Blurb：
After six years of suffering in poverty, Liam discovers the shocking truth through a live stream link sent by his twin brother Ethan. Their parents never actually divorced—it was all an elaborate six-year social experiment broadcasted to wealthy viewers. While Liam struggled in a cramped, rat-infested rental, working part-time jobs just to survive, Ethan lived a life of luxury with their loving parents in a mansion. The live stream titled Raising Twins: One in Poverty, One in Luxury exposes Liam’s painful reality as entertainment for the elite. As comments mock his suffering and Ethan’s messages twist the knife, Liam realizes every moment of his hardship was staged for clicks and cruelty. Can he confront the family that betrayed him, or is he forever trapped as the star of their twisted game?
Content：
After my parents divorced, my twin brother and I went our separate ways, each with a different parent.
I stayed with Mom, but after the divorce, she sank into a deep depression, gambling away all our money and constantly bringing different men home.
She moved us into a cramped, damp rental, where unspeakable sounds often filtered from her room.
Every day, besides school, I had to secretly work part-time to scrape together living expenses.
Life was brutally hard.
Then, one day, my brother, who I hadn’t heard from in ages, sent me a live stream link.
It read: Big Bro, open the link, there’s a surprise.
I clicked it open.
To my shock, the most popular live stream had me in it!
Two split screens: one showed me in my dingy rental, hunched over homework under a dim light.
The other showed Mom and Dad affectionately cuddling my brother, Ethan, on a luxurious sofa in a grand mansion.
The live stream’s title: See the Difference: Raising Twins, One in Poverty, One in Luxury, Until Age Eighteen.
Comments scrolled by: Big Bro still doesn’t know, huh?
Their parents never actually divorced, and they’re loaded!
They’re perfectly happy, and little bro is living the good life.
Another said: Big Bro is so pathetic, always starving and shivering.
Isn’t this child abuse?
And another: Well, what do you expect?
Big bro is just too sensible, so his parents chose him for the ‘poor’ experiment.
My hands trembled, clutching the phone, unable to believe what I was seeing.
This was a prank live stream website, mostly watched by rich kids or the upper crust.
So, Mom and Dad’s divorce, my poverty upbringing, and Ethan’s luxury upbringingit was all just a game.
A live stream game, six years long, for others’ amusement.
I’d always thought Dad took Ethan to another city, but they’d been with Mom all along.
I sat outside the small, sun-drenched diner where I worked, yet I felt an icy coldness deep in my bones.
Ethan then sent two more messages: Big Bro, you’re the one Mom and Dad don’t love.
Seeing you live like this, my little brother, I feel a bit bad.
Living in this mansion, my conscience feels a little uneasy.
My hand, holding the phone, felt heavy as if weighted with lead balls.
I felt too sick to even reply.
Just then, the boss yelled, Liam!
Clean up these two tables, fast!
This was my daily part-time job after school.
After the divorce, Mom had fallen into gambling.
She never gave me living expenses, only occasionally tossing me a few scraps when she won at cards.
This diner job, I’d practically begged for.
At nine PM, I finished work, my spirit crushed, and returned home.
It was summer, and the cheap rental on the top floor had no air conditioning.
Walking in felt like entering a steam oven.
Mom, Dad, and Ethan would never experience this.
They were probably enjoying the AC in their mansion.
The lightbulb flickered, threatening to die again.
Ever since Mom moved us into this rental, she rarely came home.
And when she did, she always brought different men back, unspeakable sounds echoing from her room.
She used the money she earned from sleeping with men to gamble, completely neglecting me, her son.
But I never imagined that on the days Mom wasn’t home, she was actually with Ethan.
Had they ever thought about me, their biological child, struggling to survive in this rental?
I’d endured this life for almost six years.
I scanned the rental.
So many hidden cameras must be in here.
A rustling came from the kitchen corner.
I knew it: rats scurrying around.
At first, I was often scared, but now I was numb to it, used to it.
Funny, the rats had been my longest companions in this rental.
I clicked the live stream link again.
My rental’s live feed was still at the top, incredibly popular.
The dark, dingy rental contrasted sharply with the bright, opulent mansion.
The pain on my face, mirrored by a similar face on the other screen, was replaced with pure happiness.
In that moment, I felt like a rat myself, a rat spying on someone else’s joy.
It was my birthday.
After school, I finished my part-time job, and by the time I got home, it was almost ten PM.
I walked into the rental, carrying a plastic bag.
Inside was an old-fashioned cake, very cheap, bought for five dollars.
I reached for the light switch, but the light didn’t come on.
The room was pitch black.
The bulb must have burnt out again.
But it was okay; the moonlight streaming in was bright enough.
I sat by the window, greedily bathing in the moon’s glow, and placed the cake on the table.
There were no candles, so I pretended to put one on the cake, then pretended to light it, closed my eyes to make a wish, and blew.
My wish was simple: to do well on my exams.
But just as I opened my eyes, I heard someone pounding violently on the door, shouting, Open up!
Pay us back!
If you don’t open up, we’ll smash your door down!
Although this wasn’t the first time this had happened, I was still terrified.
