Her Reckoning: Love is the deadliest game of all

Yasmine's POV

I put my phone away and turned toward the kitchen to get a glass of cold water.

At that exact moment, the art studio door swung open.

Quentin Lawson stepped out with Melanie Xavier's empty glass in his hand.

When he saw me standing in the hallway, he paused.

"Yasmine, you're back from work."

He walked over, his gaze sweeping over my sweat-dampened bangs.

"Yeah," I replied, walking past him to get the kettle.

Quentin followed me into the kitchen and set the glass down on the countertop.

"Mrs. Xavier told you about the air conditioner, right?

"Mel's been preparing for that important illustration exhibition, so the studio can't get too warm. Otherwise, the paint will dry too quickly and affect how it feels to work with."

"So you gave her the air conditioner I bought."

I picked up my glass and took a small sip.

"She's only borrowing it for a few days."

Quentin frowned slightly, as if he found the calmness in my voice unusual.

He reached out to touch my forehead, but I turned my head away.

His hand stopped in midair before he awkwardly pulled it back and slipped it into his pocket.

"Your room does get a lot of sun, but installing the outdoor unit there would really disturb Mel.

"She's a light sleeper. You know that."

Of course I knew.

Everyone in the family knew that Melanie was a light sleeper, had a sensitive stomach, and couldn't stand being too cold or too hot.

So my room was always at the far west end of the house, and every meal was always prepared to suit her tastes.

"Yeah, I know."

I set my glass down.

Quentin breathed a sigh of relief, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I knew you'd be the sensible one."

He reached over and ruffled my hair.

"It's the weekend tomorrow. I'll take you out to get a better cooling pad and a quiet fan."

"No need."

I took a step back, slipping out of his reach.

Quentin's hand froze in midair.

"Yasmine, don't be so petty."

His tone hardened slightly.

"This exhibition really matters to Mel. As her younger sister, can't you be a little more understanding?"

"I never said I wasn't understanding.

"I said I don't need a fan. I really don't."

Quentin stared at me for several seconds, as if searching my face for any sign that I was sulking.

He found none.

I didn't even furrow my brows.

"Fine. Have it your way."

He turned away in irritation and began pouring warm water for Melanie.

"The temperature is just right. Take this to her."

He handed me the glass.

"Mel was just going on about you. She said she was really touched that you used your very first paycheck to buy air conditioners for the family."

I didn't take it.

"I'm all sweaty. I'm going to take a shower."

I turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Behind me, I heard the dull thud of the glass hitting the countertop.

I walked back into the sweltering room.

The huge winter melon still lay on my bed, its skin beaded with tiny droplets of moisture.

I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk.

Inside was a small sky-blue handheld fan, with the name "Yasmine" engraved along the handle.

It was during a heat wave in our sophomore year, when the air conditioning in our dorm broke down. Quentin ran three blocks just to get it for me.

I reached out and ran my fingertip over the engraved letters.

The pressure left my fingertip slightly pale.

I picked up the little fan with my name engraved on it and was about to put it back in the drawer when my bedroom door suddenly swung open.

My older brother, Henry Xavier, walked in carrying a plate of watermelon.

The door slammed hard into my elbow.

With a sharp clack, the little sky-blue fan I'd had for three years fell to the floor.

The plastic casing shattered into several pieces, and the fan blades sprang loose.

Henry glanced down.

Without a second thought, he stepped over the broken pieces and placed the plate of watermelon on my desk.

"Yas, Mel said you must be tired after work, so she asked me to bring you some watermelon."

Only a few scraps of watermelon flesh near the rind were left on the plate.

"Thanks, Henry."

I didn't look at the plate. I simply kept my eyes on the computer screen.

Henry glanced at the broken pieces on the floor and the winter melon on the bed, then cleared his throat.

"About the air conditioner... don't take it to heart."

He scratched his head.

"I'll buy you a new one when I get my bonus next month."

"Sure."

I closed the webpage.

Henry froze for a moment.

He probably expected me to do what I always did, turning down his empty promises just to earn another compliment about how "understanding" I was.

But this time, I accepted.

"You're really not mad?"

There was uncertainty in his voice.

"No."

I stood up.

"I'm tired. I want to sleep."

Henry smiled in relief.

"See? I knew it. You're the most understanding one in the family."

He patted my shoulder.

"Get some rest, then. It's the weekend. I'll take you out for something good tomorrow."

"Okay."

I nodded.

He turned and walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

The room grew stiflingly hot again.

I picked up the watermelon from the desk and threw it into the trash.

Red juice splattered across the broken pieces of the fan, bright and jarring.

I didn't bother wiping it up. Instead, I pulled out my suitcase and started packing a change of clothes.

There was no need to wait until next month.

By next Wednesday, I wouldn't be living in this house anymore.