Chapter 4
Charlotte had arranged to meet at a café near Emper Tower.
When I got there, Charlotte was already sitting at a window seat.
She was dressed in a Chanel tweed jacket, her hair in voluminous, perfectly styled waves, and her makeup was flawless, as if she'd walked off a magazine cover.
On the table sat a milky white Hermès Birkin bag with gold hardware, easily worth at least 10 thousand dollars.
I had to admit that she was stunning.
She had that kind of beauty unique to girls raised in luxury, her whole demeanor radiating an air of ease and assurance, as if she never had to worry about anything.
But the moment she saw me, her composure faltered for a split second.
I caught a flash of hostility in her eyes. It happened so fast that if I hadn't spent the last three years honing my skills at reading people, I never would've noticed.
She quickly put on a polite smile and looked me up and down, her gaze instantly reminding me of Julia, judging me from above.
"Ms. Hart, take a seat." She lifted her chin, signaling me to take the seat opposite her.
I sat down without ordering anything.
I knew I'd end up paying for it myself, and there was no way I was dropping 20 bucks on a single cup of coffee.
Charlotte clearly noticed I hadn't ordered anything, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a subtle smirk, a hint of disdain barely visible. "Ms. Hart, I'll get straight to the point."
She picked up her coffee cup, took a casual sip, and said, "I know about you and my fiancé."
She made sure I heard every syllable of "fiancé."
I stayed silent, waiting for her to go on.
"Andrew mentioned you to me." She set her coffee cup down, her tone light. "He said you're quiet, never make a fuss, and always know how to behave. Do you know why he thinks that?"
She looked at me, her eyes glinting with a playful, almost predatory amusement. "Because you're nothing to him. A man only calls a woman 'quiet' when he doesn't give a damn about her. Get it?"
I stayed silent. Charlotte's words didn't faze me one bit, but she took my silence as a sign of weakness.
She leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, like she was sharing some juicy secret. "You know, Sophie, I actually feel kind of sorry for you.
"You're a broke student, selling yourself for a few dollars to a guy who doesn't care about you. Three years, your best years, wasted like that. Was it really worth it?
"Oh, right, I almost forgot. It's not like you ever had any other options. You've never had a taste of the good life, so when someone like Andrew showed up, you probably thought you'd hit the jackpot, didn't you?"
Her words stabbed me right in the softest spot.
It wasn't about me. What really got to me was when she mentioned my mom.
My mom worked in a factory, making 1 thousand dollars a month. Her hands were so calloused that they could double as sandpaper.
She never wore anything that cost more than 60 bucks, and never treated herself to a meal over 30 bucks.
She worked herself to the bone to make sure I got to college. When she caught a cold, she wouldn't buy medicine. She only toughed it out.
Charlotte threw out my poverty like it was a shame to me, as if that made me less than her.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself not to lose my cool. Losing my temper would mean she won.
"Ms. Sinclair," I said, "what do you want from me? If you're here to show off how happy you and Andrew are, message received. Can I leave now?"
Charlotte's smile faltered for a moment. She obviously hadn't expected me to break the script like that.
She probably thought I'd cry, protest, or claim I was really in love with Andrew, so she could tear me down harder.
But I didn't do any of that. I didn't bother to say another word to her. My refusal to play along really pissed her off.
"Who do you think you are?" Her voice suddenly turned icy, that fake sweetness vanishing in an instant. It was replaced by pure, unfiltered contempt.
She added, "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? You're a college girl someone's paying for.
"Do you know why Andrew picked you? Because you're cheap. Girls like you can be bought off for 1 thousand dollars, no drama, no clinginess.
"You really think he likes you? He never gave you a second glance. I'm the only one he cares about, always have been, always will be."
She suddenly laughed, her smile dripping with smugness, contempt, and a possessiveness that was almost crazy. "You know what? Every time he leaves you, he comes straight to me.
"He says being with you is about taking care of his needs, that you're something he bought, and he can use you however he wants."
As soon as she said that, everyone in the café turned to stare.
I knew she was lying. Andrew wasn't exactly a saint, but he'd never say something that cruel. But Charlotte couldn't care less.
She wanted to hurt me. And she'd found the perfect way: humiliating me in front of a crowd.