Chapter 2
The warm amber illumination of the dining room seemed to dim slightly as Mother turned her authoritative gaze away from Garrett and squarely onto Craig, her expression softening into a patronizing facade of supreme benevolence. "Craig, you get my blessings and prayers," she said, her voice dripping with the condescension of someone handing out pennies to a beggar while genuinely believing she was bestowing a royal crown. She smiled warmly, her short blonde-gray updo shifting under the chandelier light as she waited for the expected wave of grateful relief to wash over her younger son's face. Instead, Craig sat like a carved statue of dark-brown hair and rigid posture, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the estate-planning documents that spelled out his complete financial erasure. He blinked slowly—once, twice—each movement deliberate, harboring an ocean of suppressed fury and years of unreciprocated devotion. The air in the room grew heavy, thick with the unbearable weight of injustice, prompting Sloan to slide her hand further up his thigh, her thumb tracing comforting circles against his trousers to anchor him from exploding. Garrett continued to study the grain of the wooden table, his square jaw tense, acutely aware that the division was fundamentally dishonest yet too cowardly to speak up against the golden-child narrative that favored him. "You’ve always been so independent, darling, never needing anyone to pull you through, unlike your brother who needs a foundation beneath his feet," Mother continued, entirely oblivious to the psychological earthquake she had just triggered. Craig felt a cold numbness spread from his chest down to his fingertips, washing away every ounce of familial warmth he had harbored for the past thirty-four years. He cleared his throat lightly, the sound cutting through the ambient room noise like a scalpel. "Independent," Craig muttered under his breath, the word tasting like ash. "Is that what you call someone whose bank account you've been draining to keep your lights on while pretending you're self-sufficient?" Sloan whispered back, her voice laced with righteous anger. Craig raised a single finger to silence her, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the precise amount of energy it would take to destroy a lifetime of lies with a single keystroke. "Not here, Sloan," Craig whispered back, his voice completely devoid of tremor, startling her with its terrifying level of self-control. Mother tilted her head, her thin glasses sliding down her nose a fraction more. "Is something the matter with that, Craig? You look like you've seen a ghost." Craig finally let his lips curve into a terrifyingly polite, empty smile that failed to reach his eyes. "Not a ghost, Mother," Craig replied quietly, his tone dropping an octave. "Just a final realization."
