Stealing Her Bachelor

The alarm blares, cutting through the silence and dragging me out of sleep. I force my eyes open, squinting at the harsh white glow of my phone screen. Another morning. Another day of exhaustion and responsibilities.

I rub my eyes, hoping for a little more rest, and hit snooze. The sound stops, and the room sinks back into darkness. I’m just starting to drift off when a loud banging jolts me awake.

The door flies open, spilling light into the room. My younger brother, Nick, strolls in with a grin, flipping on the main switch. The brightness stabs at my eyes, and I groan, wishing I could just sleep in peace.

"Hey, turn it goddamn off," I mumble in a sleepy haze.

But Nick is relentless in his mission to ruin my slumber. He strides over to the windows and yanks open every curtain, letting the harsh morning sunlight pour in and invade my sanctuary.

He has no idea how tired I am—how deep this fatigue runs. Every day, I push myself to the limit to support him and our aging parents. I sacrifice sleep, comfort, everything… just to keep things afloat. The weight of it all presses down on me, a constant, quiet burden that never lets up.

As I force myself to sit up and gather what little energy I have, I wonder—will there ever be a morning where I’m not rushing? A morning where I can just stay in bed, wrapped in warmth, with nowhere to be and nothing to prove?

But not today.

Today, like every day, I have to push through the exhaustion and face whatever comes next.

“Turn it off. Turn it all off,” I grumble, my voice thick with sleep and frustration.

“I can’t turn off the sunrise, you dumbass,” Nick shoots back, his laughter full of mock amusement.

As if that isn’t enough, he suddenly lunges forward and shouts right into my ear, “Dude, wake the hell up!”

“Shut the hell up,” I snap, still trapped in the fog of sleep, barely able to peel my eyes open.

“You really need to start sleeping earlier, man. Mornings turn you into such a wimp,” he teases, the usual mischief dancing in his eyes.

Then, like the little menace he is, he yanks the blankets off me in one swift move, leaving me curled up and shivering in a sad ball of defeat.

I respond with a string of groggy curses and muffled groans, already dreading the day ahead.

Defeated by Nick’s boisterous antics, I finally muster the energy to sit up, though the grogginess still lingers.

“Just five more minutes wouldn’t hurt,” I grumble, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my tired eyes with an annoyed groan.

“Don’t be such a sissy. Time is precious, you're gonna be late! It’s not my fault you stayed up too late, man,” Nick mocks, his eyes sweeping over the chaos of my messy room.

“I had to work overtime as always, you brat,” I mutter irritably, my frustration seeping into every word.

Nick, clearly unfazed, glances around my room and snidely remarks, “Well, is this how a responsible adult lives?”

I can’t help but let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. “Like you know everything, kid?”

A smug smirk forms on Nick’s face. “At least my room isn’t a disaster… and at least I know where my life’s headed.”

His words hit a nerve, and I immediately pout, bitter at the fact that Nick is right. The morning’s already unbearable with the pounding fatigue in my head, and now I’m forced to stare down truths I’ve tried so hard to avoid.

Unlike Nick, I don’t have a clear path. No dreams to chase. No freedom to choose. My purpose—or what I’ve been made to believe is my purpose—is to provide. To carry the weight no one else can carry. As the eldest, everything falls on me: the bills, the groceries, the emotional load. Somewhere along the line, I stopped being a person and became a provider.

I gave up my ambitions quietly. Dreams chipped away piece by piece until they didn’t feel like mine anymore. And now I’m left with a job that grinds me down, not because I hate hard work, but because no matter how much I give—no matter the overtime, the sacrifices—it’s like screaming into a void. No recognition. No reward. Just... survival.

The first year, I was proud. Fresh out of college, I landed a decent job. I even got a few promotions. It felt like progress. Like maybe I was building something. But it’s been five years since then, and every milestone since has been measured by what I could give others, not by what I gained for myself. My time. My money. My energy. All of it goes to keeping the lights on, helping Mom with her prescriptions, making sure Dad doesn’t worry, saving for Nick’s college dreams—because God forbid he ends up stuck like me.

A heavy sigh escapes me. I glance around my room—clothes on the floor, dishes piled on the desk, papers I never read, and stacks of unpaid bills. It looks exactly how I feel: overwhelmed, cluttered, and sinking beneath the mess.

Sometimes I wonder if I even exist outside of what I can offer. Outside of the grind. The thought lingers, sharp and quiet. But I don’t have time to fall apart. I never do.

Because if I don’t keep going, who will?

Nick sighs, watching my empty stare, and softens his tone. “Okay, I’m sorry, I'm being a jerk. Maybe we can clean up in here next weekend—if you actually take a day off.”

I don’t respond. I just sit there, motionless, thoughts churning too loud to speak over. Since Nick’s 18th birthday last month, he’s been staying with me—getting ready for college, stepping into a future he’s just beginning to shape. And me? I’ve been stuck in survival mode for so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to even imagine a future of my own. He should know by now—I don’t take days off. I can’t afford to.

