3: 3

That afternoon I found a place I liked, and I was just about to sign the lease when my boss called out of nowhere.

“Rita Swanson, you’re fired. Come clear out your desk on Monday.”

I froze. “Why?”

His voice came through cold. “Blame yourself for having no connections. Blame yourself for crossing the Swanson family’s young miss.”

The place I worked was a branch office of Simon’s company. Back when I’d just graduated and was job-hunting, he suddenly suggested I come work under the Hensons—said it was close to him, that it would be easier for him to look after me.

But in all the years I worked there, I never got a single privilege. I had it worse than an ordinary employee.

My boss deliberately piled the heavy work on me. My coworkers deliberately froze me out.

I wanted to quit, but Simon used my feelings for him as leverage.

Quit, and we were over.

So now that he’d suddenly fired me, it meant he was accepting the breakup by default. Right?

The moment I understood that, the tight string inside me finally snapped, and I felt nothing but relief.

The landlord asked, “Miss, are you still signing?”

I nodded. “I’ll sign.”

I could always find another job. First I’d make a home of my own.

Once I had everything arranged, I crouched on the couch and cracked open a soda. I’d barely taken a sip when Zara called.

She was crying.

“I’m so sorry, sis. This is all my fault. Simon just loves me too much, that’s why he made a decision like this. I’ll have him find you a new job right away.”

My tone was flat. “Zara, drop it. You’ve been putting on this act for ten years. Aren’t you tired?”

Zara paused, and her voice went cold. “Sis, the Swanson daughter is me. Mom and Dad are mine. Simon is mine too. I told you a long time ago—don’t fight me for any of it.”

Hearing that, I suddenly remembered the first time I met Zara, when she took a small knife and slashed the dress Mom had given me.

That dress hadn’t fit me anyway. It was too big.

After she’d cut it, Zara said coldly, “Sis, that dress is mine. I wore it. I threw it away.”

“But even the things I throw away, you have no right to take.”

That was the first time Zara showed me open hostility. Plenty of times after that, she came off as generous, so considerate of me.

Thinking of it, I said quietly, “Zara, the things I don’t want—take them. Mom and Dad, Simon, the name. I don’t want any of it anymore.”

Zara went still. Something in my tone left her feeling like she’d thrown a punch into cotton.

“Rita Swanson! Do you even know you got to work at the Hensons because I wanted you there? And the way you were bullied at the office—that was all on my say-so!”

Zara spat out each word. “Simon knew about all of it. He let it happen.”

My breathing turned uneven, my eyes filling with tears.

I hung up in a hurry.

I suddenly remembered high school, when I was bullied, and how he promised he would always protect me, and how righteously he condemned that kind of bullying.

So his disgust had all been an act.

All these years, I was the only one who’d lost my head, believing he really loved me.

I closed my eyes, and my tears struck the blanket on the couch and vanished.

Just like my feelings for him.

Ten years of foolish hope. It was time I woke up.

4: 4

Thank goodness I had some savings. Otherwise I wouldn't even have had time to heal. Only after the fourth rabies shot did I start job hunting in earnest.

Then, at an interview, I ran into Simon Henson.

He was talking to the owner of the company. When he saw me, distaste crossed his face.

"Rita Swanson, what are you doing here?"

The owner smiled. "Mr. Henson, you two know each other? She's an applicant I'm about to interview."

Simon's tone went cold. "Nice company you've got. But you shouldn't just let any riffraff walk in."

The owner's expression changed on the spot.

I knew then that this job was gone.

Sure enough, he went through the motions of the interview, barely three minutes before he sent me out.

I stood in the hallway, my chest churning with unease.

Why, after I'd already decided to keep my distance, did they still refuse to leave me alone.

Simon came over slowly. "Rita, why haven't you contacted me?"

My voice was flat. "Simon, can you not be so revolting."

His face shifted. "Keep refusing to back down, and there really won't be another chance."

I said it plainly. "We're over. Whatever you and Zara Swanson want to do from now on, do it."

For a second his composure faltered, then it vanished just as fast. This was only him playing hard to get.

Something had gone wrong with Rita starting from the game that day.

She had never made a scene this big before.

"Rita, it was just a game we played. Why are you being so petty? You got hurt, that's your own fault for being slow. You can't blame anyone else. Don't tell me you're holding a grudge against Zara."

I lowered my eyes to the scabbed-over wound on my arm. It looked hideous. Scarring like this leaves a mark that never fully goes away. I'd been hurt this badly, and Simon called it just a game.

"Why didn't you throw the handkerchief to Zara? Why throw it to me?"

Guilt flickered in his eyes. "She's been pampered her whole life. How could she outrun a wolfhound? And it was only a game. Stop blowing it out of proportion."

"This company's no good. Come work for me instead."

As he spoke, he reached out to touch me, and I slapped him hard across the face.

Simon froze. "Rita, you dare hit me? Don't push your luck when I'm being decent to you."

My voice stayed flat. "Simon, we've played this handkerchief game so many times growing up. Why was it always me? I was just a toy for you all to toy with, wasn't I."

"You want me to come back and work for you. Isn't that just so the office can keep bullying me?"

He shot back without thinking. "I did not!"

But the guilt showed. His thumb and middle finger rubbed together without him meaning to. That was always his tell when he was lying.

Seeing me hold firm, an odd irritation rose in him. He pointed at me. "Since you still won't take the way out I'm offering, don't blame me for what comes next."

After that, every job I applied for hit a wall.

Just as I'd expected, I'd been blacklisted, unless I went and begged Simon in person.

At the thought, I dismissed it out of hand. I'd been a doormat for so many years. I couldn't keep being one.

So I decided to study for the grad school entrance exams, and picked up some freelance work and tutoring online on the side.

The wedding day came soon enough, and my phone lit up nonstop again.

I meant to hang up, but I accidentally answered.

My mother's voice came through.

"Rita, let Zara go to the wedding in your place. You're not fit to be seen anyway, and I'm afraid you'll embarrass the Swansons and make us a laughingstock."

Not a ripple stirred in me. So their favoritism could go so far as to swap out the bride on the day itself.

I said it evenly. "Mom, this is the last time I'll call you that. From now on the Swansons have nothing to do with me. Let's never contact each other again."

My mother's voice faltered, and she started to say something more, only to find the call already ended and blocked.