Chapter Thirty-Six

The sensation of numb hollownessin my chest only gets worse. What happened leaves me in a limbo that I can't seem to break out of.

It's Thursday now, and I waited all of yesterday for a text from Jake, a call, a visit… anything. But that didn't come. It's been nearly forty hours since that mess started, and there's been nothing.

We're not broken up. I don't think so. We're stronger than that, and the disastrous evening is only a hiccup. Maybe he needs a moment to cool down before we can discuss this with clear heads. I hated arguing with him and hope it will never happen again.

We haven't gone this long without any contact in… ever, and I don't know what to do. Should I be the one texting him, even if he's the one who messed up? It's not like I didn't warn him about my parents. He knew about their rigid manners and how strict they are with me.

His temper nearly ruined a decade of arduous efforts, and I'm not okay with that.

Maybe I should be the bigger person and text him. After work, I can stop by my place to get things for tomorrow and then head down to Brooklyn. We'll have a long talk to clear the air, and he'll make love to me for a good portion of the night until there's no tension left between us.

Yes, that's perfect. As soon as I'm done reading these dreadfully dull contract revisions, I'll text him and ask if I can come over tonight. I'm sure he misses me as much as I do him.

I'm not even halfway through the file when two knocks come at the glass door. Daisy's there when I look up, and she opens when I give her a signal.

"Miss Kensington, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Sinclair's assistant wants to know if you have an opening today for a one-on-one."

This is highly irregular. The man usually summons me without bothering to make sure I'm available or not. It seems Daisy also feels the same because she looks excited about it.

This is about the promotion, isn't it? All my hard work these past weeks, months, years… It'll finally pay off, and I'll be in a position that allows me to steer this department in a much more efficient way. No more vanity conference meetings, no more last-minute change of plans, and no more procrastinating until the whole floor has a week to handle a month-long task. Everyone in this department will have a much better work environment.

"Is it okay if I go now?" I ask Daisy. My voice is uneven from the nervousness.

"That would be perfect. His secretary told me he's free until lunch. So, it's either now or tomorrow."

"Now it is, then."

I swiftly abandon everything I'm doing and adjust my skirt down my thighs. My outfit today is perfect for this, with a dark mauve skirt and jacket, a white silk shirt underneath, and my pearly Jimmy Choos. I took particular care when I picked my clothes this morning because I'm meeting Mother for lunch.

As if she can sense my distress, Vivienne has been showing me a level of gentleness and affection I haven't been graced with since Vicky's accident. In fact, I'm not even sure she ever was the loving and caring type, but at least she's trying.

The fact that I'll get to tell her about my promotion brings a smile to my lips as I exit my office. She'll be the second one to know, right after Jake. The news will serve as a great icebreaker when I text him once I'm done with Sinclair.

My boss's assistant gives me a small smile when I arrive and invites me to step in—Mr. Sinclair is expecting me. Definitely nervous, I take a long and deep breath with my fingers wrapped around the handle. I've been waiting for this for five years, and all the overtime and the insane workload I've put on myself led to this moment.

I feel at peace when I open the door, a smile plastered on my face.

"Ah, Genevieve," he greets when I enter. He doesn't get up from his chair but gestures to the one on the other side of his desk. "Please, sit."

I comply, holding back my grin the best I can. "How have you been doing, dear?" he asks, leaning back into his leather seat.

"Good, thank you. The team's been sailing smoothly, we're ahead of all our assignments, and we're getting ready for the merger to be finalized."

"That's great to hear. If I'm being perfectly honest, I was a little worried when we first hired you. In my experience, people who come from a background as wealthy as yours usually get a job out of boredom or to fit expectations, and they never get properly involved in it. But you have been a great addition to this department."

"I'm glad I exceeded your expectations, then. Working here has been an enriching experience, and I can't wait for more of it to come."

"Good, good." He's pensive for a few moments, probably trying to find the words to break the good news to me. "As you know, I'm retiring in the fall," he starts. "I've been tasked by the people upstairs to find the most competent replacement to fill my position once I'm gone."

"Yes, we have discussed this in the past."

"Well, it wasn't an easy choice because so much has to be considered for the sake of the company. It has to be an informed decision, you see. So, I have been weighing everything for weeks, trying to find the perfect department head. And I finally reached a conclusion, which is why I asked you here."

I'm practically vibrating with excitement. My life's truly turning around, between Jake, my relationship with my mother getting better, and now this.

"I've decided," Mr. Sinclair continues, "that the best person to take over after I'm gone in October will be Ralf Lowell. He's had a lot of great initiatives lately, and he's such a fun guy to be around."

My boss keeps talking, but I can't hear any of it. Ralf Lowell? Ralf?! Lazy ass, rapey jokes Ralf is getting the job? Over me? How? In what world is that an informed decision?