The people outside were debt collectors looking for Mom.
She had lost a lot of money gambling.
I hid in the room, biting my lip, not daring to cry out.
Even though no one answered, they started kicking the door.
The rental’s wooden door wasn’t sturdy, and it soon began to splinter.
Finally, with a loud BANG, the door was kicked open by the debt collectors.
Three strong, rough men stormed in.
One of them immediately grabbed me, small and thin, from the corner where I was huddled.
Your mom won’t pay, so we’ll take you instead.
I fell to my knees, tears streaming down my face.
I really don’t have any money.
My mom hasn’t been home for days.
One of the collectors punched me in the face.
No money?
Then we’ll take your stuff!
They started ransacking the place, tossing things everywhere.
They even ripped open my backpack and found twenty dollars inside.
I clutched my bleeding mouth, the metallic taste of blood spreading in my mouth.
This twenty dollars was my wages from my part-time job today.
Only twenty bucks?
Not even enough for a pack of smokes!
They sneered their disdain, but still stuffed the hard-earned money into their pockets.
The table was kicked over, and my cake, which I hadn’t even had a chance to eat, was thrown to the floor and stomped into a disgusting mess.
They looted the place, leaving me with a room full of chaos, then left, dissatisfied.
My birthday passed in this absurd nightmare.
I squatted on the floor, weeping with fear.
I pulled out my phone, opened the live stream, and rewatched Ethan’s birthday celebration from earlier that day.
In the brightly lit mansion, Mom and Dad threw Ethan a lavish birthday party.
Ethan wore a custom-tailored suit, looking refined and elegant.
My darling son, you’re so handsome!
Dad exclaimed, his eyes full of admiration.
Just like me when I was young.
Ethan’s eyes brimmed with happiness.
The birthday cake on the dining table was five layers high, adorned with fresh flowers.
In the corner of the living room, birthday presents were piled high.
What a beautiful, happy scene.
What a stark contrast.
We both had birthdays, but Ethan had Mom and Dad by his side.
And me?
I was always alone.
The chat feed was buzzing with activity.
Big Bro still doesn’t know, huh?
The debt collectors are all arranged by his mom.
They show up three times a month, like fixed NPC’s refreshing the plot.
Actually, all the men Mom brings home are just acting for big bro’s benefit, to see if he has self-control.
Big Bro is suffering so much, don’t his parents feel any heartache at all?
This comment was posted by the streamer himself: This is also part of our test.
It’s all to train him, to build his resilience.
I pay people to act.
He should be grateful.
Once big bro finishes his big exam, we’ll bring him home.
Then we’ll make up for everything he missed in these six years.
My hands, holding the phone, trembled.
A bitter smile touched my lips, my heart filled with a gnawing mix of bitterness and bewilderment.
Make up for it?
How could they make up for the pain caused by six years of deception?
The next day at school, my homeroom teacher found me.
Liam Miller, there’s a scholarship opportunity for studying abroad, full tuition and fees waived, for a math major.
Would you be interested?
She looked at me kindly.
The school knows your family situation isn’t ideal.
If you secure this opportunity, it could truly change your destiny.
The requirements for this scholarship were very high: three major math competition awards, and an English score above 45.
I excelled in academics, the only person in my grade who met both criteria.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I nodded and immediately agreed.
Yes, Ms. Davis, I’m absolutely interested.
This must be what Mom and Dad wanted to see, right?
The poor child growing up fast, working harder, becoming more outstanding.
My homeroom teacher patted my shoulder.
Good.
You won’t need to take the June exams.
Just rest well during this time, and report to the school early when the time comes.
I would soon escape from here, escape this ridiculous live stream game.
Escape my so-called birth parents.
They didn’t deserve to be my parents at all.
I could be perfectly fine on my own.
It’s just deception, after all.
Anyone can play that game.
Today, the city was hosting an event: an exchange and learning conference held by several schools before the exams.
As a student representative with excellent grades, I also attended.
Before the conference began, an outstanding student representative from an international school was scheduled to speak.
A familiar figure walked onto the stage.
It was my brother, Ethan Miller.
He was the student representative for the international school.
Look, that boy looks a bit like Liam Miller from our class, a classmate pointed out, and others started whispering amongst themselves.
He really does look a bit similar, but that boy is clearly more handsome, you can tell he’s from a rich family.
He’s rich.
How can a poor student compare to him?
It’s a world of difference, okay?
Ethan and I were twins.
We used to have almost identical faces, but due to my prolonged malnutrition, there were now subtle differences.
My skin was tanned, my palms rough and calloused; his skin was fair and delicate.
Ethan had grown up in love and money, while I had grown up alone, amidst hardship and tears.
I heard that guy’s grades are terrible.
He’s only speaking because his family is rich and connected, I heard someone grumble in a low voice.
At that moment, Ethan was confidently delivering his speech on learning experiences from the stage.
I saw Mom and Dad sitting in the second row, holding up their phones, their faces beaming with delight as they recorded Ethan’s every word.
The people who love you will find a way to record everything about you.
Thinking of how Mom had never even attended my parent-teacher conferences all these years, my heart felt a bitter pang.
