Chapter 3

"You were pretty brutal back there," I said as I buckled my seatbelt in the passenger seat.

Ethan started the car, his long fingers resting on the steering wheel.

"Brutal? I was just stating facts. If she were truly stupid, she wouldn't have known to get angry when I insulted her. She should have agreed with my analysis."

He turned the steering wheel and drove out of the neighborhood.

"Her acting skills are worse than the fresh grads working at my reception desk."

I looked out the window at the passing streetlights.

The heavy stone that had weighed on my chest for over twenty years felt like it had finally been cracked open.

Since we were kids, Bianca had always been the center of the universe.

When she ruined my homework, Eleanor would say, "Your sister is just clumsy. Can't you just write it again?"

When she took the dress I liked, Richard would say, "Your sister loves pretty things. Why can't you just let her have it?"

Even when I started dating, Bianca only had to act innocent and shed a few tears in front of my boyfriends.

Then, those guys would find her adorable and think I was being bitter and mean.

No one had ever torn off her mask as ruthlessly as Ethan did.

My phone kept buzzing in my bag.

I pulled it out.

It was a string of voice messages from Eleanor, one after another. The red notification dots were glaring.

I tapped the first one.

"Chloe! Have you lost your mind?! What kind of classless man are you dating? How dare he talk to your sister like that! Bianca has never heard a harsh word in her life, and today she was so humiliated she's crying under her blanket, hyperventilating!"

I listened to it with a blank face.

Then I tapped the second one.

"You make that Vance guy come back and apologize to your sister right now! Otherwise, don't you ever come back to this house. We raised you and fed you, not for you to team up with some stranger to bully your sister!"

Ethan heard every word clearly from the driver's seat.

He let out a cold sneer.

"Does your mother only watch cheap soap operas? That script is straight out of a bad 90s drama."

I locked my phone screen and tossed it back into my bag.

"I'm used to it."

"Being used to it doesn't make it right."

Ethan stopped the car at a red light and turned to look at me.

"Are you planning on taking this forever?"

I looked into his clear, deep eyes.

"No," I said.

"I want her to pay back everything she owes me, with interest."

The corner of Ethan's mouth curved into a beautiful smirk.

"Let me know if you need any help. I love watching fake people crash and burn."

The next morning.

I was in the middle of a meeting at work when the receptionist, Lily, sent me a Snapchat message.

"Chloe, your sister is here to see you. She's waiting at the front desk."

I frowned.

Bianca rarely came to my office.

She always complained that my fast-paced tech company was too depressing.

I walked out of the meeting room and headed to the lobby.

Bianca was wearing a classy tweed jacket, holding a fancy thermos in her hand.

Seeing me, she immediately walked up.

"Chloe, are you done with work?"

Her voice was as soft as ever, with no trace of yesterday's humiliation.

"What do you want?" I didn't reach for the thermos.

Bianca didn't seem embarrassed. She set the thermos down on the reception desk.

"Mother was so upset she couldn't sleep last night. I was thinking... yesterday's incident was indeed caused by my forgetfulness, and Ethan might have misunderstood me."

She tilted her head slightly, exposing her slim, fair neck.

"I made some chicken soup. I wanted you to give it to Ethan. Consider it my apology to him."

Several colleagues passing by turned to look at us.

To outsiders, she looked like a sweet, caring older sister trying to patch things up for her difficult younger sister.

Looking at her performance, I felt a wave of nausea.

"No thanks. He doesn't drink things from questionable sources."

Bianca's eyes instantly welled with tears again.

"Chloe, are you still mad at me? I know Ethan is amazing, and you're worried I might steal him from you. But I really don't have those intentions."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was just loud enough for the receptionist and several passing coworkers to hear.

This was her classic move: preemptive strike.

By being the first to say "you're worried I might steal him," no matter what I said next, I would look insecure and jealous.

If this were the old me, I would have dragged her aside to compromise just to save face.

But not today.

I took out my phone, opened the voice recorder app, and placed it face-up on the reception desk.

"Keep going," I said, looking at her.

"Tell me more about how you plan on stealing him. Go into detail."