After I left, six brothers regret

"Limone Lane, will you admit your mistake or not?"

Limone's face plunged into the water, her nose and mouth engulfed. The chlorine stung her throat as she choked, her body heaving involuntarily.

She forced her eyes open, the blinding sunlight slicing through waves of pain. On the pool deck, she saw Sutton Lane, her second brother, staring down at her with pointed impatience. Just behind him, Norton Lane, her fourth brother, stood with Sophie Quinn cradled in his arms as if she were made of spun glass.

A flicker of disbelief crossed her mind. This scene—it was painfully familiar.

Was this not the day she had died?

Had she awakened, somehow thrust back into the events of three years prior? To this moment—this cursed afternoon when the Lane family officially adopted Sophie Quinn as their so-called foster daughter?

It had been during the garden party held in Sophie's honor. Sophie, ever the strategist, had orchestrated the perfect trap, one that spun facts into a seamless web of deceit. She had convinced the entire room that Limone had shoved her into the pool intentionally.

It was Norton who had discovered them first, but instead of aiding Limone, who also couldn’t swim, his only priority had been “rescuing” Sophie. He’d left her—his blood sister—to flail, gasping for air, as though her life had no weight by comparison.

Then there was Sutton, his tone sharp as broken glass, demanding that she confess a sin she hadn’t committed.

That day, she had begged—pleaded, even—for absolution. Her cries for help had rasped raw against her throat until, at the brink of death, they finally pulled her from the water, her body limp and lifeless.

The aftermath had been excruciating. The splash of truth and justice never reached her shore. Instead, she learned to tiptoe through her days, avoiding Sophie’s ire, suppressing her autonomy, and twisting herself into knots to earn her brothers’ forgiveness—a forgiveness they never truly offered.

But to what end?

Her desperation only propelled Sophie ever higher. Sophie plagiarized her research, and Sutton testified on Sophie’s behalf, ensuring Limone was branded a fraud and expelled. When Sophie’s failing health required a kidney transplant, it was Weston Lane—her ever-distant third brother—who had calmly escorted Limone into the operating room to give up hers for Sophie. When Sophie needed a chance to shine in international competitions, Norton, Quincy, and Sixon gleefully ousted Limone from the family team to make room.

And when she, at last, compiled evidence of Sophie’s deceit—her stolen thesis, her falsified medical records—Easton Lane, their eldest, dismissed her outright. He hadn’t even looked at the proof. His voice was final: Get out.

Months later, destitute and abandoned, she’d succumbed on the cold streets, her body as hollow and cold as the family that once bore her name. Sophie had stolen everything.

And now?

Limone stared up at the blurring figures on the pool deck. Their voices dulled as her body slackened, sinking deeper. The water closed in around her, not so much offering refuge as confirming a cold truth.

Let it happen, she thought.

At least this time, the pain would stop here.

Sutton’s muscles tensed when the struggling noises ceased. He snapped his head toward the pool, panic breaking through his earlier indifference. "Lemon!" He shouted her name like an anchor cast too late.

Without a second's hesitation, he dove in, the water erupting in his wake.

On the deck, Sophie's hand slipped from Norton’s sleeve, her lips curving—not in alarm, but satisfaction. Limone gone? That would simplify everything. Everything.

Feigning weakness, she gripped Norton again. "I have to go help her," she said, her voice trembling with practiced fragility. "This is all my fault. She fell because of me."

Norton shook his head, easing her back. "Don’t be foolish, Sophie. Sutton will handle it. Limone’s paying the price for what she’s done, but she won’t die." His voice lowered, an edge of conflict gnawing at him. "She won’t."

Limone, still underwater, watched her second brother’s frantic approach. His worry painted across his face—so vivid it might have moved her once. Once.

She turned away.

In this life, she wouldn’t need Sutton Lane’s staged concern. She had long learned its cost.

She kicked toward the surface, gliding smoothly through the water. Sutton paused mid-stroke, stunned as she emerged before him, her expression unyielding.

In her last life, she’d learned to swim against her will, under his relentless demands. The terror of water had gripped her so tightly it nearly paralyzed her, but she had pushed through for one reason: his approval. In the end, Sophie reaped every ounce of praise and accolades for her forced bravery, while Limone's silent endurance drowned beneath their notice.

Gasping lightly but calm, she met Sutton's searching eyes, her own lined with a quiet contempt he had no means to translate.

"What is wrong with you?" Sutton snapped, blocking her with an outstretched arm. "Was this some kind of act? Did you really think pretending to drown would absolve you of what you've done?"

Limone tilted her face to him, silent. Once, this man had been her favorite of the Lane brothers.

Easton might’ve ruled with unyielding authority, but Sutton had seemed... approachable. Kind. Or so she'd thought, until that kindness withered into grim disdain, until every gentle word was replaced with scorn and weariness. And here he was again, echoing that same predictable script: admonishing her, his allegiance bound not to her, but always to Sophie.

From the deck, Sophie’s trembling pleas floated down. "Sutton, don’t blame Limon. I know she’s never liked me being a part of the family. I don’t blame her." She sniffled softly, expertly angling sympathy back toward herself. "This is my fault. I should’ve known better than to wish for family, as if I even deserved—"

"That’s enough." Norton’s voice cut in sharp, his gaze fierce as it locked onto Limone. "Are you happy now? If Sophie’s father hadn’t died saving you... If she hadn’t been orphaned because of you... this family wouldn’t even know the meaning of debt! You should’ve drowned in her place!"

