"Why?"
Roberta admired her diamond-studded nails, tilting them to catch the light.
"Because there's no point, is there? That woman already spent her best years slaving away beside him while he built his empire." She buffed an invisible smudge from her ring finger. "Think about it—if you were a man, and you finally made it big, would you keep spending money on a wife who's already withered? What's the point? No amount of cash is going to give her back her youth."
The glass reflected my face back at me—hollow-cheeked, shadows pooling beneath my eyes.
Roberta leaned closer, her perfume cloying.
"You know, sis, you're older than me, but you've still got some looks left. Since we're getting along so well, let me give you some advice." Her gaze swept over me with clinical assessment. "Women need to invest in themselves—a little cosmetic work, some proper skincare. Your skin's looking a bit... parched. I bet your husband hasn't been interested lately, has he?"
I stared at her without answering.
Her skin was flawless. Porcelain-smooth. Not a single pore visible.
I used to look like that.
No—I used to look better.
Ten years in that cramped rental, weathering every storm alone, had taken their toll. When I looked at old photos of myself now, I barely recognized the woman staring back.
"Cosmetic work... is expensive."
"So?" Roberta shrugged, utterly unbothered. "My benefactor gives me half a million a month just for living expenses. And all the cosmetic procedures? He covers those separately."
I watched the tiny crystal glinting at the corner of her winged eyeliner. Delicate. Expensive. Frivolous.
My fingers twisted into the hem of my shirt, trembling.
"How long... have you been his kept woman?"
"Started June 12th, 2023." She examined her nails again. "Why?"
My grip on my shirt tightened until my knuckles went white.
June 12th, 2023.
The day my mother died.
That day, my mother needed five hundred thousand dollars for surgery.
I remembered every detail with brutal clarity—Carl begging everyone he knew, scraping together every connection, emptying his savings.
He managed to gather three hundred and fifty thousand.
That was everything, he'd told me. Every cent he'd earned since striking out on his own.
I'd nearly killed myself trying to come up with the rest. Sold everything I could. Begged everyone I knew.
I scraped together eighty thousand.
Mom still died.
Afterward, Carl had held me so tight I couldn't breathe, tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm worthless—I couldn't even pay for Mom's surgery. You've suffered so much being with me..."
The pain had been a knife twisting in my chest.
But I'd wiped his tears anyway.
"You got three hundred and fifty thousand together for me. That means everything." My voice had cracked. "Mom said... you did your best. She doesn't blame you. I don't blame you either. It's my fault—I couldn't come up with the last hundred and fifty thousand..."
His tears had dripped onto the back of my hand. Hot. Wet.
He'd gripped my fingers like a drowning man.
"Zoe, just wait a little longer. Please. I swear—I won't let us suffer like this forever..."
I'd nodded through my tears, believing every word.
Five hundred thousand.
He'd had it all along.
"You know what's funny, sis?" Roberta's voice cut through the memory. "That woman's mother needed exactly five hundred thousand that same month."
I looked at her.
She winked, a conspiratorial little flutter of her left eye.
"He was actually going to pay it. Originally."
The air vanished from my lungs. "You took it? For your allowance?"
"Oh, no, no." She waved dismissively. "He's loaded. Giving me five hundred thousand still left him with plenty more where that came from."
"Then why didn't he give it to his wife's mother?"
"Because..."
Roberta propped her chin on her hand, a cat savoring cream.
"I told him—once her mother was dead, that woman would have no family left. No one. And if he ever got caught keeping me on the side?" She smiled. "She wouldn't dare make a fuss. What's she going to do? She'd have nowhere to go."
My teeth ground together so hard I thought they'd shatter.
"Oh, and that month, I'd had my eye on a new Chanel piece. Five hundred thousand, coincidentally."
I stared at her, unblinking.
"Aren't you afraid his wife will find out what you did?"
"Please." Roberta laughed, light and careless. "I'm smarter than that."
She leaned back, satisfaction radiating from every pore.
"I'm the one who came up with the plan. Told him to hand over three hundred and fifty thousand and pretend it was everything he had. His wife would think her husband gave his all for her." Her lips curled. "She'd be so grateful, so guilty about not coming up with the rest herself—she'd never think to check if he had someone else on the side."
