Forced to be my sisters lover in a reverse world-Chapter 15: I didn’t like watching, I swear

I couldn't tear my eyes away, no matter how many minutes had ticked by. The sight of Noah getting fucked sent a storm of conflicting emotions through me. That should've been me driving into him, making him writhe like that.
"Just like that, Elara, fuck me harder..." he groaned, his voice raw with need. My cunt pulsed at the sound, aching with every desperate moan that spilled from his lips.
My gaze locked onto Elara, the one making Noah feel this way, the person I despise with every fiber of my being. I'd give anything to see her gone, wiped out for good.
"Take it, Noah, fucking take it... This cock is mine," Elara growled, staking her claim. God, I wanted to smash her face in, make her watch as I fucked Noah with my far better cunt—tighter, hotter, and way more deserving than hers.
"Who do you belong to, Noah? Fucking tell me..." Elara demanded, her voice sharp as she slammed into him with each thrust.
"I'm yours... only yours, Mommy..." Noah groaned, the words dripping with a sickening surrender that twisted my gut.
My heart couldn't take it anymore. A raw ache pulsed through me, and I felt the damp heat of my cunt soaking into my pants, betraying every ounce of rage and longing tearing me apart.
The night air was thick with the raw, relentless sound of skin slapping against skin as I fumbled around in the dark for a brick, a rock, anything to hurl at them. My fingers scraped against dirt and empty pavement—nothing. Frustration boiled over, and I couldn't stomach another second of the grunts and moans slicing through the silence. I turned and bolted, the scene burning into my brain even as I tried to shut it out.
I slapped at my pockets as I stumbled away, only to realize the worst part: my damn phone wasn't there. Left it at home, of all fucking nights. My stomach twisted. I could've recorded everything—every grunt, every whispered curse, every sickening detail. That footage would've been gold, a weapon to dangle over Noah's head. "Come back to me, or this goes viral," I could've said, watching him sweat as he begged for mercy. The thought was a bitter comfort, but without my phone, it was just a useless fantasy.
I kept moving, feet crunching on loose gravel, my mind racing with what could've been. I needed a new plan, something to turn this mess around, but for now, I was empty-handed in every damn way.
"Maybe I was just meant to be a truecel for life..." I muttered, dragging my feet toward the nearest bus stop. My body felt heavy, like all the air had been sucked out of me. There couldn't possibly be another way. If I couldn't have him... then no one could.
I sank onto the cold metal bench, the distant hum of the city barely reaching this quiet stretch of road. My hands hung limp between my knees as I stared at the empty street ahead, waiting for the faint glow of the bus headlights to appear.
Tilting my head back, I gazed up at the night sky—vast, still, uncaring. "In another universe," I whispered, voice trembling just a little, "you're happy with me, Noah."
At last, the bus rolled up with a low hiss, headlights cutting through the dark. I slipped through the back door, trying to dodge the fare. The driver saw me—our eyes met for a split second—but she didn't say a word. Guess she was having a bad day too.
The ride home felt both endless and over in seconds, a stressful breeze where my thoughts wouldn't stop spinning. What was I even gonna tell Mom? That I got cucked? Yeah, no—I'm too based for that.
By the time the bus neared my stop, I had my story straight: Noah had a last-minute emergency. His sister ended up in the ER after some work accident. Clean, believable, and best of all—it didn't make me look like a loser.
The rest of the walk home was heavy with dread, every step slower than the last. The cold bit through my clothes, but it wasn't the wind that made me shiver—it was what I knew I had to do. I didn't want to, not really. But like I'd said before: if I couldn't have him, no one else could.
When I finally pushed open the front door, the quiet creak was met with the sound of muffled sobs. Mom sat curled up on the couch, shoulders trembling as she clutched the old shirt Dad had left behind before he escaped her clutches. The TV flickered weakly across the room, throwing pale light over her tear-streaked face. It made her look small—fragile in a way I wasn't used to seeing.
"Hey, Mom..." I muttered, forcing a casual tone as I dropped onto the other end of the couch. "Stuff came up. Noah had to go to the ER to check on his sister."
She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue, voice hoarse. "Why didn't you call me...?"
I looked away, pretending to study the TV, uncomfortable with how raw she sounded. I knew she missed Dad—but I didn't think it cut this deep.
"Forgot my phone..." I muttered, sinking deeper into the couch. Mom kept crying, quieter this time. Only the soft sound of her sniffles filled the room, mixing with the low hum of the TV.
"Jesus Christ, Mom, get over him," I said finally, frustration bubbling up. "He's probably whoring himself out just to survive right now."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide and red. "SHUT UP!" she screamed, the sound slicing through the air. "Don't you EVER disrespect your father like that. He just needs some time to himself—he'll come back soon."
The outburst froze me in place. I hadn't seen her like this since... that night. Something in her voice—raw, desperate—rattled deep in my chest.
"Are you sure?" I asked quietly. "Or are you just... coping, Mom?"
Her head turned slowly, eyes still glistening with tears—but the softness was gone. "Go to your fucking room. Now." Her voice was low, sharp, the kind that left no room for argument.
I let out a tired sigh, pushing myself off the couch. Her quiet sobs started up again as I climbed the stairs, each step creaking under the weight of the silence between us.
My door shut with a dull thud that seemed to echo through the whole house. I collapsed onto my bed, face first, then rolled over and reached for the framed photo of Noah sitting on my nightstand.
For a second, I just stared—his smile, his eyes, the way he looked at me before. My chest tightened. The image of what I'd seen tonight flashed through my mind, sour and burning.
Before I knew it, the frame was out of my hand, clattering against the wall.
"I can't bring myself to kill you — but I can still take you. I know I can. I know you hate what your sister does to you; you're just pretending it's pleasure."