Page 178 of Stranger to Love

Martin didn't even look at her; he just stared at the expensive marble island. "She’s forgotten where she came from, Peter. That’s the trouble with your sister. She thinks she’s better than the people who raised her."

I felt the roar of protective fury rising in my throat. I looked at Carrie, and she looked so small in that moment, despite the expensive clothes and the grand kitchen. She looked like a girl being picked apart by vultures.

I felt the fucking fire in my lungs, my muscles coiling as I prepared to let them have it. I was a second away from telling Peter exactly what he could do with his cheap suit and his parasitic attitude, but before I could get a single word out, I felt a firm, steady hand on the small of my back.

It was Carrie. She didn’t look at me, but the pressure of her hand was a silent command: Stay. I’ve got this.

She took a slow, elegant sip of her tea, her movements so fluid they made her family’s bickering look like a tantrum in a fucking playground. When she spoke, her voice wasn't loud, but it had the cutting edge of a diamond.

"It’s fascinating," she began, her gaze sweeping over her parents before landing squarely on Peter. "Nobody seemed particularly concerned about my arrogance when I paid for your bungalow, Mother. And Dad, you didn't seem to find me 'too good for the family' when I cleared your debts three years ago."

She turned her head slightly, fixing Peter with a look that would make a world leader sweat. "And then there’s you, Peter. I seem to recall investing a rather significant sum into that logistics firm of yours. 'A sure thing,' you called it." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with clinical precision. "How is that going, by the way? Is the company still thriving, or was that your wife’s designer handbag I saw in the hallway—the one with the frayed stitching?"

The silence that followed was exquisite.

Peter’s smug expression didn't just fade; it disintegrated. He started to fidget, his fingers tapping a nervous, erratic rhythm on the table, and his face turned a blotchy, embarrassed red. He looked everywhere but at Carrie. Beside him, his wife suddenly looked very interested in her fingernails.

"It's... it's a difficult market right now, Caroline," Peter mumbled, his voice lacking even a fraction of its earlier bravado. "Everyone’s struggling."

"Everyone?" Carrie echoed, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "Not everyone, Peter. Some of us actually work for our success rather than waiting for a handout from the sister they claim to despise."

I couldn’t help it; I let out a soft, breathy laugh. The leeches had been caught in the light, and watching them squirm under Carrie’s brilliance was the most satisfying fucking thing I had seen all year.

Richard shifted uncomfortably, the bravado he had in the kitchen earlier evaporating as he realised he had brought a knife to a gunfight. He looked at Peter’s reddening face, then at Carrie’s icy resolve, and finally at me. He saw the trap he had built—and he was starting to realise he was the one caught in it.

"Alright, alright," Richard stammered, holding his hands up as if he was the one trying to keep the peace. "Let’s not get all... aggressive. CC, I only asked them over because I thought it’d be a nice surprise. Family unity and all that."

He turned to me, offering a weak, oily smile that made my skin crawl. "And I’m sure Alex doesn’t want to be in the middle of a family row on a Sunday morning, right? Maybe we should all just... talk about something else. Alex, tell them about your degree. You're a student, aren't you? That’s something they’ll understand."

It was a fucking pathetic pivot. He was trying to throw me to the wolves as a distraction, hoping that if the focus shifted to me or my age the heat would stay off his own fucking failures.

I didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. I just leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms and looking at him with pure, unadulterated pity.

Carrie didn't miss a beat. She didn't even look at Richard as she addressed the table, her hand still resting firmly on my back. "Alex has been pursuing her degree with honours while working more hours than most people in this room could handle," she said, her voice ringing with a pride that made my heart swell. "She understands more about hard work and loyalty than anyone else in this room. So if you’re looking for someone to 'understand,' Richard, I suggest you start by looking in a mirror."

"We didn't come here to talk about a barmaid’s qualifications," Martin snapped, his eyes darting to me with a look of utter disdain. "We came here to talk about you, Caroline. And why your brother is sleeping in a guest room while you’re playing house with... this."

Carrie’s grip on my back tightened. The room went cold.

The air in the kitchen thickened with a toxicity so potent it made my eyes fucking sting.

"Honestly, Caroline," her mother added, her voice dripping with a fake, motherly concern that was actually pure fucking poison. "If you were a better part of this family, we wouldn't have to show up unannounced just to see you. Instead, you’ve chosen to chase after some girl and hide away, rather than helping the people who actually care about you."

"Exactly," Peter chimed in, gaining a second wind now that he thought he had an opening. He gestured vaguely at the room. "If you actually spent time helping me with the company instead of just throwing money at the problem and disappearing, we could have made something of it. But I suppose you're just throwing money at Alex now, too. Is that how it works? You just buy people to stay in your life because you’re too cold to keep them any other way?"

I felt Carrie's hand tremble against my back. She was frozen, caught between the girl she used to be—the one they had spent a lifetime fucking guilt-tripping—and the powerhouse she was then. She looked like she was a second away from shattering, her eyes bright with a mix of unshed tears and devastating rage.

And that’s when I fucking snapped.

I pushed off the counter, moving with a suddenness that made Richard jump back and Peter’s smirk falter. I stepped into the centre of the room, placing myself directly between Carrie and the vultures circling her.

"Shut up," I said, my voice not loud, but possessing a jagged, terrifying edge that silenced the room instantly. "All of you. Just shut your mouths."

"Excuse me?" Martin began, puffing out his chest. "You have no right—"

"I have every right," I barked, taking a step toward him. "Because I’m the one who sits here every night and watches her work herself to the bone so she can keep paying for your lives. You talk about family? You’re not a family. You’re a pack of leeches who have mistaken her kindness for an obligation."

I turned on Peter, my eyes narrowed. "And you. You’re a failure because you’re mediocre, Peter. Not because your sister didn't hold your hand enough. You’ve spent her money and then had the audacity to come into her home and insult the only person who actually loves her for who she is, and not what she has in her bank account."