Part 2: The Confetti Rain
Arthur held the torn check up to the light.
“Five thousand dollars,” he announced. “Cashable immediately.”
He set it down on the table, but he didn’t push it toward me. His hand remained firmly on it.
“This is a severance package,” he sneered. “For your services as Liam’s girlfriend. It should cover your rent for a few months. Maybe buy you a new laptop so you can knit more sweaters.”
I stared at the check. Five thousand dollars. It was so petty, so deliberately insulting, that it almost made me laugh.
“I don’t want your money, Arthur,” I said softly.
“Of course you do!” Arthur laughed, the sound thick with mockery. “Everyone wants Sterling money. Don’t play the martyr. Just take it and go. Break up with him tonight. Tell him you found someone else. Tell him you figured out you’re not good enough for him. I don’t care what you say—just disappear.”
“No,” I said, my voice unwavering.
Arthur’s smile evaporated. His face flushed a furious purple.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no. I love Liam. Your money is irrelevant.”
Arthur shot up from his seat, grabbing the check.
“Irrelevant?” he bellowed. “You think five thousand dollars means nothing to someone like you?”
He looked at the check, then, with pure malice, he began to tear it.
Rip. Rip. Rip.
The sound of the paper shredding was brutal, jagged.
“You want to play hardball?” Arthur shouted. “Fine. You get nothing. You’re trash, Sophia. Just like this paper.”
He threw the confetti at me.
The pieces floated through the air in slow motion. They settled in my hair, stuck to my silk blouse. One piece drifted down into my glass of Pinot Noir, dissolving into a soggy mess.
“That’s confetti for your cancelled wedding,” Arthur spat. “Get out of my sight. And Liam, if you follow her, you’re cut off. No inheritance. No job. No trust fund. You’ll be just as poor as she is.”
Liam stood up suddenly, his chair crashing backward. “Dad! You’re insane!”
“Sit down!” Arthur roared, slamming his hand down on the table, making the silverware rattle. “I am the head of this family! I control the money, I control the future! You will do as I say!”
Liam froze. His eyes met mine, filled with shame and helplessness. He was a good man, but thirty years of living under a tyrant had left him weak. He didn’t know how to fight back.
I slowly reached up and plucked a piece of the torn check from my shoulder. I looked at it. It was a worthless scrap of blue security paper now.
Arthur was breathing heavily, adjusting his tie, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He thought he had won. He thought he had broken me.
He had no idea.
I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. It was sleek and black, custom-encrypted. The screen lit up as it recognized my face.
“Arthur,” I said, my voice now cold and detached, void of all the politeness I’d been showing him. It was the voice I used when I fired incompetent executives.
“You just made two mistakes,” I continued, locking eyes with him. “One, thinking I need your money. And two, thinking you still have money to give.”
