I Pretended to Be a Prostitute Just to Make My Rich Brother Notice Me—But That Night at the Party, I Discovered the Truth He Had Been Hiding From Our Family…

Chapter 2

The music was so loud I could feel it in my ribs.

I saw him before he saw me. Benjamin. My brother. Gold on his wrist, a glass never empty, a circle of laughing men around him.

My heart climbed into my throat. This was my chance. I walked toward him, ready to make him see me.

Then he turned, and his eyes slid over me like I was part of the furniture.

“Hi babe,” he said, his voice heavy and slurred. “You look amazing.”

He did not know me.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab his shoulders and shake the alcohol out of him and ask why he had left us to rot. But the music swallowed every word I tried to form. He reached out and pulled me close, his hand landing on my waist, his breath smelling of expensive wine.

“The most beautiful girl in this club,” he whispered into my ear. “Why are you standing here alone? A girl like you should be with a big man like me.”

He was staggering; I was the one holding him up. I told myself that once we reached somewhere quiet, he would see his sister, would cry, would beg forgiveness for every empty pot in our mother’s kitchen.

He never did.

In the room, he threw his gold watch onto the table. “I’ll give you a huge sum of money if we can have sex together.”

“What?” The word ripped out of me.

But the thought of money was already whispering.

“Do you mean it?” My voice shook. “Any amount?”

“Money is not my problem, baby.” He laughed, an ugly sound. “Just make me happy tonight, and you will never be poor again.”

He pushed his phone into my hands, told me to transfer whatever I wanted. My fingers trembled as I typed a number so large I could barely hold the device. The “Successful” message bloomed on the screen. This money could buy my mother a house.

The price was my soul.

That night, I did the unthinkable. I lay in the dark with my own brother, and he was too far gone to know who he was holding. I cried silently against the pillow, begging the ceiling to swallow me, counting the seconds until it ended.

When he finally drifted off, I dressed and ran. I ran past the guards, past the strung lights, and I did not stop until my lungs were burning.

I had fed my family.

And I had destroyed myself.

I told myself it was over. One night. One sin. One secret buried deep enough to never surface.

But secrets are seeds. And seeds grow.

Two weeks later, I stood at a chemist’s counter staring at a small white stick, and the floor dropped out of my world.

Two lines.

I was pregnant.