Sutton's face hardened. "Lemon, do you hear yourself? Family means taking responsibility. Sophie is family now—whether you accept it or not. She deserves every ounce of what we’ve given her because we owe it to her." His tone dropped. "You owe it to her. Do you understand?"

Norton sneered. "Though, frankly, what would someone like you know about loyalty or gratitude? If that man had dragged a stray off the street instead of you, we’d have all been better off."

Limone felt as though she were stranded in an endless wasteland, the cold seeping straight to her bones.

If she had a choice, she would’ve preferred to never have been saved at all.

Swallowing the raw, burning pain in her lungs, she spoke in a hoarse voice. “It was my fault. It won’t happen again.”

Because there wouldn’t be a next time.

If they adored Sophie so much, then she would step aside.

“Lemon, was it really intentional? Do you have any idea that Soph can’t swim? She could’ve died!”

Sutton’s disappointment was palpable—he had wanted to believe it was an accident. But now, the revelation that Limone had deliberately put Sophie in danger felt like a cruel betrayal. How had she become so malicious?

Just then, the family doctor arrived. Norton turned sharply, his rage brimming as he scolded Limone. “You’d better pray Soph is all right. If anything happens to her, you’ll wish Easton never comes home.”

Sutton lingered for a moment, glancing back to see Limone standing there, dripping wet, her pale face devoid of color. His heart softened, just a little.

“Go change your clothes,” he said, sighing. “The party’s about to start.”

Limone said nothing, her silence like a wall. Soon, she was left all alone.

When the commotion faded and the last footsteps disappeared down the hallway, she bent over, a violent coughing fit wracking her frame as if she were about to expel her very lungs. The tang of iron climbed into her throat, and she swallowed it down, forcing herself upright to return to her room.

She sank into the bath, the warm water encasing her trembling body. Closing her eyes, she drifted back—back to the life that had already ended. In her previous life, after falling into ruin on the streets and losing herself to bitterness, she’d plotted Sophie’s demise.

But she had failed.

Easton had locked her in an asylum. And Sophie had seen to it that the nurses made her final days a living hell, her life drained from her inch by inch until death's cold hand finally ended the torment.

A chilling laugh bubbled up from her chest, her hand smothering her face as the sound echoed, cracked and eerie. “Isn’t this just perfect,” she murmured, voice razor-edged.

When she opened her eyes again, they were ice, devoid of warmth.

After dressing, she looked around the bedroom, still feeling an alien distance from it. She hadn’t spent long here in her past life—Sophie had eventually taken this room too. By then, Limone had been shuffled into Sophie’s original, smaller quarters.

Her gaze fell on a photograph perched on the desk: a young couple cradling a baby, flanked by six beaming little boys.

But those smiles belonged to a fleeting moment. Not long after she was born, her parents had died in a car accident.

Back then, the family chauffeur had pulled her from the vehicle first. When he returned for her parents, the gas tank detonated. He too had perished.

The chauffeur’s daughter, Sophie, frail and sickly from birth, was the only survivor left to carry his name.

After the accident, Easton brought Sophie into the Lane family and raised her as one of their own, alongside Limone.

From that moment, everything changed.

All her brothers, the ones she had adored most in the world, doted on Sophie.

“Sophie’s health is fragile,” they said. “I hired a chef to prepare meals specifically for her. Lemon, make sure she eats properly.”

“Limone, Soph wants to learn how to paint. You’ve already mastered it; let her have your teacher.”

“Limone, withdraw from the competition this time. Soph will represent the school instead. She’s been preparing for weeks.”

And perhaps the most cutting instruction of all: “Limone, Soph didn’t score well enough for her top choice of college. Enroll at the same school she did—it’ll be good for her to have someone looking out for her.”

The words fell like stones in her heart, one after another, until they buried her.

Now, as the ache in her chest swelled, Limone clutched her head, a sharp pain splintering through her skull.

Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps as she forced the feeling back down.

Never again, she thought fiercely. This time, she would sever every thread binding her to the Lane family.

She yanked the photo from its frame and tucked it away, eyes veiled.

Before long, a servant knocked at the door. “Miss Limone, the party has started. The second young master asked that you change and come downstairs.”

“I heard you,” she replied curtly.

Limone opened the door and made for the garden, where the festivities spilled over in a cacophony of light and laughter.

Seeing her pass, the servant’s eyes widened in shock. “What is she wearing? Has she gone mad from being provoked?”

The banquet scene outside was flawless.

Sophie stood among the crowd, draped in a white evening gown, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders. She looked every bit the picture of a sweet, innocent girl-next-door, her kind smile radiating purity.

At her side stood Sutton and Norton, the warm adoration in their eyes only emphasizing the tableau’s perfection.

It was the kind of moment that could easily carve itself into a heart as a lingering ache.

Even Sutton found himself thinking wistfully of Limone. If only she could be this gentle, this thoughtful.

But Limone had changed over the years, her spirit growing more defiant, her edges sharper and harder to smooth.

“Limone’s here!” someone suddenly called.

Every head turned.