"Excuse me, but Ralf?" I ask, so baffled I barely realize I'm interrupting his rambling.

"Yes, Mr. Lowell will step into my shoes once I'm gone. Like I was saying, he's—"

"I've been here longer than he has," I remind him. "I have better diplomas than him. I work harder and better."

"Genevieve, you are an exemplary employee—no one's denying that. But Ralf is better suited to take over."

"Why? I'm more qualified for the job in every single aspect. Unless the position requires male genitalia, in which case, I suppose I'm lacking indeed."

"Please, let's not make this a gender thing, Genevieve. We both know why I'm choosing him over you."

I stare at him, puzzled and offended. "I have no idea, no."

"Oh, please. There's no denying that you have been scattered lately."

"Scattered?"

"You skip Friday drinks. You're unfocused during major meetings. You come in late, leave the office early… You also filed an HR complaint regarding several of your colleagues and subordinates. And when we had a fundamentally important file to compile with a strict deadline, you took a day off to celebrate your birthday."

"The file was done in time. I made sure of that."

"Ralf's team was the one working hard on Friday to get it done, Genevieve. He told me how much of an inconvenience it was that you would dump it all on his team in favor of your birthday."

"No, that isn't what happened. My team worked hard to get it done by Thursday, and I did so much overtime I nearly passed out from exhaustion. Lowell's team only had the proofreading and formatting to handle."

"And yet, they were the ones working late on that Friday evening. I'm sorry, dear, but you don't deserve the job. You might have, two or three months ago, but I cannot in good conscience give you the position. Ralf will take over, and who knows? Maybe you'll get his position when he moves another step up."

Oh God.

The reality of what it means slowly sinks in. Ralf will become my boss in October. If I thought working under Sinclair was bad, what will it be like with Ralf? The man has been scamming his way up since he started—two years after me. And now he's taking over the job I was owed? How much harder will I have to work to make up for Ralf's incompetence?

I can barely breathe at the thought of it, my lungs uncooperative, and my intakes shallow. This is a nightmare. Ralf fucking Lowell is my future boss.

"I understand that you might be going through some things, Genevieve," Mr. Sinclair kindly says. "Rumors have been circulating that you've separated from your boyfriend. Edward from accounting, was it? If you want my advice, get your act together and focus on what's important. Like I said, you're an exemplary worker, but you've let yourself go. I've seen the kind of relationship you've entertained lately."

"I know my personal life has been complicated, but even with all that, I still work harder and better than Ralf. It's not fair to use my current situation to judge my performance."

"Ralf offers consistency, which is something I value. I wish I could have given you the position, but I cannot trust that you will not spiral any lower than you already have. This department cannot be in the hands of someone unstable."

I can barely think past the indignation. The utter unfairness of his decision hits hard. The promotion I've been working my ass off for the past five years, the logical outcome of my studies and time at NexaCorp, just slipped from my fingers. All because I met Jake and started living my life for myself rather than for work.

As if I need a reminder that this moment can get even more humiliating, the door opens behind me, and a grating voice says, "Celebratory drinks tonight?"

Furious, I twist around in the chair to glare at Ralf and the cocky expression on his stupid face. "Oh, I didn't realize it was you, Genevieve."

Right, so many redheads work in this department.

"I take it Mr. Sinclair broke the news to you," he continues, looking so smug that I want to choke him with his ugly tie.

"He did. Congratulations on the position, Ralf. God knows how hard you worked for it," I say with acerbic sarcasm.

"Better luck next time, eh? So, Victor, are we on for drinks tonight?" Of course, first-name basis now.

"Sure. We have to celebrate. Genevieve, will you be joining us?"

I would rather eat a bucket of nails. "I'm afraid not. I have plans."

"It's alright. We'll organize an office party soon to announce the news to the rest of the floor."

Great.

I sit there, feeling like a failure, while they talk and joke like old friends. Where did all of this go wrong? When I didn't do rails of coke with Sinclair in club bathrooms like Ralf did? When I naively thought this professional ladder could be climbed with impeccable ethics and hard work rather than politics and ass-licking?

Or was it when I began prioritizing my love life?

My phone buzzing in my pocket rescues me from this torturous moment. "I have to take this," I pretend without even checking the caller.

Because it would make me actually vomit, I don't congratulate Ralf again before I leave. I pull out my phone and see it's my mother. As always, a surge of panic chills my blood. But we're past that now. She's been so kind to me since Gerry's dinner that I feel ashamed for the guttural reaction.

"Hi," I say as I pick up.

"Genevieve, good morning. I just booked a hair appointment early in the afternoon. Would you mind if we met for a coffee instead of lunch?"

Some things will never change. I'm so used to coming second to the rest of her life that I barely feel insulted. "Sure, I'll see if I can free myself soon."

