Chapter 2
Ivan said, "Belle, please don't be upset. My dad's just old and stubborn. Don't let it get to you."
He kept repeating the same weak excuses, but to me, it was just empty talk. It didn't make me feel any better.
I sat at the vanity, staring at the unfamiliar face in the mirror.
I looked gentle, harmless, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, like an easy pushover anyone could manipulate.
I turned to him, meeting his eyes with a steady, unwavering seriousness.
"Ivan. If I really were a freeloader," I said, "where do you think I'd get 200 thousand dollars every year?"
"Where do you think I get that $200,000 every year?" I asked.
Ivan's expression froze.
He stared at me, his eyes full of confusion and bewilderment.
He always assumed I was just careful with the household money he gave me, pinching pennies and saving up.
He even felt smug about it, thinking he'd married a wife who was good at managing the household.
I never explained.
I always thought that in a family, I didn't have to keep score or brag about what I did.
But now I finally got it. If no one noticed what I did, it was like I never did anything at all.
The next day, the Reyes family was calm as ever, like nothing had happened.
The sun rose as usual, like yesterday's humiliation was just a bad dream.
Over breakfast, Caesar was still buried in the financial news, looking as stern and authoritative as always.
No one apologized for what was said yesterday.
Nobody thought anything was out of line.
Debra flexed her share certificate in the family group chat, posting a photo for everyone to see.
The red document with gold lettering was so gaudy that it practically screamed for attention.
She tagged me.
Debra: [Belle, you really ought to get out more. Don't just stay holed up at home all day. You'll end up totally out of touch.]
Everyone chimed in with likes and congratulations.
I long-pressed the screen, expressionless.
[Mute notifications.]
Finally, some peace and quiet.
When Ivan got home from work, he offered me an orange box like he was showing off a prize.
Inside was the newest Hermès Constance bag.
"Belle, don't be mad. I'll talk to Dad. See? It's your favorite," he said.
He really thought a purse could fix the hurt he left in me.
I took the bag without a word and put it aside.
"Okay," I said.
He let out a sigh of relief, thinking that was the end of it.
I was already running the numbers in my head. How many call options could I buy with the money from that bag?
It was late at night, and Ivan was already out cold.
I opened my laptop, the soft blue light from the screen washing over my face.
I logged into my private, encrypted investment account.
On the screen, candlestick charts danced up and down, numbers racing by in real time.
The total assets listed in my account were way beyond the entire value of the Reyes family's company.
The irony was overwhelming.
I, the so-called freeloader in their eyes, was actually holding enough wealth to shatter their entire world.
Ivan rolled over, half-asleep, and saw me staring at the computer.
He mumbled groggily, "Belle, why are you still up? What are you looking at?"
I quickly switched to another page.
He peeked over and saw I was just browsing some finance pages.
He smiled, ruffled my hair, with that mix of doting and barely-hidden superiority in his voice.
"Don't bother with that stuff. It's complicated, you know. What if you end up losing money?" he said. "Just relax. I'll provide for you."
I closed my laptop.
For the first time, I clearly felt there was an unbridgeable gap between us.
To me, his so-called "providing for me" felt more like he was just throwing me scraps and keeping me locked up.
I started quietly and secretly moving some of the money from our joint account, funds meant for daily expenses, into my private account.
Transfer after transfer.
The process gave me a cool, almost icy thrill.
It was like being a surgeon, cutting out the rot with precision.
The next day, I met up with my bestie, Maria Sullivan, for afternoon tea.
Maria was my college buddy, and now she was a partner at a top investment bank.
I told her everything, holding nothing back.
She was so pissed that she smacked her fork down on the table.
"What the hell? That whole family's nothing but a pack of ungrateful bastards," Maria snapped. "Belle, have you lost your mind? You're Viper, the one who makes waves on Wall Street, and you came back to play maid for these people?
"Seriously, what are you even doing this for?"
Viper, that was what they called me on Wall Street.
My trading style? Fast, sharp, ruthless. I never missed a shot.
I watched the lemon slice swirl in my glass and said quietly, "I'm doing this because he helped my family when we were struggling the most."
Maria looked at me, exasperated. "Seriously, Belle? After three years, haven't you paid him back enough? You've been shelling out 200 thousand dollars a year for his medical insurance. You're basically keeping him alive.
"And now? What do they see you as? Just a free ATM and a piece of furniture that breathes."