their judgmental whispers wormed their way into my ears. Seth heard them too. His eyes were filled with smug satisfaction as he slowly turned the black diamond beads around his wrist. Then, he deliberately waved them before my eyes. He taunted, "This bracelet was originally meant to be your coming-of-age gift. Too bad it's on my wrist now. It's the same for the position of the true Ingram heir and Isabella. They're all mine." A bitter ache arose in my chest. I lowered my head and stared at the tips of my shoes. When a waiter approached, I didn't notice him at all. The tray he was carrying slammed into my shoulder. Red wine splashed all over me and sprayed onto Seth, who was right beside me. Seth glared at me resentfully. Then, his eyes lit up. He reached up and yanked the diamond beads off his wrist. The string snapped, sending the beads scattering across the floor with a clatter. Before I could react, he shoved several of the beads into my hand. Then, he threw himself backward and landed heavily on the floor. Pointing at me with a trembling finger, he said, "Matthew, if you wanted the bracelet, I would've given it to you. Why did you push me?" Sheryl's expression turned grim. Isabella was furious. She rushed over and shoved me aside. "Have you lost your mind, Matthew?" she shrieked. My balance was already unsteady. The force of her shove sent me crashing into the pillar behind me. A sharp pain shot through the back of my head. Before I could even recover, Sheryl raised her hand and slapped me across the face. My head snapped to the side from the harsh slap, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. The impact had dislodged the prosthetic eye in my left socket. It slipped out and hit the floor. Then, it rolled several times and came to a stop beside Sheryl's feet with a soft clink. "What is this?" Sheryl froze. The next second, a video began playing on the giant screen above the stage.