The Other Woman→𝙆𝙏𝙃

[One; F*ck him]

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[YOUR POV]

"Fuck you, you fucking brat!"

I hear the infamous words, but I merely snort, crushing the mint between my teeth. With a calm resolve, I strap on my helmet and board my scooter. "See you later, Taylor. Make sure to eat shit and die."

Before he could resort to violence, I ride off. He's a worthless piece of garbage who doesn't need any introduction. This neighbourhood is crawling with his kind, and I seem to encounter them no matter where I go.

What can I say? I just have that effect on people. There's something about my presence that gets under people's skin. Not that I care, of course. As long as it keeps unwanted humans away from me.

I don't blame them though; I would've hated myself too if I were them.

Brat.

That's what they call me and that's what I proudly am. And I'll be damned if I let anybody tarnish that reputation of mine.

My scooter quiets as I navigate into a quieter, more affluent neighbourhood. The air is thick with the scent of money and a subtle arrogance that hangs like a fog. I only stop in front of a particular villa. My least favourite place on earth: my parents' house. The imposing structure stands before me, a relic of expectations and suffocating privilege.

Thank fuck, I escaped this hellhole a month ago.

I practically begged my twin to move out with me. It wasn't a hard sell; I made sure of that. It was either we moved or she watched me go insane. And my sister is too much of an angel to let me go through that.

With a rejection letter in hand and fuck you hanging at the edge of my lips, I enter my childhood house.

"Congratulations!" A small crowd emerges from their hiding spot, confetti flying and cheers erupting as I take in the obnoxious scenario before me.

Our housemaid, Layla, appears with a cake and immediately freezes when she sees me.

I roll my eyes. "Wrong daughter," I remind them, before crumpling the letter in my hand and walking away, making my way to the living room.

I plop down on the couch, not giving any flying fucks. "Layla, can you pass me a slice when you cut the cake? Thanks."

The audience gawks at me in astonishment until they notice Ila walking through the door. My mother is the first to realise, her face lighting up with sheer happiness.

"Ila is here!" she announces eagerly, the tension in the room dissipating as everyone turns their attention to my sister's arrival.

As soon as all the shine moves to the rightful owner of the spotlight, everybody screams in unison again. "Congratulations baby! I knew you had it in you!"

My poor sister stands there, baffled and overwhelmed by all the charades. "Ah, t-thank you!" She manages a polite smile, graciously acknowledging the guests and our overexcited mother.

"I knew you would land that job! I'm so proud of you, my dear," Mrs. Sorve gushes, planting a kiss on her head. I watch my sister melt into her motherly embrace, her eyes shining with gratitude and a hint of relief.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the view. Bleh, people can be so unnecessarily emotional about the most mundane achievements. So what if she landed a job? That's basic life stuff.

Yet, you couldn't acquire that basic life stuff. A bitter part of me taunted back.

Whatever.