Nick nudges my shoulder gently, hoping to tease me out of it. “Hey, what’s gotten into you? You can’t start the day like this, man.”

Still, I say nothing.

He shifts tactics, his smirk returning, playful and hopeful all at once. “Hey, man… I made your favorite—pancakes, eggs, and bacon,” he says, dragging it out as I stare at the opportunity.

Reality sets in at the mention of breakfast. I stir and turn to Nick, slowly rising from my slumber at the irresistible promise of food. Nick grins proudly and leads me to the table.

I sit down as he plates the mouthwatering meal he promised. The moment the food hits the table, I dig in—savoring each bite with a newfound sense of contentment. The taste of the pancakes, eggs, and bacon, combined with the warmth of family, offers me a relief from the burdens of my daily life.

“I know, I know—my cooking is the best,” Nick teases, watching my expression shift from blank to blissful as I eat.

I can’t exactly call him the world’s greatest chef, but it’s undeniably a relief. Since he moved in, my meals have gone from takeout garbage to something I look forward to. Having him around to cook takes one more thing off my plate—literally and figuratively.

He’s a good kid—bratty at times, sure, but fiercely loyal and surprisingly thoughtful. I wouldn’t dream of sending him off to college without feeling a twinge of loss. He does more around this place than I ever give him credit for.

No more frantic coffee runs at dawn. No more scavenging for snacks at midnight. This—sitting here, sharing a proper breakfast—feels like the start of something better ever since he came.

“Why the long face earlier?” Nick asks, curiosity in his voice as he spears a forkful of pancakes, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

I hesitate, fork paused mid-air, unsure what to say.

“You should relax, man—look at you,” he teases, though genuine concern flickers in his eyes as he watches me tense over the thought of returning to work.

“I’m just stressed, that’s all,” I mumble, trying to brush it off. “All this overtime isn’t worth it.”

“You sure that’s all?” he presses, leaning forward. His tone softens—no hint of mockery this time.

I open my mouth, swallow, then close it again.

“Now’s the perfect time to be a sissy—you know I’m here to listen,” he says with a mischievous grin that somehow both annoys and comforts me.

I sigh, finally giving in. “I’m just… I’m not in a good place. Mom and Dad expect so much…” I trail off, swallowing the last bite of bacon.

Nick nods, his expression surprisingly serious for a moment. “Cut yourself some slack. You look worn out.”

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts before standing up, collecting my plate. “I need to leave for work. I’ll clean up,” I mutter as I rise from the table.

“Wait, seriously.” Nick interrupts, moving quickly to snatch the plate from my hand. “Look, I’ve got a surprise for you tonight,” he says, a wide grin spreading across his face. I can't quite tell if it’s mischievous or genuinely excited.

“Huh, what is it?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. I’m staring at him, expecting an immediate answer, but Nick only chuckles.

“I said tonight,” he repeats, brushing past me to the sink, and I follow, narrowing my eyes at his evasiveness.

“I’ll handle these,” he says, as he pulls my plates to take it. “And don’t you have to get to work?” he says looking at me deliberately changing the subject.

I glance up at the wall clock and freeze. The time hits me like a punch in the gut—I’m running late! I rush to my room to get ready, and behind me, I hear Nick’s laughter echoing that makes me roll my eyes.

I let out a tired sigh, holding onto the swaying rail as the subway jerks along the tracks. The morning has already drained me, and exhaustion sits heavy in my bones. I tug at my tie and straighten my blazer, trying to find a little comfort in the chaos.

I stare out the window, my thoughts drifting to the routine that runs my life. The days blur together—deadlines, meetings, responsibilities. Every morning starts the same: the shrill alarm, dragging myself out of bed, and diving straight into the rush.

My thoughts drift back to Nick and his presence in my life. It’s ironic how something as simple as having someone cook for me has brought a newfound sense of relief.

The metal doors slide open, and a wave of people surges out with me, while another crowd rushes in to take our place. I step out of the station and into the city, swallowed instantly by skyscrapers, flashing screens, and the nonstop chorus of car horns. The city hums with energy, thrilling and overwhelming all at once.

I push through the crowd, the air thick with exhaust and the smell of street food. Horns blare, vendors shout, footsteps echo against the pavement. Everyone seems caught up in their own race to work, errands, or running late for something important.

Through it all, Nick’s promise of a surprise keeps looping in my head. I’ve never liked surprises, but this one nags at my curiosity. What could he have planned? A trip? A gift I might finally feel I deserve?

Questions spin through my head, each one sparking both excitement and nerves. With every step, my anticipation grows. I haven’t felt this eager in years. Having him around means more than I expected, and for once, I’m actually looking forward to something.

The sliding doors open, snapping me back to reality. I step into one of the city’s tallest skyscrapers—a place I’ve entered what feels like a million times. Glancing at my silver watch, I roll up my sleeve. Each second ticks by, reminding me I’m cutting it close.

I step into the elevator and feel the gentle lift as it rises. When the doors part, I move quickly, weaving through the maze of cubicles and offices. The air smells faintly of ink, mixed with the steady hum of printers spitting out page after page.

