Chapter 2

After Phoebe returned to the countryside, Grandpa forbade her from sneaking back to the Morris' home.

My stepfather told Mother to stop fussing over Phoebe, and he even called her a useless, worthless girl.

So Phoebe had no choice but to stay at Grandpa's and study under his daily supervision.

When the SAT results came out, she did well — and hope flared in her chest that she could return to the Morris'.

Ecstatic, she clutched her acceptance letter and marched into the Morris household.

No one paid her any mind.

Because that day was my farewell party.

Stepfather had already pulled strings to send me abroad to polish my prospects. The hairpin in my hair, the bracelet on my wrist, the necklace at my throat — everything glittered under the lights, a provocation to Phoebe's eyes.

She forced her way through the guests, trying to thrust her acceptance letter at Mother and our stepdad. Instead, my little brother shoved her to the floor. "Where did this beggar come from? Are the security guards off duty today?"

They hauled Phoebe to her feet before Mother recognized her. Her acceptance letter lay trampled and torn on the floor. Mother ordered someone to let her go — and then never looked back.

Mother steered me into conversations with the wives of various business magnates. I comported myself with practiced grace and left them delighted.

"Rachel is a real heiress," they cooed, "so poised and elegant. Any guy that marries her is truly lucky."

"We heard you have a younger daughter as well. How is she?" someone asked.

Mother waved the question away. "Don't bring her up. She's molded by poverty — just like her grandfather."

Phoebe stood like an outsider at the edge of the hall and watched me circulate through every corner. I cradled a glass of red wine and chatted animatedly with the scions of the elite. Stepdad clapped his hands and hushed the room. He took my hand and led me to the exhibition stage.

"My daughter is eighteen now," he announced, "it's time I let her go out into the world." He smiled and handed me a bank card. "Studying abroad is different from staying here. Take care of yourself."

Then Quentin Carmel rose, dropping to one knee with a gentleness that made the room sigh. He kissed the back of my hand. "I'll wait for your return."

When he stood, and Stepdad placed my hand in his, Stepdad revealed the real purpose of the evening. "When Rachel returns from abroad, she'll be engaged to Quentin."

Applause echoed. The young heirs murmured their regrets and admiration.

"Quentin is incredible — so young and already closing such big deals. He's set to outdo his father," they said.

Phoebe's gaze turned venomous, fixed on me like a snake. Everything that should have been hers — the wealth, the engagement to a brilliant man — was being taken from her.

That night, Phoebe texted me, asking me to meet. [Rachel, I'm so miserable. I miss you.]

I threw on a coat and went to the place we'd agreed upon. She turned to face me, wild-eyed, clutching a bucket.

"If it weren't for you, all of this would be mine!" she screamed. Then she hurled the bucket's contents over me, locked her arms around me, and tossed a lighter.

"Rachel, if I can't live a good life, neither will you. Die with me!"

The flames swallowed us both, and again we returned to the day we had to choose our futures.

This time, Phoebe chose Mother and Stepdad first. Before she left, she hugged me with false sisterly affection and hissed in my ear, "Go rot with the old antiques, you pauper."

Riding Grandpa's creaky tricycle, I arrived in the countryside. It could never compare to the city, but it wasn't the ruin Phoebe had painted.

Grandpa had already prepared a room for me: a wooden bed, a simple desk, a bookshelf — the air full of warm wood scent that calmed me. My suitcase didn't hold much, so I unpacked quickly.

Grandpa came back from the fields with a hoe over his shoulder, carrying a chunk of meat. He didn't say much, but I knew he had bought it for me. He was a man of few words, yet he kept piling meat onto my plate.

"Finish your meal and wash the dishes," he said. "There are no dishwashers in the countryside."

Before he finished speaking, I rose to wash the bowls.

Grandpa snorted with a proud little huff. "The road ahead is long. Today isn't the real hard part — if you've chosen to stay with me, there'll be plenty more hardship to come."