Chapter 4 - The Green Room ReckoningThe moment I pushed open the door to the green room, the stifling heat of pent-up fury hit me like a physical wave.
My mother broke away from the corner first, rushing toward me with her arms outstretched, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
"Chloe! Oh, my baby girl!" she sobbed, attempting to pull me into a hug. "Why didn't you tell us? How could you keep something so huge a secret from your own mother? We are so, so proud of you—"
I stepped back, lifting my hand to halt her advance. The coldness in my posture stopped her dead in her tracks.
"Don't," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.
My father stepped up beside her, his face a complex maze of shock, wounded pride, and desperate diplomacy. He cleared his throat, trying to slip back into his boardroom negotiation persona.
"Now, Chloe, let’s be reasonable," my father began, attempting a warm, fatherly smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Emotions were running high this morning. Olivia was stressed about her segment—which, by the way, was canceled by the producers after what happened—and we were all distracted. But family is family. Eighty million dollars... that's incredible. We want to help you manage it. As a financial strategist, I can set up a family trust, diversify your portfolio—"
"A family trust?" I cut him off, a sharp, humorless laugh escaping my lips. "Dad, do you hear yourself? Two hours ago, you and Olivia stood right over there and told me I was embarrassing this family. You told me to leave the studio because I wasn't successful enough to breathe the same air as you."
"That was a misunderstanding!" Olivia shrieked, bursting out from behind them. Her makeup was slightly smeared, her designer jacket crooked, and her eyes blazing with unadulterated venom. "You staged this! You planned this whole thing just to humiliate me! You knew I was supposed to be the star today, and you hijacked my interview with your stupid little computer company!"
I turned my gaze slowly toward my stepsister. I looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time in years. I saw the hollow entitlement, the fragile ego built entirely on sand, and the desperate terror of someone who had just realized she was completely ordinary.
"Hijacked your interview, Olivia?" I asked coolly. "The producers of Sunrise America spent three weeks trying to book CipherCore. You were just the filler segment before the commercial break. They only let you on because our parents pulled every favor they had to get you five minutes of screen time to stroke your ego."
Olivia let out a feral gasp, raising her hand as if she was going to lunge across the room and scratch my eyes out.
"Don't you dare—"
"Stop it! Both of you, stop it right now!" my father roared, his authority completely fractured. He turned back to me, his voice softening into a pathetic, pleading whine. "Chloe, please. Be the bigger person. We’re your parents. Doesn't that mean anything to you? After everything we sacrificed for you—"
"Sacrificed?" I snapped, the ice in my chest finally cracking into scalding fury. "What sacrifice, Dad? Did you sacrifice the money you spent flying Olivia to Europe every summer while I stayed behind in an empty house? Did you sacrifice the praise you showered on her every time she breathed, while you told me I was wasting my life? The only thing you ever sacrificed when it came to me was the basic decency of treating me like I mattered."
My mother burst into fresh tears, clutching her chest. "How can you be so cold? We raised you!"
"No," I corrected her softly. "You housed me. You fed me. But you never saw me. And the moment I became successful on my own terms, without your help, without your approval, and without your guidance, you tried to throw me in the trash because I didn't fit your aesthetic."
I picked up my designer leather handbag from the sofa table, smoothing down the lapel of my blazer one last time.
"My lawyers will handle the transfer of any residual family property or shared logistics. As for my phone number? It’s already been changed. Don't try to call. Don't try to email. And definitely don't ever call yourselves my family again."
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"Chloe, wait!" my father yelled as I turned toward the exit.
I didn't look back. I pushed open the green room door and walked out into the sunlit corridors of the television studio, leaving the ghosts of my past locked firmly behind me.
