3: 3
03
The man fell silent.
And thinking of all those days of forced drinking contests, my stomach twisted with a dull ache.
I dug out the prescription pills I always carried and stood up, meaning to get myself a cup of hot water.
But the whole house had been stocked with ice water, all for Zoe's habit of drinking everything cold.
While I stood there, blank, my father's personal bodyguard and mouthpiece walked in, carrying an insulated bag.
One serving of oatmeal. Three dollars.
Bought with a two-fifty discount coupon, no less.
"Miss, Mr. Henson said to make sure it was hot. He said your stomach's bad."
"Work hard to close the deal. Next celebration dinner will be for you."
I looked at the mechanically stamped words: "Wolf-pack culture. Only winners deserve the flowers and the rewards."
My eyes drifted toward the private room, where my father was fastening a diamond necklace worth a million dollars around Zoe's neck, her reward for landing the deal tonight.
Even from across the hall, I could hear her shrieking with delight.
"Dad, Mom, I love you both so much!"
I set the oatmeal and the receipt off to the side.
Chewing the painkillers, I calmly faced the truth.
In my parents' eyes, this so-called wolf-pack culture was simple.
Snatch away the meat, then toss a few bone scraps as charity.
But this time, I was no longer that naive little wolf who kept working herself to death for a scrap of something sweet.
The next morning, the moment I got back to the company.
The cleaning lady came pushing a cart of junk straight toward me.
There was the familiar sofa, the throw pillows, the potted plants.
I frowned and walked to my office door.
A crew of workers in blue uniforms and white caps were hauling pet supplies in, one load after another.
And my work badge had been tossed on the floor, trampled back and forth.
"Who told you you could touch my things?"
I frowned, bent down, and picked it up.
A few yards away, Zoe was cradling her dog, having just gotten the disinfection lamp set up.
Hearing the commotion, she strode right up to me.
Her tone dripped with smugness and showing off.
"Well, I won the bid, didn't I? So I'm moving up here to work."
"Mom and Dad know I've got separation anxiety over my pet, so they turned your office into Cici's room."
"Hurry up and thank Eva."
Zoe held up the dog's paw, watching me with a smile that never reached her eyes.
Behind her, two men came out drenched in sweat, hauling a desk and cabinet.
The sight sent a bad feeling through me.
I'd left in such a rush for the dinner two days ago that I hadn't taken my adoptive parents' keepsake watch with me.
I rushed inside, and sure enough, there it was, the watch face smashed to pieces in a puddle of yellow dog urine.
Zoe watched my reddening eyes and the careful way I wiped the watch clean.
Satisfaction flickered in her eyes, and she goaded me on purpose.
"Eva, so this thing was yours? And here I thought it was junk somebody threw out."
"Actually, you should thank me. If I hadn't dealt with it early, anyone who saw it would've said it made you look cheap."
But anyone with eyes could see from the worn paint along the edge of the face that it had been touched countless times, out of longing.
Feeling the wetness at the corners of my eyes.
I couldn't hold back my rage. I slapped her across the face.
A few minutes later, the well-trained bodyguards blocked the office door.
Zoe was curled up in my mother's arms, clutching her face, tears rolling down one after another.
Once he'd heard the whole story, my father said nothing and kicked me. His face went cold as he spoke.
"Didn't wolf-pack culture teach you? Only the strong deserve to have everything."
"A broken piece of junk watch is broken, so what. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for being too weak to protect what you wanted to protect!"
As punishment for hitting Zoe, I was forced to kneel outside the company building.
In front of thousands of employees and passersby, I was slapped ten times.