"I'm actually here now. Doesn't the lobby where you work have a coffee shop?"

"It does, but—"

"Perfect. We'll have coffee, then I'll have lunch with Lilian."

"You said it was a hair appointment."

"After Lilian, yes. But I'm here now to spend time with you, darling. So, are you coming down, or did I come all this way for nothing?"

"I-I'm coming down."

She hangs up before I've even removed the phone from my ear, and I stand there, a little dumbfounded. This feels an awful lot like her old pattern, but I can't believe she'd fall back into it so quickly. Maybe I was too naive thinking she could change.

As naive as when I thought I'd get Mr. Sinclair's job. Oh, God. I hope Mother doesn't ask about the promotion now. If she does, I'll have to tell her someone else got it, and she'll launch herself into another tirade about coming to work for Father.

Everything was going so well two days ago that I can't understand how I'm in this position. Looks like I used all of my luck on getting a man as incredible as Jake, and now I'm running out of it.

And the worst part is, I'm not even sure Jake is still mine.

The coffee shop Mother spoke of is a sleek space nested in the NexaCorp building. It's nothing stellar, but it's better than what we brew in the break room.

I enter it with my handbag tucked under my arm, seeking my mother's perfectly styled head. She's easy to spot, with her blue-gray ensemble and a row of pearls around her neck. The sight of her, sitting rigidly there with her back straight and facing away from me, triggers the same kind of reaction her phone call did. Something cold crawls up my back, and my chest tightens anxiously.

Will this ever go away? If we stay on this path toward bettering our relationship, will I ever be able to see her as something other than a tyrant?

Before I head there, I switch my phone to silent mode, knowing how much she hates it when it rings during these moments together.

When I sit in the empty chair opposite her, she offers me a small and brief smile. "I can't stay for long," she explains first. "So I already ordered something for me and a green tea with a slice of lemon for you. Did you know green tea is a great ally for weight loss?"

How could I not know that, growing up with an almond mom? "I know, but I don't really like the taste."

"You'll get used to it. I have a cup every day after breakfast and lunch. It works wonders."

Her obsession with my weight seems to be at an all-time high, and I can't help but wonder if she isn't projecting her insecurities on me. Now that father has a young and pretty mistress, I'm sure Vivienne is scared the woman might get pregnant and steal her lifestyle away.

What a pathetic way to live.

"We didn't have time to discuss it during Gerry's dinner, but the gala to commemorate your sister was a resounding success," she discloses with pride. "Your absence for the second half was barely noticed, so no need to feel guilty about abandoning us for God knows what."

"I was feeling ill," I lie.

"That always seems to happen to you at the most inconvenient times. But that's alright. Like I said, you didn't ruin anything."

Our drinks arrive before she can say more, and as soon as the waitress is gone, she offers me a content look. "We raised a lot more than we expected for your sister's foundation."

"It isn't hers," I mumble behind my steaming cup of tea.

"What was that?"

"It's your foundation, not Victoria's."

"It's in her name, so there's barely any nuance there."

Before I can stop myself, my eyes roll up to the ceiling in an exasperated way. Mother notices and sets her coffee down with a miffed expression. Nothing good ever happens when she pinches her lips like this.

"What is it?" she demands.

I wince, focused on the slice of lemon floating in my cup. "Nothing, I'm just…"

When my words die off, unsure what to say, she sighs exasperatedly and says, "Please, don't tell me it's about that barbarian of a man. You did well to breakup with him."

I frown, confused as to why Jake is suddenly the subject of our conversation. "We're not broken up. Things are a little tense, but that's it."

"You're not? Genevieve, I thought I was being very clear."

"And I thought I was twenty-seven and in charge of my own decisions."

"Of course you are. But if you want to be part of this family, you cannot bring that man into it. I won't tolerate it, and neither will your father."

"So, it's either the man I love or my family?" I ask, stunned.

It's her turn to roll her eyes. "You do not love him."

"Don't tell me how I feel, Vivienne."

"You barely know the man."

"I know him a lot better than you knew Father before marrying him. And the more I learn about Jake, the harder I love him." Contrary to you and Father, who hate each other a little more with every day that passes in your stale marriage.

"Those feelings will fade with time. But family is forever, Genevieve."

"Obviously not, since you're giving me an ultimatum."

"Don't put it like that, dear. It's a question of morals. You can't expect us to welcome him into the family, so being with him will ultimately cut you off from us."

"No, you will make the conscious decision to cut me off if I stay with him. Jake has never tried to control my life or force me to do things I didn't want to."

Her irritation is growing more apparent with every word I utter, and the mere fact that she doesn't blow up at me betrays her ploy.

"Is this why you've been so involved with me since it all happened?" I ask, feeling dumb for not realizing it sooner. "That's your plan to solve this ‘problem?' Blinding me with fake affection so you can manipulate me into ending things with Jake?"

