Chapter 2

Daniel replied almost immediately.

"Got it, Chloe. That's a beautiful name."

I wrote back politely.

"Thank you. My grandmother named me."

My parents had only ever called me "Meatball." They said it sounded like the name of a fat little piglet.

Then they shipped me off to a Texas farm as if I were one.

When I turned six, it was time for me to start first grade at the local elementary school.

The school needed a legal name for its records.

Grandma called my parents again and again.

Every time, they brushed her off.

"Fine, we'll come up with something that suits her. You have to understand, Mom. It's not easy naming a child like her.

"We're swamped with Fashion Week and brand launches. We barely have time to sleep.

"Besides, it's just a name. What's the rush?"

Grandma waited month after month.

Then the first day of school came.

Afraid I would miss enrollment, Grandma wrote "Chloe" on the form herself.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to live up to your parents' impossible standards of perfection.

"I want you to be as free as the wind and wildflowers on the open plains. Bloom wherever you please and go wherever life takes you."

Even as a little girl, I understood.

As my parents' "Meatball," I would have been hidden away in some dark corner forever.

So I let Meatball go and became Chloe, the girl who was adored by her grandmother.

Just then, the butler knocked on my door.

"Dinner's ready," the butler said, not bothering to use my name.

He knew perfectly well that I was a member of this household.

The staff called Isabella "Ms. Isabella" but they did not even bother to address me by name.

I didn't know whether my parents had ordered it or the staff were simply snobs.

It was a good thing I knew this place had never been my home.

I had never let myself hope for anything from them.

When I went downstairs, the living room nearly blinded me, even through my sunglasses.

Rows of Chanel couture gowns and red-soled heels were arranged neatly across the room.

A luxury jewelry consultant wearing white gloves presented Isabella with a selection of exquisite pieces worth a fortune.

I stopped on the stairs.

A flicker of embarrassment crossed my father's face.

"Tomorrow is your sister's 18th birthday party. She needs to look her best."

Then he looked me up and down, taking in my huge hoodie and what looked like fat bulging beneath it.

"As for you, wear your own clothes. The less noticeable you are, the better.

"There's nothing wrong with being fat, as long as you keep a low profile. That way, the fashion press won't notice you.

"If you insist on squeezing into a gown that doesn't fit, you'll make a laughingstock of yourself."

Their time. Their money. Their company.

Even the smallest scrap of love they had left.

My parents were too stingy to give me any of it.

I calmly nodded to show I understood.

I didn't argue or fight him for any of it.

Rather than reassure him, my silence seemed to make my father uncomfortable.

"You're still a young woman. I'm just saying you shouldn't dress like a clown. That doesn't mean you should look like a complete slob.

"I'll have Isabella send up a few loose-fitting outfits she bought that turned out to be too big for her."

I looked up at my father, who seemed to think he was doing me a favor, and turned him down flat.

"No, thanks."

He thought he was doing me a huge favor. He had no idea I wanted nothing from him.