Chapter 2

The next afternoon, building maintenance called my phone.

"Ma'am, we received a complaint about clutter left in the hallway outside your unit. It's violating fire safety codes. Please clear it immediately."

Confused, I opened the front door.

Every single succulent pot I had kept on the console outside had been hurled across the floor.

Ceramic shards and potting soil were strewn everywhere.

I had raised those succulents from tiny cuttings when we first moved in.

As I picked up the wreckage, a sharp ceramic edge sliced into my finger. Crimson welled up immediately.

Just as I finished throwing away the dirt, Ethan walked off the elevator.

"You threw my plants away?" I asked, voice trembling.

He stood in the entryway mirror, adjusting his silk tie, entirely unbothered.

"Yeah. Kylie mentioned she gets allergies around foliage and the smell was giving her a headache."

He glanced at my bleeding hand and pointed toward the hallway console.

"Band-Aids are in the drawer."

I stared at him. "They're succulents. They don't even have pollen."

"Does it matter? If it makes her uncomfortable, it doesn't belong here."

Always Kylie.

Swallowing the rising fury, I asked, "When did she even get here?"

"I drove her back late last night. It was late, so I had her sleep in the guest room."

He stated it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I walked past him into the guest room. My easel, canvases, and years of design drafts had all been shoved unceremoniously into a dark corner, buried under branded shopping bags and pink luggage.

"Where are my things supposed to go?"

"Kylie has a lot of luggage, so I told her to use this space for now." Ethan followed me in, eyeing my sketches with disdain. "You haven't touched this stuff in years anyway. Why let it collect dust?"

I shook with rage. "Ethan, that's my entire portfolio! That's my life's work!"

"Can your little hobby put food on the table?"

He cut me off, exasperated. "Chloe, you're not an art school kid anymore. Stop clinging to these childish dreams. Your job right now is to keep this home running and support my business. Not hiding in a room all day painting useless scribbles."

A hollow laugh escaped me.

Those "useless scribbles" had won a design competition three years ago—the prize money that provided his very first round of startup capital.

Back then, he had swept me up and spun me around the room.

Chloe, you're brilliant! I swear to God, I'm going to give you the happiest life imaginable!

The promise still echoed in my ears, but the man who spoke it had long forgotten.

I looked straight into his eyes. "What if I told you I received an offer to work in Milan?"

Ethan blinked, then scoffed out loud.

"You? Stop kidding yourself."

"Even if you had the chance, you wouldn't go. Who's going to take care of Mom and Kylie? Chloe, it's time you grew up."

Grew up.

I had been the grown-up for over twenty years.

My mother said: You're older, you need to let your sister have it.

Ethan said: Be mature. Kylie is family, you have to accommodate her.

It seemed that as long as I was the "mature" one, everyone felt entitled to strip me of everything I owned.

Just then, Kylie padded out of the master bathroom, rubbing her eyes.

She wore one of Ethan's oversized dress shirts, making her look remarkably frail and helpless.

"Are you two fighting?" she whispered, her wide eyes landing on me.

"Chloe, please don't be mad. It's all my fault. I didn't know you still needed this room. I'll pack my bags and leave right now."

She moved toward the suitcases with a delicate, trembling motion.

Ethan instantly stepped forward, catching her arm.

"Where do you think you're going? This is your home."

He whipped around to face me, his voice icy.

"Chloe, I'm warning you. If you give Kylie a hard time, you and I are done."

My mind drifted back seven years.

When Ethan's first venture failed, we lived in a cramped, drafty studio barely larger than a storage unit. There was barely room for a single mattress.

With no heat in the dead of winter, he would hold me tight through the night, using his own body heat to keep me warm.

He had kissed my forehead, whispering:

Chloe, I'm so sorry you have to suffer like this. The second I make real money, I'll buy you a massive house. With a private dressing room, and an entire studio just for you.

I turned around and walked back to the master bedroom.

Looking at the blood seeping from my cut finger, I pulled out my phone and sent an email:

Milan. I'm taking the offer.