Chapter 2

2.

I had just stepped out of the lavish wedding planner's building when a message from Julian popped up on my phone.

Chloe's flight lands at JFK at 10:30 tonight. Go pick her up. And use your card to take her out for a nice meal, she's been complaining about how bad the first-class food is.

It was the first message he'd sent since our disastrous fight last night.

In the past, I would have been manipulated by this kind of gaslighting. I would have fooled myself into thinking this was his way of making up, by giving me orders.

Then I would have immediately canceled my executive conference call and driven to the airport's premium pickup area to cater to his demanding sister like some on-call personal assistant.

But now, I just found the words on the screen sickeningly arrogant.

I stared at the screen for two seconds, feeling nothing. No reply, no explanation. I just tossed my phone onto the leather passenger seat and hit the gas, merging into the Manhattan traffic.

That evening, when I opened the door to Julian's upscale apartment, it was a disaster zone. Luggage was strewn everywhere, unopened Amazon boxes littered the floor, and a half-empty Starbucks cold brew was spilled on the expensive Persian rug.

Chloe emerged from the bathroom, wearing a mud mask identical to the one a top influencer was promoting. The moment she saw me, she rolled her eyes dramatically, her tone as sharp as if she were scolding a subordinate.

"Serena, where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea how long I was freezing outside the terminal? Because you didn't show up, I had to call my own damn Uber Black! Hurry up and order me something from Nobu on your corporate account. I want the black cod and the most expensive truffle omelet. Now. I'm starving!"

This time, I didn't rush to apologize and soothe her. I just crossed my arms and looked at her, my expression completely calm.

My gaze fell on her, cold and detached.

She was wearing Lunya silk loungewear that I had personally paid for at Nordstrom last month.

On her feet were the new Toteme slippers I had brought back for her from a business trip to Paris.

And the brand-new phone in her hand, the one she was using to mindlessly scroll through TikTok, was a Christmas gift I had presented to her in my role as the "perfect future sister-in-law."

Her entire outfit, her whole "it girl" aesthetic, was built on my high salary. She was dressed better than I was, and I was the one battling it out in the PR trenches every day.

For the past five years, I wasn't just her personal ATM; I was her free concierge service.

When she was showing off the luxury goods I bought her, she'd post a fake "Serena's the best!" on her Instagram story. But the second one of her unreasonable demands wasn't met instantly, she'd put on this condescending bitch face, as if I were some cheap assistant she paid and could fire at any moment.

And I had actually endured this ridiculous, boundary-less exploitation for five years, all for that asshole Julian.

I took out my phone right in front of her, hit send on a message, and then looked up, my voice colder than I’d ever used with her before.

"I've already texted your brother to let him know you're hungry. Nobu isn't cheap, so you better hope his credit card isn't maxed out. If you don't mind waiting, he'll get back to you eventually. He's in Silicon Valley, after all. There's a time difference."

Chloe froze, the mask on her face cracking. She probably never imagined that her ever-compliant "backup bank account" would dare to speak to her like that. She just stood there, stunned.

I didn't waste another glance on her. I walked right past her mess and into the master bedroom to pack up the last of my things.

The next morning.

I was woken up by a series of loud, passive-aggressive crashes coming from outside my door.

When I opened the door, the expensive Calacatta marble island in the kitchen and the Persian rug in the living room looked like a warzone. Spilled organic cereal and cold-pressed juice stains were everywhere.

Seeing me fully dressed and holding my Rimowa suitcase, Chloe showed no shame at all. Instead, she defiantly stomped on the Amazon bubble wrap scattered on the floor, making it pop loudly.

I watched her childish attempt to get attention with cold eyes. This time, I didn't act like a people-pleasing, unpaid maid, grabbing paper towels and a mop to clean up her mess.

I just calmly buttoned my coat, picked up my suitcase with one hand, and walked straight toward the door.

"Where are you going?!" Chloe seemed to realize something was wrong. She lunged forward, blocking the doorway with her body.

I didn't even look at her, just gave a vague excuse. "Business trip. Two weeks. I have to stop by the office first."

Chloe crossed her arms and sneered, her expression still dripping with that disgusting, classist arrogance.

"Wow, you both have 'work.' Julian is in Silicon Valley giving a keynote speech at a tech summit as an industry visionary, and you're just some cog in the machine doing crisis PR for capitalists. By the way, I'm going to brunch with my friends at Soho House this afternoon. My annual membership just expired, so hurry up and renew it with your Black Card. If you don't, I'm calling my brother right now and telling him you're bullying me!"

Watching her play the victim card so brazenly, demanding money like some kind of leech who was certain I couldn't escape our financial ties, was just absurd.

It's insane. For the past five years, I was trapped in this toxic, financially co-dependent relationship. To maintain Julian's phony elite image, I ended up supporting his entire boundary-stomping, bizarre family like they were royalty.

Now that I'd simply cut the one-way financial umbilical cord, they were acting like I had stepped on their tails.

I suddenly looked down and let out a short, contemptuous laugh.

Then I looked up. I raised a finger and poked her shoulder, my eyes raking over this clueless girl.

"Chloe, you listen to me, and you listen good."

"That beach house your mom has in the Hamptons? If I hadn't co-signed as a guarantor and covered the mortgage for three whole years, your entire family would have been foreclosed on and thrown out on the street by now."

"The seed money your brother used to start his company? It came from my personal trust account."

"The luxury high-rise you've been living in in LA for the past two years? The rent was paid from my account."

"Even that fucking Tesla you post on Instagram every day... the lease payments are charged to my American Express."

I took a sharp step closer, watching the color drain from her face as the shock set in. I spoke each word with brutal clarity.

"You're not some delicate tech princess. You're a charity case that I officially stopped funding today."

"The next time you even think about demanding money from me with that tone, you'd better check your own bank account and see how many zeros are in it first."

Chloe's face turned beet red. Her lips trembled violently, but she couldn't utter a single word in her defense against the hard facts I'd just thrown at her.

She whipped her head around and fled into the guest room like a cornered fraud whose illusions had been completely shattered, slamming the door shut behind her.

After taking a cab to my new high-rise apartment downtown and settling in with my luggage, a glaring notification popped up on my phone.

It was a screenshot of a past-due warning from Chase Bank, automatically forwarded from Julian's mother, Carol.

The massive monthly mortgage payment for the Hamptons house was due in five days and was about to go into default. Because I had canceled the automatic payments from my account yesterday, their superficial family account didn't have nearly enough to cover it.

I looked at the red alert on the screen without a moment's hesitation.

I logged directly into my bank's highest-privilege backend, completely severed all digital connections to the Walker family's trust accounts, and erased my credit card authorizations.

Let someone else be their family's personal ATM.

As for this absurd, one-sided charity game, I was officially declaring it over. Today.