On the day I was supposed to check out the house, I arrived at the meeting point on time to meet the owner and the real estate agent. The agent was already there and mentioned that the owner would arrive shortly. He seemed eager to seal the deal and kept emphasizing the house's advantages. While I wanted to finalize it quickly, I pretended to be indifferent to keep some room for negotiation. After all, saving money is always a smart move.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting. You must be Ms. Stone, right?” A pleasant and all too familiar voice reached my ears. I composed my expression and turned around, only to be met with surprise. Why did the homeowner look so much like my current boss, Kingsley Lynch? And today, of all days, I had called in sick...

Realizing that Kingsley and I knew each other, the agent became even more personable, probably feeling optimistic about closing the sale. I awkwardly greeted Kingsley, silently worrying that I might end up signing the deal today only to lose my job tomorrow.

Nonetheless, after seeing the house in person, I was convinced it was perfect, so I gathered the courage to express my interest despite Kingsley's friendly demeanor. To my surprise, Kingsley offered an additional 10% off the original price. This unexpected break left me too elated to worry as I signed the contract on the spot.

After the agent left, I quickly apologized to Kingsley. “I’m really sorry, boss. I didn’t mean to skip work. It’s just that this house is too good, the price was right, and I was afraid…”

Kingsley gave a gentle smile. “No worries, I took the day off too.” I couldn't help but think that being a big boss is a whole different game compared to us regular employees.

“By the way, Ms. Stone, it’s lunchtime. Want to grab a bite together?” Truthfully, I wasn’t thrilled about socializing with my boss outside of work, but feeling indebted, I forced myself to agree with a cheerful smile.

“Sure, just call me Genevieve.”

“Alright, but privately, don’t call me boss; call me Kingsley.”

I agreed to his suggestion, though it felt a bit awkward.

I initially thought that since Kingsley had given me such a generous discount, I should treat him to lunch. But the restaurant he chose was a well-known and expensive local spot, so I quietly swallowed my offer. As the food arrived, I couldn’t help but ask out of curiosity, “Um… Why did you give me that 10% discount?”

I still couldn’t quite bring myself to call him by his first name directly.

“Because you were straightforward,” Kingsley replied, pouring coffee into a cup. “I don't usually handle these buying and selling matters. The last time I did, it left a lasting impression.”

Rarely handles it himself? Seems his assets are more extensive than I thought.

“Feeling more reassured now?” Kingsley asked, smiling warmly as he served me a piece of the signature dish with shared utensils.

After the meal, he offered me a ride, but I was too embarrassed to impose further. Just as I was about to politely decline, I heard familiar voices at the entrance.

“Genevieve!” “Genny!” At the sound of those voices, I frowned. I hadn’t planned on avoiding them forever, but seeing Peyton and Isabella again so soon felt rather inconvenient.

Isabella hurried over and grabbed my hand. “Genny, do you know how worried we’ve been these past few days? You blocked us, and we couldn’t reach you.” She glanced at Kingsley. “Even if our family said something that day, you shouldn’t have just walked out without a word.”

“It was just a single dish you didn’t get to eat. Did you really have to make such a big deal out of it? You weren’t like this before.”

Several restaurant staff members were observing us now. Peyton immediately hushed; as a well-known pianist, both domestically and internationally, he had a fair number of fans. He often disguised himself to avoid being recognized and chose quieter dining spots.

He lowered his voice and said, “Come with us to the private room!”

I felt a pang of regret at how accommodating I must have been for him to expect me to jump at his call. I ignored him and turned to Kingsley, “Boss, shall we go?”

Kingsley nodded, hesitated for a moment, then followed my lead. Unexpectedly, the two of them abandoned their meal and followed us to a nearby underground parking lot.

With fewer people around, Peyton grew bolder and grabbed my hand directly. I frowned and snapped, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Peyton’s face darkened, “Taking you to see Uncle Stone.”

Isabella tried to block Kingsley. “You’re Genny’s boss? Please don’t interfere; this is strictly between her and us…”

“If it’s between you and her, doesn’t she have a say in whether or not I can intervene?” Kingsley replied, stepping around Isabella to approach me.

Peyton clung tightly to my hand. “Peyton, you’re a pianist, right? If you’re not keen on playing anymore, I can help with that.” I raised my phone, pointing it at the hand holding mine.

Peyton genuinely feared I would hurt his hand. Panic flickered in his eyes, and he instinctively let go, staring at me in disbelief. He must have been quite stunned since, during our relationship, I had valued his hands more than he did. Any bumps or bruises, and I would be beside myself with worry.

In retrospect, how foolish I had been. I didn’t want to spend any more time with them, so I asked Kingsley, “Could you drive me home, uh… Kingsley.”

Kingsley chuckled, “I’m only in my early thirties, not old yet—come on.” My face flushed, and I quickly followed him.

