Chapter 2

Lorraine Fox's younger brother, Clifford Fox, was a spoiled rich heir, and in these three years, he had been the most hostile presence toward me.

After graduating from college, he did nothing at all and would come stay at the mansion every few days. He looked down on me to the very bone, and he showed that contempt in the most blatant way possible.

"Hey, you there, pour me a glass of water. Make it iced." He sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, playing a video game, ordering me around without even turning his head.

I set the glass down by his hand, and he didn't so much as say "thanks."

The shoes he kicked off, he flung by the entryway, waiting for me to come pick them up and wipe them clean. The snack bags he emptied, he dropped on the carpet, waiting for me to come clean them up.

I was like a servant—no, worse than a servant. The cleaning lady in the complex, he would at least politely call "Auntie." To me, it was always "Hey" or "you there."

It wasn't that I hadn't brought it up with Lorraine.

One time, Clifford brought friends home in the middle of the night for a party. The music was earsplitting, and the whole living room was a fog of smoke, bottles and food scraps everywhere. I got up at five the next morning to clean it, or Lorraine would blow up when she saw it.

I went to Lorraine and said tactfully, "Clifford's still young, and wanting to have fun is only natural, but could he be a little more considerate? Throwing a party in the middle of the night looks bad, and besides—"

She cut me off, adjusting her silk scarf as she spoke. "He's still a kid. Cut him some slack. Besides, you live here—isn't cleaning part of what you're supposed to do anyway? Just think of it as an advance on your workload."

"That's not what I meant. I meant—"

"Colin," she said, calling me by my full name for the first time, her eyes cold, "remember who you are. Don't meddle in things that aren't your concern."

In that moment, I understood completely. In this house, I had no say at all. Clifford was her own brother, and I was just an outsider paid to do a job.

The conflict came to a head because of a shirt.

It was the only shirt I owned that cost more than five hundred. My mom bought it for my twenty-fifth birthday, with money she'd saved up for a long time. I could never bring myself to wear it day to day—only when I went back home.

That day, for whatever reason, Clifford lost it. His corgi peed on the carpet, and rather than clean it up, he just grabbed the shirt I'd hung to dry on the balcony and threw it on the floor to wipe up the pee.

By the time I found it, the white shirt was covered in yellow stains, giving off a sharp, foul stench.

I clenched my fists, the fury in my chest almost bursting out. I rushed into the living room, where Clifford was playing a video game with his headphones on.

I yanked his headphones off.

"What did you do?" My voice shook with anger.

He lazily lifted his eyelids. "Oh, you mean that ratty old shirt? Used it to wipe up dog pee. So what? If it's dirty, just toss it. I'll have my sister buy you ten more later."

"That's my shirt!"

"Your shirt?" He scoffed and stood up. Half a head taller than me, he looked down at me. "Colin, get this straight. The place you live, the food you eat, the clothes and everything you use—which one of them is yours? Including you—my sister bought you too! It's just a ratty shirt. Who are you to yell at me?"

"You have to apologize to me!" I said, one word at a time.

"Apologize?" He looked like he'd heard the biggest joke in the world. "Apologize to you? Are you even worth it?"

And with that, he reached out to shove my shoulder.

The anger I'd held back for three years finally erupted in that instant. I grabbed his wrist, twisted it around, and pinned him to the sofa.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" Clifford screamed in pain.

Just then, Lorraine came home.

When she saw the scene, her face darkened at once.

"Colin, stop!"

I let go. Clifford immediately scrambled up and ran to his sister to tattle. "Sis! Look at him! He dared to hit me! A freeloading kept man dared to hit me!"

I looked at Lorraine, hoping she would at least ask what had happened.

But she didn't.

She just looked at me coldly, her eyes full of disappointment and disgust. "Colin, you've disappointed me so much. No matter how immature Clifford is, he's still my brother. Laying a hand on him means you don't respect me at all."

"He's the one who used my shirt to wipe up dog pee first!" I explained.

"It's just a shirt." Lorraine's tone was offhand, exactly as I'd expected. "How much? I'll pay you back. Clifford, apologize to him."

Clifford muttered grudgingly, "Sorry, okay?"

That apology was pure going-through-the-motions and mockery.

Lorraine went on, "This ends here. Colin, as punishment for getting physical, half of this month's living allowance is docked. If there's a next time, you get out of this house."

She led Clifford upstairs, fussing over him with concern, as if he were the one who'd been hurt.

I stood alone in the empty living room, looking at the ruined shirt, and felt my heart turn cold inch by inch.

So it turned out that my dignity, and my mother's love, were worth no more than half a living allowance in her eyes.