I step into my department and am met with the usual mix of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and low conversations. The air feels heavy with deadlines pressing down on everyone. As I move past my coworkers, their tired nods match my own. Each step echoes in the quiet, sterile office.

At my desk, a mountain of paperwork waits for me. The pressure tightens in my chest, making it hard to breathe. My inbox overflows with emails, each one marked urgent, each one needing my attention right away.

One subject line in particular makes my stomach drop—an email I’ve been wanting.

“Mr. Kennedy would like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience.”

Is this it? After all those years of overtime, all that sacrifice—is this the moment it finally matters?

I straighten my tie and smooth my blazer, forcing myself to look composed and professional. My heart hammers in my chest as I rise and head toward Mr. Kennedy’s office. Outside his door, I pause, take a steadying breath, and knock.

“Come in,” he calls.

I open the door and step inside.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Kennedy?” I ask, looking up from my notes.

Mr. Kennedy nods and gets right to the point. “Mr. Carter, I’m impressed with your work ethic. A new project is coming up that only the most dedicated can handle. It means long hours and a lot of responsibility, but it also comes with the promotion and raise you’ve earned.”

“Please, have a seat,” he says, motioning to the chair. I quickly sit down, nerves and excitement swirling as he explains the high-stakes role.

I try to look calm, but it’s hard to hide my excitement. After five years of hard work, the chance to prove myself is finally here.

Kennedy’s tone stays firm. “This restructuring will be intense. I’m putting you in charge of the marketing framework team. Can I count on your commitment and skills to see it through?”

His eyes challenge me to take on the weight of it. I know the rewards will be worth it if I succeed. “I accept, sir. Restructuring the department will take everything I’ve got, but you have my word—I’ll see it through, no matter what.”

Kennedy gives a small nod, satisfied. “Very well, Mr. Carter. The team is yours starting Monday. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

His expectations feel heavy, but a surge of confidence rises in me. I’ve earned this responsibility, and if anyone can handle it, it’s me.

“Thank you for this opportunity, sir.” I shake his hand firmly, already planning my next steps. After five long years of hard work, it’s finally my chance to prove myself.

Mr. Kennedy dismisses me with a satisfied smile, clearly expecting results. I walk out of his office with squared shoulders, ready for the challenge ahead. This feels like the true beginning—and from here, I can only go up.

Five years of struggle are finally paying off. The weight I’ve carried is gone, only to be replaced by the pressure of a huge new project. Still, confidence surges through me as I lift my head, already thinking of the long hours and strategies that lie ahead.

Breaking from my usual routine, I treat myself to a taxi ride home, a small luxury I feel I’ve earned after five years of nonstop work. The moment I sink into the back seat, exhaustion takes over, and I drift off to sleep. By the time I wake, the driver has already brought me to my doorstep.

Grateful for the smooth ride, I pull out the fare and add a tip.

Dragging myself to the front door, fatigue crashes over me. The caffeine crash is nothing new; I know it too well. With what little energy I have left, I climb the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

Since Mr. Kennedy gave me that opportunity, my workload and plans have increased dramatically, to the point where I’m already exhausted just thinking about leading the team on Monday.

I knock on the door, desperate to find the solace of my bed. As usual, it’s Nick who answers, blocking my path.

In my exhausted haze, I try to slip past him, shifting left and right, but Nick doesn’t budge. He blocks me like a wall. Frustration slips into my voice. “Nick, for God’s sake, I don’t have time for this.”

I push at him halfheartedly, but he grips my shoulders, steady and firm. His eyes show real concern as he gently steers me toward the couch. “Calm down. I just wanna talk,” he says, his voice carrying both worry and fatigue.

Too drained to fight back, I drop into the cushions with a heavy sigh. “What is it, Nick?” I ask, already longing for my bed but giving in to his persistence.

“Our surprise, remember?” he says, thrusting a piece of paper into my hands.

“What’s this?” I mutter, too drained to process both his words and the paper at once.

“Read it! You can still read, right?” he teases, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“I’m too damn tired for this, Nick,” I snap, the frustration and exhaustion mixing into a sharp tone.

“Oh, come on, chill out! It’s your surprise, remember? I wanna see you read it. Just read it, dude...” he begs, his eyes pleading, knowing well that I’m barely functioning but refusing to let me off the hook. With a reluctant groan, I finally give in, too worn out to argue any longer, but unable to completely ignore his insistence.

“Fine, dammit,” I mutter, barely able to focus as I groggily read the paper through bleary eyes and a foggy mind. I squint, trying to make sense of the words.

“Let’s see… a shot at a hundred thousand dollars.” My eyes light up with a flicker of hope, but I roll them just as fast, already sensing something’s off.

“What the hell is this, Nick? A fucking scam?” I mutter dismissively, my exhaustion thickening my tone.

“No! It’s a letter of acceptance, you dumbass. You’re going on a dating show, dude!” he replies, his grin stretching wider, clearly loving my reaction.

"Oh, for fuck sake!"

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