Isabella tried to stop me. “Genny, don’t be like this. Do you know what happened after you left that day?”

What, that they couldn’t pay the bill? As expected, Isabella said, “There was an unexpected incident that day; Peyton and I couldn’t use our phones, and our parents don’t understand electronic payments…”

I smiled wryly, “What’s that got to do with me? I barely ate anything that day. Don’t you think you should be the one to settle the bill?”

Isabella bit her lip, “I… my phone had died.” “Genevieve,” Kingsley called, opening the door of a Bentley Continental, “Hop in.”

“Sure thing!” I eagerly complied, moving to open the opposite door and sliding into the seat. Once Kingsley was seated behind the wheel, he started the car and steered toward the exit.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Peyton and Isabella trying to chase us down, but then Isabella clutched her chest and doubled over, with Peyton quickly supporting her.

Was it a heart attack? Real or fake, who knows. My dear sister may have a weak heart, but I don’t believe this trivial matter could provoke her.

Kingsley dropped me off at the entrance to the apartment complex, and I waved goodbye.

"Thanks for everything today. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. We all have our own challenges."

I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

"Hold on a second."

Slightly taken aback, I paused as he requested.

"Actually, I have a favor to ask. I meant to call you tonight, but it's quite unexpected that you're the buyer of the house."

I knew there’s often a catch when someone offers help. Since I've benefited from his assistance, I might as well hear what he has to say.

It turned out he wanted me to work overtime. Initially, I was reluctant, but considering I had missed work before, and he approached me warmly with a generous overtime pay, I agreed. He also mentioned that his special assistant had quit, and he was keeping that position open for me, which made me even more delighted.

As I was about to leave, I suddenly remembered what Kingsley called me when he first got into the car.

Did he call me "Ginny"?

No, no, don’t dwell on it. Right now, my top priority is focusing on my career. If love isn’t in the cards, at least I have work to rely on.

Once the house deal is finalized, I plan to take some time off to register my move. Kingsley kindly granted me half a day for this, and reminded me to stay safe. With a boss so considerate, I silently counted my blessings.

As I got closer to the police station, my phone rang with a call from an unknown number.

After the incident with those two people earlier, I hadn't been bothered by them again, so I’d let my guard down.

So when I heard my father's voice through the phone, I was startled.

He was simply inviting me to a family dinner on Saturday night, gently reminding me, "Family shouldn't hold grudges for long."

Suddenly, it dawned on me that they wanted to use me as a scapegoat.

In my previous experience, a friend of my father's borrowed his car for some errands. I advised my father against it because this friend was notoriously unreliable. However, my father couldn’t refuse, and my mother reprimanded me for meddling in adult affairs. Isabella chimed in, saying parents naturally knew best, and my mother praised her for being mature.

Unfortunately, soon after Thanksgiving, that friend was involved in a drunk driving accident and fled. According to the law, my father wasn't legally liable. But because the friend’s license had expired and he couldn’t compensate the victims, my father, as the car’s owner, was forced to pay tens of thousands in damages.

My parents were financially stable, with substantial savings and investments. However, they planned to buy a wedding house for Isabella and had already found one they liked. If they paid the damages first, they'd lose the house.

So, they targeted the money I’d saved over the years, knowing how to manipulate me using familial bonds.

"After all we’ve done for you, won’t you help us out in this emergency?"

"Genevieve, this house is a real find, and it would be a shame to miss out. I made a mistake earlier; could you help your father this time?"

I saw the pride in Isabella’s eyes and refused to give in.

Isabella, with a concerned tone, interjected, "Buying a house isn't urgent, and I might not even marry in the next couple of years. Besides, considering my health..."

Do my parents even remember that I'm only two years younger than Isabella?

"Don't worry," my mother said with unusual gentleness. "Leigh is a good man; he won't mind..." Realizing Peyton was my ex-boyfriend, she quickly finished, "Anyway, that’s not your concern."

She then turned to me and, with rare patience, said, "I know you’ve felt we favored your sister, but given her health, it’s natural we are more attentive towards her. But we love both of you equally."

I was so desperate for that illusory familial love that, in the end, I surrendered my hard-earned savings under my parents' combined pressure and Isabella's performance.

The past is truly painful to recall.

I wanted no further contact with them, but to ensure they lose hope completely, I accepted my father’s dinner invitation.

They booked the same restaurant where we had Thanksgiving last time. When I entered the private room, they were already waiting.

Upon seeing me, my mother pressed the service button to bring out the dishes and lightly chided me, "We've ordered all your favorites today. Eat up!"

She seemed to think I’d sever ties over a meal.

Isabella wore a calm expression, as if the previous incident hadn't happened, casually asking if Kingsley was my boyfriend.

My father was surprised, saying, "You have a boyfriend?"

