It was their little theatre, and I was content to be a spectator.
“Nice bag, Jasmine,” I said, stepping fully into the room. “The color suits you well.”
Jasmine didn’t even turn around. She continued to admire her reflection in the metal hardware store.
“Thank you, Tiana,” she said in a monotonous, disdainful tone. “Be careful with your drink, please. This bag is worth more than your annual rent. I don’t want any accidents.”
“I don’t drink anything,” I said. “Mum confiscated my wine, remember?”
My father, Otis, finally looked up from his place by the fire.
“Don’t start complaining, Tiana. We’re celebrating your sister’s success. Try to be happy for someone else, for once.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes and walked over to the empty armchair by the window. My legs ached after my double shift at the free clinic the day before – not for the money, but because I genuinely cared about the patients.
I just wanted to sit down for five minutes.
As I bent down towards the cushion, a patent leather moccasin appeared and blocked my path.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Chad was sprawled on the sofa next to us, one leg stretched out like a velvet cord. He looked up at me with a mocking smile.
“Sorry, Tiana,” he said drawlingly, twirling his scotch. “That seat is reserved.”
“Reserved,” I repeated, glancing around. “For whom?”
“For those who hold shares,” he said confidently. “That’s the shareholder circle, Tiana. Those who help perpetuate the family legacy. Those who bring real added value. Given that your net worth is currently negative, I think you’d be better suited there.”
He pointed to a section of wall near the kitchen door.
The room erupted in laughter. Not warm laughter. Not affectionate laughter.
A shrill, cruel laugh.
