CHAPTER 5: I Need To Ask For A Favor

What was the best thing to do in this situation?

I knew my family all too well—the same script every time something cracked in my life.

Deny, deflect, defend the golden ones.

My throat burned, but I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve anyway, the cotton rough against my swollen skin, smearing more mascara across my wrist.

“Lila?” Dad called again.

I swallowed hard, tasting salt and the faint vanilla that still clung to me. “I caught them cheating, Dad. Elias and Clara. Today.”

He didn’t reach for me and just stood there with Mom still tucked against his side, both of them staring at me like I was the one who had walked in and ruined a perfectly good afternoon.

The hallway clock ticked louder than it had any right to, each second stretching while the pie smell drifted from the kitchen, sweet and warm and completely fucking oblivious.

“Did you make a scene?” he asked, voice flat.

The question hit me square in the chest. No explosion, no shock, no “that bastard” or “my poor girl.” Just… had I embarrassed the family? I felt my lips tremble again, but I bit down. “No,” I managed. “I didn’t make a scene.”

Dad gave a short nod, like that settled everything. “If that’s the case, you should get going.”

Get going?

Really??

Do they hate me that much?

What did I ever do to them?

Mom squeezed Dad’s arm, her mouth pressed into that thin, familiar line of disappointment.

“Clara was always the spirited one, while me on the other hand was the quiet one, the obedient one, the one who stayed and did whatever you wanted,” I whispered, more to the floorboards than to them. “I was the one who tried to make everything work. And you’re both telling me to just… get going?”

Dad’s glare didn’t soften. If anything, it hardened. “You made your choice when you stepped into Clara’s shoes, Lila. Don’t come crying to us now because it doesn’t fit perfectly.”

Right…

He was right.

The words landed like a quiet little bomb in the middle of my chest, blowing the last stupid scraps of denial wide open.

What the hell had I been doing all these years?

Chasing a man who had never wanted me first. I had stepped into Clara’s abandoned role like some desperate understudy, convincing myself that if I just smiled harder, tried harder, loved harder, Elias would eventually forget the twin who left him at the altar and see the one who stayed. Pathetic. I had been so fucking pathetic.

“You’re right, Father,” I said quietly, the words coming out steadier than I felt, like someone else was actually borrowing my voice.

I turned toward the door ready to leave the house, but before I could take another step, the front door creaked open and Clara stepped inside, her heels clicking against the hardwood.

She took one look at me standing there with my tear-streaked face and scoffed. “I knew you’d probably be here,” she said, tossing her bag onto the entry table. “Telling them something they already know.”

I frowned, my stomach dropping as I stared at my parents in disbelief. They knew?

The realization washed over me like cold water.

Mom’s exhausted sigh earlier, Dad’s flat question about whether I had made a scene—none of it had been shock.

It was all starting to make sense.

Clara leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking effortlessly put-together in the white shirt she had taken from my closet. “Don’t look so surprised, Sister. They already know Elias and I have been… reconnecting. It’s not like it’s a secret anymore.”

Dad just rubbed his jaw, the same tired gesture he used when he didn’t want to pick a side but already had.

“You already knew,” I let out, voice low. “All of you.”

“Lila—” Mom started, but I didn’t let her finish.

“How could you hide that from me?!”

“Because you would start acting like this!” she yelled back, her face flushing an angry red as she jabbed a finger toward me. “Tsk. Always so dramatic.”

A short, humorless laugh burst out of me but it died just as quickly.

“Dramatic? I’m being dramatic?” I stared straight at her. “But if I remember correctly, you were quite dramatic when you found out Father was messing around with younger girls.”

Mom gasped, and before I could draw another breath, Dad’s palm cracked across my face, stinging and hard enough to whip my head to the side.

“How dare you,” he growled.

My gaze stayed fixed on the floor.

“Is this how you repay us for raising you! Huh?!”

When he didn’t receive a response he opened his mouth to continue, but I was already turning away.

I spun on my heel and stormed out, my shoulder slamming hard into Clara as I shoved past her in the doorway. She stumbled back a step, but I didn’t look back as I pushed the door open.

“Lila!” Dad yelled behind me. “Don’t you dare do anything stupid!”

I slammed it firmly in his face. The latch clicked shut behind me as I stepped out without looking back.

The sun hit my face too and I had to squint against it as I walked down the front steps on legs that felt borrowed from someone else entirely.

I climbed in, turned the key, and pulled away from the curb without checking the rearview mirror.

The neighborhood blurred past in streaks of green lawns and white picket fences, but I couldn’t tell you a single detail of the drive. One minute I was gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles ached white; the next I was parking in front of the low brick building downtown where Mr. Hargrove’s office sat tucked between a coffee shop and a dry cleaner.

The engine ticked as it cooled, and I sat there for a long moment, staring at the faded gold lettering on the glass door: Hargrove & Associates, Attorneys at Law.

My hands still shook.

The vanilla scent from my shirt had faded, replaced by the faint smell of hot leather and exhaust, but the taste of salt and betrayal still coated my tongue.

I didn’t remember deciding to come here. I didn’t remember any of the stoplights or the turns. My body had simply pointed the car toward the one person who might actually do something without telling me to go home and bake more cookies. I wiped my face one last time with the sleeve of my shirt, smearing what was left of my mascara, and pushed the door open before I could talk myself out of it.

The little bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside.

The waiting area still smelled like fresh coffee and lemon polish, the same fake-cheerful scent every lawyer’s office seemed to share. Mr. Hargrove looked up from the reception desk where he was chatting with his assistant when I walked in. He was in his late fifties, silver at the temples, tie slightly loosened like he had already put in a long day. When he saw me, his face shifted into that practiced, professional smile he always wore for clients.

“Lila,” he greeted warmly, standing up and coming around the desk. “Good to see you. Though I wasn’t expecting you today. Everything all right?”

I stood there in the middle of the quiet office, the carpet soft under my shoes, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound besides the pounding in my ears.

My throat felt tight, but the words came out anyway.

“I need to ask for a favor.”