"No," I replied casually, "He's my boss. Didn't I say that in front of Isabella before?"

Isabella softly smiled, saying, "Your boss seems nice. That dining place isn't cheap, and your salary might be a bit tight for it."

I agreed, "Absolutely. I'm strapped for cash after buying a house and have depleted my savings."

"What?!"

The shock on their faces brought me great satisfaction.

After the initial shock wore off, my parents looked at me with a mix of disappointment and reproach. Isabella sat quietly, content to let them handle me. She kept reassuring them, suggesting that maybe I had my reasons.

My mother, clearly irritated, snapped, "Your sister is standing up for you, yet you still act so irresponsibly for your age!"

The waiter had already brought out all the dishes, but I just took a sip of water.

"You told me before that all the family money is to be reserved for Isabella, and that I should fend for myself without seeking help from you. So, does it really matter if I make my own decisions now?" I replied.

My father looked at me with disappointment, saying, "Why divide a family like that? I admit, over the years, we've leaned a little more towards your sister in terms of material things, but the love we have for both of you is the same."

Maybe parents who play favorites do comfort and deceive themselves like this. Say it enough times, and they might even believe it.

"And now, how much money do you have left?" my mother asked directly, realizing that the emotional appeal wasn’t working.

"Not much," I lied calmly, "just about a couple of thousand dollars for living expenses."

In truth, after making the down payment, I still had a few grand stashed away for emergencies.

My mother, holding back her anger, asked, "Just a couple of thousand? Why didn't you save more? What if something comes up? We don’t have any money to give you."

"What kind of emergency are we talking about?" I smiled in response.

My mother was at a loss for words.

Isabella glanced at our parents and then suggested, "Mom, Dad, maybe we should tell Genevieve. She's still part of the family."

My father sighed heavily and began to lament. Just as I remembered it happening before, it was about his friend borrowing the car and getting into an accident, leaving him without the funds to cover the costs.

He lamented that the victim threatened to cause a scene at the university where he taught if they didn’t get compensation. After his story, he looked at me expectantly.

Why look at me? I told them I was broke.

So, I played along with a deep sigh too.

My father still had some pride and couldn’t bring himself to ask me directly, so he hesitated and mumbled.

Isabella, who had been quietly eating, suddenly played her role as the "considerate daughter" and urged me to "think of a solution."

I suggested with a smile, "Why not use the family savings for now?"

My mother raised an eyebrow, about to protest, but my father signaled her to stop.

Isabella then said regretfully, "It’s all my fault. Mom and Dad said they wanted to buy me a house for when I got married, but I'm not sure I'll ever get the chance. Maybe we shouldn’t buy it after all…"

My mother hugged Isabella tightly, "Don't talk like that. We have to buy that house. Good deals like this don’t come often."

I shrugged, "I really can’t help."

"Genevieve, I know this might be difficult for you, but could you try borrowing some money from your friends or colleagues? You know, at our age and position, it’s hard for us to go around asking for money…" Isabella pleaded, lowering her stance.

University professors and company executives can’t borrow money, can they?

"My social circle isn’t exactly rolling in spare cash, who could easily lend tens of thousands of dollars?"

All three fell silent.

It wasn’t about newfound conscience or familial sympathy. They just realized I was stating the truth—no amount of emotional blackmail would produce the money they wanted.

But Isabella wasn’t ready to give up her scheming.

"Could you ask your boss for a loan, maybe?" she suggested.

"No." I replied bluntly.

"What did you say?!" My mother was visibly irritated.

I gave a sardonic laugh. "On what grounds am I supposed to ask my boss for money? How would I repay it? What about my mortgage?"

"Why are you living away? Just rent out the new place and move back home. Then you can work and repay the boss," she suggested.

"Why would I choose to live in a cramped attic room when I have a spacious house of my own?" I stood up, adding, "Let’s just stop staying in touch."

The three of them looked shocked again, probably not expecting that I, who had always been so accommodating, would genuinely refuse to go along with their demands this time.

Even my father, who had been relatively civil towards me, changed his expression. "Are you cutting ties with us? Don’t forget that legal obligations of support can't be waived!"

He softened a bit, "Why make a fuss? Just apologize to your mother, and you’re still our good daughter."

"No need," I said, waving and heading to the door. "You’ve got Isabella as your good daughter. I’ll fulfill my legal obligations—when you turn 60, you can take it to court, and I'll pay exactly what they decide."

"Genevieve!"

"What?" I laughed as I replied, "I haven’t touched a single dish at this table. You’re not expecting me to pay, are you?"

"Get out! From now on, your father and I will consider we never had a daughter like you!"

Perfect.

I thought my mother might actually mean it, but not even two hours later, I received a text from her using a new number: Isabella said she’ll borrow money from Peyton; if you want to return home, you're responsible for paying it back.

Ah, I forgot to block that number earlier.