Chapter 2

That night, I dreamed of when I was ten years old—the year my mom dragged me into the Vance household.

Our very first family dinner.

A golden roasted chicken sat right in the middle of the table, its two plump drumsticks glistening with oil.

Richard smiled warmly, picked up his fork, and without hesitation, put both drumsticks onto Tyler's plate.

Tyler was only five then, his mouth smeared with grease as he devoured them.

Richard patted his head and said, "Tyler is growing. He needs all the meat."

I stared at those drumsticks, swallowing my saliva.

My mom, Sarah, looked at me, then at Richard.

Cautiously, she picked up a bony chicken wing tip and placed it on my plate.

"Chloe loves this part. The meat is tender and flavorful here."

Too young to understand, I muttered softly, "But I want a drumstick too."

The air at the table froze instantly.

Richard’s face darkened, and he slammed his fork onto the table with a loud clatter.

"So young and already so greedy?"

"Don't you know you're supposed to let your younger brother eat first?"

"I knew it. You can't raise an outsider's child to be grateful."

My mom’s face went pale with fear. Under the table, she pinched my thigh hard.

It hurt so bad that tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn't dare let them fall.

That night, my mom lectured me under the covers for hours.

She told me I had to be obedient, that I had to please my stepfather, or else we would be thrown out onto the streets.

From that day on, I learned to read the room.

The Vance house had three bedrooms.

Richard had the master bedroom, Tyler had a large room, and the third room was a study.

I had assumed the study would be converted into my bedroom.

But on the day we moved in, Richard stood at the door of the study with his hands behind his back.

"I need this room for my home office, and Tyler needs space for his toys."

"The living room is pretty big. Just buy a folding cot for Chloe."

And so, I slept on a squeaky folding cot in the corner of the living room for eight long years.

Every morning at six, I had to pack up my bed.

Because Richard would complain, "Don't block the walkway. It’s an eyesore."

In the winter, the living room had no heating draft, and the cold wind whistled through the window cracks, cutting my face like knives.

I huddled under my thin blanket, shivering, not daring to make a sound.

In the summer, mosquitoes swarmed like fighter jets.

I didn't dare plug in a mosquito repellent because Tyler said the smell made him dizzy.

So I wore long sleeves and pants in the stifling heat, breaking out in painful heat rashes.

In that house, I was like a transparent parasite.

I had to breathe softly just to earn my tiny sliver of survival space.

When I was eighteen, I got accepted into a prestigious university.

Holding the acceptance letter, I went home, hoping for a single word of praise.

Richard barely glanced at it, saying coldly, "We don't have money for this."

"Tuition is five thousand a year. Figure it out yourself."

"If you want to study, go get a student loan. If not, go work at a local diner."

My mom stood beside him, her head lowered, not saying a single word.

Later, I applied for federal student loans myself. I spent my summers waitressing and handing out flyers to scrape together my living expenses.

Yet, during my junior year, when Tyler barely got into a low-tier community college with a tuition of twenty thousand a year, Richard threw a massive backyard BBQ party, inviting all our relatives to celebrate.

He was red-faced and beaming at the party: "My boy is going to college! He’s going to make us proud!"

Richard paid Tyler's tuition in full and bought him the latest Apple setup—iPhone, MacBook, iPad. The whole ecosystem, costing thousands.

When I came home for winter break, I used my hard-earned savings to buy my mom a nice wool sweater.

It cost me eighty dollars, money I had saved by skipping meals.

When Richard saw it, he sneered, "Oh, so you have money to buy fancy clothes, but you don't have money to contribute to the household bills?"

"Just like your mother—useless spendthrifts."

My mom held the sweater, looking utterly embarrassed.

Ultimately, she stuffed the sweater back into my hands.

"I don't need this, Chloe. Return it and give the money to Tyler for his gas money."

In that moment, my heart felt colder than the winter living room.

I woke up from the nightmare.

My pillow was soaked with tears.

I sat up, opened my banking app, and looked at the balance:

$200,000.00.

This was the money I had saved over five years of working day and night, eating instant ramen, and taking the crowded subway.

It was my blood, sweat, and my absolute dignity.

Tyler’s Porsche was bought with his parents' love.

But my two hundred thousand dollars was my life.

I would never give a single penny of this money to that parasitic family.

Not one cent.