The conference went on for a long time.
Midway through, I went to the restroom.
When I tried to leave, I found I couldn’t open the door.
No matter how hard I tried, it wouldn’t budge, as if someone had locked it from the outside.
Is anyone there?
Can someone help me?
I banged on the door, trying to get someone’s attention, but no one responded.
I took a step back, about to kick the door open, when it suddenly opened.
Ethan stood outside the door, with several other boys behind him, blocking me from leaving.
My brother simply raised a hand, and one of the boys stepped forward and kicked me to the ground.
I clutched my stomach, wincing in pain.
Ethan grabbed a bucket nearby and poured its contents directly over my head.
The dirty, foul-smelling water drenched me, leaving me soaking wet and humiliated.
They burst into sneering laughter.
I wiped the water from my face, my eyes wet as I stared at Ethan.
Why are you doing this?
Ethan stepped forward and kicked me into a corner, his eyes burning with suppressed hatred.
Aren’t you the good student?
Your grades are so good, why can’t you speak on stage?
His voice was laced with sarcasm.
Liam Miller, do you really think Mom and Dad will bring you back after the exam?
Impossible.
He sneered.
I’m telling you, I will never let Mom and Dad bring you back!
The live stream will never end.
His eyes gleamed with malice.
You deserve to stay in that dark, miserable rental your whole life, rotting away!
To be watched and laughed at by everyone.
He grabbed my hair and kicked me again.
I flinched in pain, staring at his.
.
, once gentle, kind little brother become like this?
He seemed unsatisfied, and with another gesture, the boys behind him rushed forward, punching and kicking me.
They even stripped off my clothes.
Ethan then pulled out his phone and started recording me.
Not making a sound even when being hit?
Looks like it’s not hard enough.
Kick harder.
Strip him naked and beat him.
Mom and Dad have done so much to you, so I, as your little brother, definitely can’t fall behind.
He laughed wildly, a deranged cackle.
I whimpered, biting back my sobs, knowing that the more I cried, the more excited he would get.
After a long time, Ethan finally seemed satisfied.
He and his group left.
I lay there, soaking wet, shivering with cold.
He could laugh now, but not for long.
That night, Mom, to my surprise, actually came home, carrying a bag full of food.
Liam, Mom won at cards, so I bought you some goodies.
She pulled out all the snacks from the bag; many of them were imported.
Those things must have come from the mansion, I thought.
Whatever Ethan didn’t want, he’d send to me as charity.
Mom stood before me, as if she had something to say.
Just as I was about to ask, she suddenly burst into tears.
Liam, Mom is so sorry.
Mom has cancer and won’t live much longer.
Cancer?
Really?
Was it true?
Before I could speak, Mom grabbed my hand and continued, as if speaking to herself.
Liam, Mom doesn’t want to die.
You have to save Mom.
She paused, then added, I have a little money here.
How much do you have on you?
And your grandmother’s bracelet, if we sell it, that money can pay for my treatment.
The mention of Grandma’s bracelet finally made me stop listening.
I tensed.
I can give you money, but not the bracelet.
The bracelet was a keepsake from Grandma before she passed away.
Grandma had lived with me in this rental for three of those six years.
Yes, even Grandma had been deceived.
Grandma had believed her daughter was spiraling downwards after the divorce.
Mom was truly ruthless, ruthless enough to even deceive her own mother.
The thought of Grandma, so old, suffering with me, pained me deeply.
I frowned, confronting her.
Mom, are you really sick?
Or are you trying to trick me out of my money and Grandma’s bracelet to go gamble again?
Mom’s eyes quickly darted away.
She pulled a stack of diagnostic reports from her bag and showed them to me.
Mom really is sick.
Look at these results.
How could I lie about something like this?
I had given her a chance to confess, but Mom still wouldn’t tell the truth, still stubbornly trying to trick me.
I knew those diagnostic reports were fake with a single glance.
She hadn’t even bothered to make them look convincing.
I was so utterly disappointed.
Mom, seeing my stubborn refusal to give her the bracelet, finally gave up, feigning hurt.
Well, Mom will just have to figure something else out then.
She then added, Mom warmed you a glass of milk.
Drink it while it’s warm.
You’ve worked hard studying.
I drank the milk and went to bed, even putting the bracelet I’d hidden on my wrist, afraid Mom would steal it.
That night, I slept very soundly.
The next morning, I woke to find my wrist bare.
The bracelet was gone.
I quickly opened the live stream to rewatch last night’s video.
I saw Mom, when I wasn’t looking, put sleeping pills in my milk.
While I was deeply asleep, she secretly took the bracelet from my wrist, then returned to the mansion.
No wonder I hadn’t noticed anything last night.
She had drugged me.
Comments were scrolling by.
This is too cruel.
That bracelet was Grandma’s keepsake for big bro, and she just took it.
Mom even snapped back: He’s not worthy of wearing my mother’s bracelet.
It belongs to me, her daughter.
Besides, I’m doing this to temper big bro, to increase his resilience.
Watching Mom belittle me on the live stream, even justifying her actions as righteous, I felt completely shattered.
My heart crumbled.
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