Chapter 2 - The Sound of Shattering Glass
“Pregnant?” I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. I looked from Sabrina’s smug, porcelain face to my mother’s impatient glare, and finally to my father’s stony grimace. “Are you all out of your minds? You want me to give up my home—the penthouse I bought with my own money—because Sabrina might get pregnant?”
Derek chuckled, a slick, practiced sound that grated against my nerves. He adjusted his platinum cuffs, his eyes completely devoid of the warmth one might expect from a new groom. “It’s not just about space, Vivien. It’s about family legacy. The Morrisons need a proper estate to host gatherings, to raise the next generation. Your apartment is perfect. Honestly, a single woman working eighty hours a week doesn't need three bedrooms overlooking the park. It’s a waste of prime real estate.”
I stared at him, utterly paralyzed by the sheer, unadulterated entitlement radiating from his perfectly tailored suit. I turned back to my parents, waiting for the punchline, waiting for them to reprimand this arrogant stranger for coveting their eldest daughter's hard-earned sanctuary.
Instead, my father nodded in solemn agreement. “Derek is right. You’re never there anyway, Vivien. We’ve already drawn up the transfer papers. You’ll sign the deed over to them as a wedding gift. We’ll help you find a nice, sensible one-bedroom closer to your office.”
A hollow, incredulous laugh escaped my throat. “A wedding gift? You want me to hand over a ten-million-dollar property so my sister can play the wealthy socialite without actually working for it? Absolutely not.”
Sabrina’s lower lip trembled, a weaponized pout she had perfected since childhood. “Why do you always have to ruin everything, Viv?” she hissed, her voice dropping its sweet facade. “You have millions! You can buy another place! I’m the one starting a family, I’m the one doing things right. You’re just a bitter, lonely workaholic who cares more about money than your own flesh and blood.”
“My money is the only reason you’re wearing Vera Wang right now, Sabrina!” I snapped, my voice rising just enough to turn the heads of a few nearby guests. “My money paid for these white roses. My money is paying for that string quartet. You are all living in a fantasy world subsidized by my exhaustion, and the bank is officially closed.”
The silence that followed was deafening, a vacuum in the middle of the crowded ballroom.
Then, it happened.
My mother stepped forward, her eyes blazing with an ugly, visceral fury. Her hand lashed out with terrifying speed. The sharp, cracking sound of her palm connecting with my cheek echoed like a gunshot over the melodic strings.
The impact snapped my head to the side. The delicate crystal flute slipped from my trembling fingers, hitting the marble floor and exploding into a thousand glittering shards. The vintage champagne pooled around the toe of my designer heel like golden blood. Gasps rippled through the surrounding crowd, but I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, the stinging heat on my skin cementing a profound, irreversible truth in my heart.
I slowly turned my head, my eyes locking onto my mother’s trembling hand, then moving to my father’s indifferent face, and finally resting on Sabrina’s triumphant smirk.
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“You want my apartment?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, yet sharp enough to cut glass. “You’ll have to step over my dead body to get the keys.”
Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out of the Ritz-Carlton, leaving my family in the wreckage of their own making.
