Chapter 3

The room fell eerily silent.

That's when I reached into the gift bag.

The Bentley key, with its wings spreading out majestically around the golden B, caught the light and suddenly became the center of attention.

Everybody looked over with shock mixed with complexity in their eyes.

But my parents' faces looked downright thunderous.

My mom cried out, her voice quivering so hard it barely sounded human. "Th-this..."

My dad was visibly shaking, his lips worked as if he was on the verge of demanding I explain what I did to make the Bentley they prepared for Beatrice end up in my possession.

And Beatrice, totally lost it.

The moment she spotted the Bentley key in my hand, Beatrice flung her electric scooter key to the floor and started shrieking like crazy, charging straight at me.

"It was you, wasn't it? You did something, didn't you? I know it was you!" Beatrice screamed.

"That's my Bentley! Give it back to me!" Beatrice yelled.

I darted behind Aunt Joan, keeping the key out of her reach.

But Beatrice wouldn't let up; she chased me all over the house.

After a few failed attempts, she totally lost it.

She started screaming like a lunatic, "Stella, give it back! Give me my car!"

"That Bentley was custom-made for me by Mom and Dad; it's not for you." Stella shrieked.

"Hey, calm down now!" Dad said, pulling Beatrice into his arms and gently dabbing at her tears. "Stella was just playing around. It's not like she'd really take your Bentley," he soothed.

He turned to me then and said, softly yet firmly, "Right, Stella? Hand the keys back to Beatrice. She's fragile; if she keeps crying, it'll harm her health."

Beatrice had always been the princess of the house. Growing up, she never could get along with me.

If I had anything in my hand, even a random marble, she'd swoop in and try to snatch it.

If I didn't give in, Dad'd start with the same guilt trip. "Stella, can you give it to your sister? She was born fragile. If she gets worked up, it could put her health, even her life, in danger."

Dad knew I was way too soft-hearted. He used that against me, every single time.

I was scared I'd end up carrying that responsibility, so I caved. Again and again.

But this time, facing Dad and his gentle-sounding threats, I didn't even blink.

Cool as ever, I just threw his own words right back at him.

"Dad, you're the one who said it: once you play the game, you have to follow the rules. No throwing tantrums. So I'll just assume you meant that for Beatrice, not for me," I replied.

Dad sputtered, his face going purple with rage, but he couldn't get a word out.

Seeing Dad couldn't do anything, Beatrice jabbed her finger at me, yelling, "You bitch! You totally cheated!"

I couldn't help but laugh at her. "Cheated? You were the one making a scene before the keys were even out of the bag. What, you got psychic powers now?" I asked.

Both Dad and Beatrice stood there, ashen-faced, totally at a loss for words.

No one in the room was clueless.

After what I said, paired with Dad and Beatrice's little performance, everyone instantly realized what was really going on.

But no one dared to speak up.

After all, they all worked at my parents' clothing factory.

No matter what they said, it wouldn't do them any good.

At least I didn't lose out today; I managed to snag what I wanted.

Without looking back, I turned and walked out of the house.