Chapter 2
Leila was a master at this game.
After a split second of shock, she instantly shifted gears
She slipped out of Beverly's arms, her eyes still red and watery, and nervously reached out her hand to me.
"Claire, I'm really sorry. It's all my fault. I took your place. If you want, I can move out," she said, her voice shaky.
If we were following the script, this is where I'd slap her or roast her, then get chewed out by my parents.
The system started freaking out again. "This is your moment. Call her out. Tell her to pack her bags and get lost!"
I looked at Leila's carefully manicured hands, but instead of taking them, I just fished out a pack of tissues from my bag and handed them over.
"Don't worry about it. The house is under Mr. Shaw's and Mrs. Shaw's names, so technically, we're both just living here," I said.
I paused, then continued, sounding like I was explaining a simple fact.
"Besides, where would you even go? You don't own property. You can't support yourself. Renting is complicated, and hotels are expensive. Logically speaking, staying put is your best option. If I were in your shoes, I'd do the same," I said.
Leila's hand hung frozen in the air.
Every rehearsed tearful line, every move in her playbook—they all caught in her throat, choked off by my plain, brutal logic.
Her whole "selfless love" act just got reduced to a simple matter of survival. She was staying because she literally had no other choice.
Harold finally had enough, frowning as he said, "Claire, what kind of talk is that? Leila's your sister. This is her home too."
I nodded right away, polite and compliant like an employee following a manager's order.
"Got it, Mr. Shaw. I'll remember that Ms. Leila Shaw has permanent residency here. So, where's my desk... I mean, my room?" I asked.
The way I called him "Mr. Shaw" clearly stung him. His expression soured.
"The butler will show you to the guest room," he said.
The butler, Philip Keller, a man in his fifties, looked at me with mild condescension.
The household's loyalty was clearly already spoken for.
He led me to a room at the very end of the second floor.
"Ms. Claire Shaw, space is somewhat limited at the moment. Ms. Leila Shaw has accumulated quite a lot and occupies two rooms, so you'll have to settle for this one for now," he said, almost dismissively.
The room was dark and gloomy, barely getting any sunlight. There was just a bed and a closet—no proper desk at all.
As I walked past Leila's room, I caught a glimpse of her walk-in closet, a big balcony, and pink furniture everywhere.
The system was sizzling with rage. "This is way too much! Isn't this just a maid's room? Host, go trash her space and take what's yours."
I glanced around, feeling pretty chill about it, and nodded in satisfaction.
"Honestly, this is great. No glare—perfect for sleeping. Small space saves on electricity. And it's far from the stairs, so it's nice and quiet," I said.
Philip clearly had a whole set of snide remarks prepared, but with my reaction, there was simply no room to use any of them.
He stared at me, totally baffled. "Ms. Shaw, you... you're not upset?"
I dropped my bag and pulled out my laptop.
"Why would I be upset? Look, I just dropped in out of nowhere—like a new hire on day one. No track record, no seniority. Getting my own room is already better than I expected. It's not like I walked in and demanded the corner office," I said.
I glanced at Philip, genuinely. "Oh, and what's the Wi-Fi password? And is the connection stable? I might need to work late tonight."
He opened his mouth, but all he managed was a string of numbers before slinking away.
I closed the door, but the system was still raging. "Are you an idiot? They're treating you like dirt."
I fired up my laptop, hopped on the Wi-Fi, and pulled up the stock market.
"System, you're overreacting," I said. "Will being looked down on cost me anything? No. But if I break something in a fit, I'll have to pay for it. And with 70 dollars to my name, I can't afford the drama."