The silence didn't last.
It never does.
"…Ge."
I didn't turn.
I already knew that tone.
Guilt.Fear.Confession.
"There's something I need to tell you."
I know."
The words came out before he could finish.
Flat.
Calm.
Behind me, he stilled. "…what?"
I exhaled slowly, finally looking at him.
"I know about the shares," I said. "I know you signed them."
His face drained of color. "I didn't mean to—I thought it was temporary—he said you needed—"
"Cheng Mo told you."
A pause.
Then—
"…yes."
Silence settled.
Heavy, but not surprising.
Because nothing about this was surprising anymore.
Not him.
Not this.
Not what was coming next.
"I should've told you," he said, voice breaking. "But I didn't know—he came out of nowhere, Ge. Like he already knew everything about us."
A bitter breath left me.
"He did."
My brother frowned. "…what?"
"I just didn't know why."
Not then.
Not when Cheng Mo first appeared.
Not when he started getting close.
Not when he began tearing things apart—
piece by piece.
"He said it was business," my brother continued. "But the way he looked at you… it didn't feel like that."
"It wasn't."
Silence again.
Then—
hesitant—
"…Ge… who is he?"
The question lingered.
Simple.
But too late.
Because now—
I knew.
And I wished I didn't.
My mistake," I said quietly.
My brother blinked. "What?"
I looked away.
The memory surfaced—
uninvited.
That day.
The chaos.
The fall—
And everything that followed.
"I didn't know who he was," I continued. "Not at first. He never said it."
"Then how—?"
"He told me," I said.
My voice dropped.
Colder.
Controlled.
"Right before everything started falling apart."
My brother went still.
"…told you what?"
I met his eyes.
And for the first time—
there was no avoiding it.
"He's her brother."
The words landed—
slow.
My brother's breath caught. "…what?"
"He was abroad when it happened," I added. "Didn't see anything himself."
"Then why does he—"
"Because someone made sure he believed it."
Silence.
Deep.
"He thinks our mother killed her," my brother whispered.
Yes."
"And you didn't tell him the truth?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth—
wasn't that simple.
Because even I didn't know all of it.
Because every version of that day—
felt incomplete.
Broken.
"…Ge," my brother said carefully, "did she?"
My chest tightened.
"She pushed her," I said.
The words felt like glass.
"But she didn't kill her."
A pause.
Then—
barely audible—
"…then who did?"