"‘Manipulate' is such a strong word. I'm only looking out for you, Genevieve."

No, she's not. She hasn't been looking out for me in a decade, and she isn't now. Why would she suddenly care about me like that?

It's as though everything snaps into place. All the bullshit, all the brainwashing, all the gaslighting… It all becomes so obvious that I can't keep denying it. I always knew my mother's actions were wrong, but deep down, I convinced myself I deserved it. It didn't matter if Hana disagreed or if my therapist called it toxic. Mother had every reason to treat me this way.

But Jake was right. I was a teenager who made a mistake. Yes, it had terrible consequences, but millions of kids have done the same and lived perfectly normal lives. My sister's death was an accident, and while my involvement played a part in it, it wasn't my fault.

And more importantly, Victoria would have wanted so much better for me. She was a caring and loving person who would have wanted me to live on and not let her death define the rest of my life.

Also, she would have adored Jake with his fantastic humor, great values, and uniqueness. Vicky would have pushed me into his arms as much as Hana did. She would have wanted the best for me, just like I did for her.

And the best for me is Jake. A hundred times over.

"Oh my God," I breathe out, staring at my mother in shock. "I can't believe it. He was right. You'll never forgive me, will you? I'm just a puppet in your cruel hands. You want me to be miserable for the rest of my life because of what happened to Vicky."

She blinks a few times as if caught red-handed. Her stupor doesn't last though, and she says, "See? He's already putting these ludicrous ideas in your mind, poisoning it. This is manipulation, Genevieve."

"You'd know that, wouldn't you? You've been toying with me since the night it happened, keeping me on the edge of guilt and remorse and convincing me I deserve to pay for what happened to Vicky. I can't believe it took me ten years to see it."

"Genevieve, stop this. You're making a spectacle of yourself," she mutters, embarrassedly looking around at the surrounding people. My voice was loud enough to attract the attention of a few of them, but I couldn't care less.

Her concern only makes me angrier. "Oh, shut up," I utter. "Always so worried about what others will think that you barely allow yourself to live. And you've imposed that on everyone around you. But I'm so done bending and contorting myself to squeeze into this perfect little box you expect all of us to fit in. I am done, Mother."

Maybe it's because of what happened with Jake, or upstairs with Ralf, or more likely the ten years of tyranny I've endured, but there's something in me that wants out. The freedom I've deprived myself of is breaking out of its cage.

"You're a pathetic trophy wife with nothing but regrets for your own choices. So, you decided that if you're going to be miserable, then you might as well take everyone down with you. But I'm done being the person you get to berate and ruin just to feel better about yourself. I'm your daughter, Vivienne. The only one you have left."

"Contain yourself, Genevieve!"

"No. Fuck you. You have been mentally abusing me for a decade. And I let you because you convinced me I deserved it. But I lost someone too, you know? My sister, my half, the one person I loved the most in this world. I couldn't even grieve her the way I needed because you never failed to remind me I did this to the family, that I had myself to blame for the ache tearing me apart."

"Because you are responsible! You disobeyed, and she died!"

"I was seventeen! I was a teenager who wanted to celebrate her birthday with her friends! And you refused because it was too much work for the staff. What was it to you? You had an evening at the opera anyway—Swan Lake, Vicky's favorite. Ever thought that if you'd been a less self-centered bitch, you would have taken us along with you and Father? She would still be alive if you genuinely cared about us."

She looks so appalled that it's almost comical. "How dare you put the blame on me!"

"And how dare you put it on me all this time?!"

Vivienne can't seem to find anything to reply, and even if she did, I already know it would be bullshit. I finally opened my eyes and grew a backbone.

Fuming, she picks up her bag and rises from her chair with dry and angry gestures. "Your father will hear of this, you ungrateful little brat."

"I'm not as afraid of him as you are, you know? What's he going to do? Stop giving me an allowance? I'm making my own money and even paid back what I owed for Harvard."

"I cannot believe you're doing this, Genevieve. Rejecting your entire family for a man with horrible manners and tattoos."

"And piercings," I can't help but add. "In unexpected places, but God, do they feel good."

The redness on her face intensifies, and I can hardly believe I ever feared this woman. She looks ridiculous with that vein about to pop on her forehead. Why did I let her dictate my life for so long?

"You will regret this, you know," she venomously spits out. "And when you come crawling because he's found someone more interesting than you, don't expect us to take you back."

"Perfect. Don't wait on me."

Now that she's tried everything and failed, she gives up with a frustrated huff and turns her heels around. I watch her disappear, feeling infinitely lighter than I did upon entering the coffee shop. I pick up my tea and take a sip, grimacing at the taste. No, this isn't for me at all.