If my life were a peaceful, quiet slice-of-life manga, my older sister would be the giant, glittering meteor that crashes into the plot and ruins everything.

My name is Toby, and right now, I am standing in the middle of the crowded city square, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. Why? Because of the person currently marching toward me.

"Toby! My beloved, adorable little brother!"

The crowd parted instantly. It wasn't just because she was shouting; it was because she practically radiated an aura. Maya—or "Sissy," as she forced me to call her whenever she wanted something—was back from her three-year art tour abroad.

She didn't just walk. She glided. She wore a bright neon pink beret, a trench coat that looked like it belonged on a Paris runway, and oversized sunglasses. Behind her, the afternoon sun hit her glossy hair, creating a literal, shimmering sparkle effect that felt entirely unfair.

Before I could even brace myself, she threw her arms around me, burying my face into her expensive-smelling coat.

"Mmph—Sissy! Can't... breathe!" I gasped, flailing my arms.

"Oh, look at you! You grew taller!" She finally pulled back, gripping my shoulders and looking at me like I was a prize-winning puppy. She gave a dazzling, sparkling smile that literally made a nearby passerby trip over a trash can. "But you're still as scrawny as ever. Are you eating your veggies?"

"I'm seventeen, Sissy. I can feed myself," I grumbled, adjusting my rumpled shirt and trying to ignore the stares of the people around us. "And what is with this outfit? You look like a magical girl who lost her wand."

Sissy gasped dramatically, placing a perfectly manicured hand over her heart. "How dare you! This is haute couture, Toby. I am an artist. I must embody the amazing sparkle of life!"

To prove her point, she did a little spin, her coat flaring out.

"Yeah, well, your 'amazing sparkle' is attracting a crowd," I muttered, grabbing the handle of her massive, glitter-covered suitcase. "Come on, let's get a taxi before someone asks for your autograph thinking you're a celebrity."

"Oh, but I am a celebrity in the making," she said, winking playfully as she hooked her arm through mine.

For a second, the familiar, bickering warmth of having her back made me smile. I had missed her chaotic energy. Even if she was embarrassing, she was my sister, and no one else could light up a room the way she did.

But as we reached the edge of the curb to hail a cab, Sissy’s phone buzzed violently in her pocket. She pulled it out, and the moment she read the screen, the dazzling, sparkling smile completely vanished from her face.

She turned to me, her eyes wide behind her sunglasses.

"Toby," she whispered, her voice losing all its playful drama. "We need to get into a car right now. The loan sharks from France found my social media."

Before I could even process what she just said, a group of men in sharp black suits rounded the corner, eyes locked onto her neon pink beret.

"Loan sharks?!" I shrieked, my voice cracking so hard it echoed off the surrounding buildings. "Sissy, you went to France for an art tour, not to join the mafia!"

"There’s a fine line between high fashion and organized crime, Toby! I'll explain later!" Sissy grabbed my wrist with a grip like a steel vise. "For now—RUN!"

With a violent yank, she dragged me into a dead sprint. Behind us, I heard the heavy thud of leather shoes hitting the pavement.

"Hey! Stop right there!" one of the suited men shouted in a thick French accent.

"Never! Your interest rates are predatory!" Sissy yelled back over her shoulder, her neon pink beret flying off her head and landing perfectly on a stray cat.

We bolted down a narrow alleyway. I was practically flying behind her, my legs pumping furiously just to keep up. For someone wearing three-inch designer heels, Sissy was terrifyingly fast. It was like she was fueled entirely by panic and adrenaline.

"Where are we going?!" I gasped, my lungs burning. "They're gaining on us!"

"Trust your Sissy! I have a flawless strategy!"

Her "flawless strategy" turned out to be ducking behind a row of giant, smelly restaurant dumpsters. We squeezed into the narrow gap between the brick wall and the plastic bins, holding our breath.

A second later, the heavy footsteps of our pursuers rushed past the mouth of the alley.

"Where did they go?" a muffled voice grumbled outside. "Look for the sparkling girl!"

We waited in agonizing silence for two whole minutes until the voices finally faded away.

I let out a massive breath, slumping against the brick wall. "We're alive. Oh my god, we're alive." I turned to glare at her. "Okay, start talking. Why are French men chasing you? Did you steal a painting from the Louvre?"

"Of course not!" Sissy scoffed, adjusting her oversized sunglasses which, miraculously, hadn't fallen off. She dusted off her trench coat, immediately regaining her dazzling posture. "I am an artist, Toby. A visionary! But visionaries require funding. I may have borrowed a tiny, minuscule amount of money to launch my glitter-infused clothing line in Paris."

