Chapter 2

Bria Goodwin stood on the doorstep, a bright, innocent smile plastered on her face. She held a thermal bag in her hands.

"Donte! I brought you that steak you love!" she chirped, her eyes wide and adoring.

The Boyds froze. The timing was too perfect, too damning. The air in the room grew thick with unspoken truths.

I almost had to laugh. Bria had been showing up at our home with increasing frequency, always under the guise of work, always at the most "coincidental" times. Last week, she'd "forgotten" a file and needed to pick it up on a Saturday morning. She already had the security code to our front gate.

Seeing the tension, Bria' s smile faltered. She put on a show of concern. "Oh, am I interrupting something? I can just leave this and go."

"No, stay!" Donte said, his voice urgent. He practically shoved me aside as he rushed to her, his body language a shield between Bria and me.

He took the bag from her, his touch lingering on her hands. "You're so thoughtful," he murmured, his voice laced with a tenderness he hadn't shown me in years.

It was a painful echo. That was the voice he used to use for me, back when he needed me, back before his name was on the cover of architecture magazines.

He led Bria to the dining table, seating her in the chair right next to his, a space that was always implicitly mine.

"See, Kinsley?" Donte announced to the room, his voice loud and performative. "This is thoughtfulness. Bria knows I like a simple, well-cooked steak. Not... this." He gestured dismissively at my scallops.

I looked at the steak she' d brought. It was from a cheap downtown grill. I knew every cut of beef Donte liked, how he liked it cooked, the specific butcher he preferred. He hated cheap steak.

Or at least, he used to. Now, his preferences were whatever Bria's were. It wasn't about the food; it was about the person who brought it.

A wave of bitter realization washed over me. He wasn't just replacing my cooking; he was replacing me entirely.

Bria, basking in the attention, produced more gifts. "Mr. Boyd, I got this for you," she said, handing Judd a small, poorly wrapped box. It was a cheap tie clip, the kind you find in a discount bin.

"How wonderful! Such a considerate young woman," Judd boomed, his praise embarrassingly loud.

My stomach churned. I remembered the thousand-dollar vintage watch I' d found for Judd' s birthday last year. He' d barely grunted in acknowledgment.

Next, Bria turned to Griselda. "And Mrs. Wagner, for you." She presented a silk scarf. I could tell from ten feet away it was a low-quality knockoff of a design I myself had admired last month.

"Oh, it's lovely, dear," Griselda gushed, wrapping the cheap fabric around her neck. "You have such exquisite taste." She knew it was fake. She was a woman who could spot a counterfeit from across a room. They were doing this on purpose.

Then, Griselda delivered the final blow. She looked from Bria to me, her expression a mixture of pity and triumph. "You know, Bria, you would make a wonderful addition to this family."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a declaration. They were publicly auditioning my replacement right in front of me.

Something inside me broke. The carefully constructed dam holding back eight years of rage and humiliation shattered.

My heart began to pound against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fury.

With a scream that was torn from the very depths of my soul, I lunged forward and swiped my arm across the table.

Scallops, wine glasses, and silverware crashed to the floor in a chaotic explosion of glass and porcelain.

Everyone jumped back, their faces a mask of shock.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Donte shrieked, his face contorted with rage. "Are you insane?"

Judd and Griselda stared at me, their shock quickly turning to cold fury. They had pushed me and pushed me, and now that I had finally broken, they looked at me as if I were the monster.