"How much is 'minuscule'?" I asked, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck.

Sissy gave a bright, sparkling, completely unapologetic smile. "Fifty thousand euros."

"Fifty thousand?!" I nearly choked on my own spit. "Sissy, that’s a fortune! How are we supposed to pay that back? We're just normal citizens!"

"Correction: you are a normal citizen," Sissy said, tapping my nose playfully. "I am a sparkling genius. And I already have a plan to make that money back in a week."

Before I could ask her what insane stunt she was planning next, a shadow fell over our dumpster hiding spot.

I slowly looked up.

Standing at the entrance of the alley wasn't the French loan sharks. It was a tall, incredibly handsome guy with silver hair, wearing a sleek school uniform that looked identical to mine. He had his hands in his pockets, staring down at us with an expression of pure, unbothered amusement.

"Well, well," the silver-haired guy said, his eyes locking onto Sissy. "I wondered what all the noise was about. If it isn't the chaotic 'sparkling' girl who ruined my family's art gala last year."

Sissy’s jaw dropped. "You... You're the heir to the Vance Corporation!"

The guy smirked, stepping closer. "And you're currently trespassing behind my family's restaurant. Care to explain what you're doing in the trash, Sissy?"

I stared at the silver-haired guy, then at Sissy, and then back at the guy.

The Vance Corporation?! As in, the mega-conglomerate that literally owned half the skyline in our city? And more importantly... how on earth did my chaotic sister manage to ruin an art gala hosted by billionaires?

"Sissy," I whispered loudly, nudging her arm. "Who is this? And why does he look like he just walked off a boy-band poster?"

Before she could answer me, Sissy quickly recovered her composure. She stepped out from behind the dumpster, tossing her hair back with her trademark, dazzling flair. Even covered in a faint layer of alleyway dust, she managed to look like royalty.

"Ah, Adrian Vance," Sissy said, her voice dripping with dramatic sophistication. "We meet again. And for your information, I did not ruin your family’s gala. I simply enhanced it with a performance art piece involving three gallons of biodegradable pink glitter."

Adrian’s eyebrow twitched slightly, though the amused smirk remained on his face. "The cleaning crew took three months to get that out of the historical tapestries, Maya."

"Art is supposed to leave a lasting impression!" Sissy shot back, crossing her arms.

Adrian stepped further into the alley. The contrast between his pristine, perfectly ironed elite academy uniform and our current trash-adjacent aesthetic was painfully obvious. His sharp, gray eyes flicked down to me, scanning my matching school uniform, before landing back on Sissy.

"So, the sparkling girl is reduced to hiding in dumpsters," Adrian mused, checking his expensive wristwatch. "And judging by the three angry-looking Frenchmen I saw wandering around the main street a minute ago... you're running from a very expensive mistake."

My heart jumped into my throat. "Wait, you saw them? Are they coming this way?"

"They're thorough," Adrian said simply, looking entirely unbothered by our impending doom. "They'll find this alley in about two minutes."

I panicked, grabbing Sissy's sleeve. "Sissy, we have to go! If they catch us, they're going to turn us into high-fashion leather goods!"

"Don't worry, Toby! Sissy will protect you!" she declared, though her eyes were darting around frantically looking for an escape route that didn't exist.

Adrian watched us fumble, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. "I could help you, you know. I have a private car waiting around the block. My drivers can easily handle a few aggressive foreigners."

Sissy stopped scanning the walls and narrowed her eyes at him, instantly suspicious. "You? Help me? Out of the goodness of your heart? Please. You're a Vance. You guys don't even breathe unless there's a profit margin involved."

"Spot on," Adrian chuckled, taking his hands out of his pockets. He leaned against the brick wall, looking incredibly smug. "I do have a condition. My grandfather is forcing me to attend the upcoming Summer Gala, and he expects me to bring a date who can 'liven up the atmosphere' to impress our international investors. Someone unforgettable."

He pointed a finger directly at Sissy.

"You fit the bill. Act as my fake fiancée for the next month, make my grandfather happy, and I'll clear your French debt and give you safe passage out of this alley."

"Fake fiancée?!" Sissy and I yelled at the exact same time.

"No way! Absolutely not!" Sissy huffed, turning her nose up. "The amazing sparkle of Sissy cannot be bought or rented!"

Heavy, rapid footsteps suddenly echoed from the entrance of the alley.

"Hey! I think I saw a pink hat over here!" a loud French voice shouted.

Sissy stiffened. She looked at the mouth of the alley, then at Adrian’s outstretched hand, and finally at me, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and sudden compromise.

She grabbed Adrian’s hand and shook it fiercely. "Deal! But you're paying for my dry cleaning!"