My sister's boyfriend decided to interrogate me at the Christmas Eve dinner table, right in front of everyone.
"So, Glenda—where do you work these days?"
I kept my voice even. "I don't have a job. I've been studying full-time for the civil service exam."
He didn't miss a beat. "No job, huh? Then how can you afford to dress like that?"
A smirk slid across his face. "I'll just say it—I've seen you at a karaoke bar. You've got a heart-shaped mole on your chest." He leaned back in his chair. "Go ahead. Prove me wrong. Take it off."
Twenty-some relatives sat around that table. Every single pair of eyes turned on me, dripping with contempt. The weight of their stares burned through my skin.
My parents kept their heads down. My sister, Anne Cox, didn't say a word to stop him.
I'd spent five years preparing for this exam. Five years. I'd finally placed first in both the written and interview stages. The background check was scheduled right after the new year—there was zero room for scandal.
"Watch your mouth!" I snapped.
Eric Dickerson pulled out his phone and hit play. "Princess Number 36 at a Kingsbury karaoke lounge. Pretty face, sweet voice. My buddy booked her once—said she was real popular."
The woman in the video, writhing and swaying, looked startlingly like me. Seventy percent resemblance, at least.
The table erupted.
"No wonder Glenda always comes home for the holidays loaded down with gifts. So that's how she's been making her money."
My parents said nothing.
I stared at the pile of gifts I'd brought, stacked neatly in the corner, and raised my voice above the noise. "You want to know what those gifts actually are? Mom, Dad—if you won't tell them, I will!"
My mother, Cara Cox, panicked. She rushed over and yanked open my coat.
"Sweetheart, why don't you just take off your top and prove you're innocent?"
...
Never—not once in my life—had I imagined my own mother would sacrifice me to bury those secrets.
Her words landed like a thunderclap, and the abuse only swelled louder.
"Even her own parents are telling her to strip. Imagine what she must've been doing."
"And Laurence is supposed to be a university professor! This is the daughter he raised? A disgrace to the entire Cox family!"
My father, Laurence Cox—a man who rarely so much as cracked a smile—crossed the room in three furious strides. His palm connected with my face so hard my vision went white.
"Glenda Cox. Apologize for the filthy things you've done, and swear you'll never do it again." His voice was iron. "Otherwise, get out of this family. Right now."
I stared at him, reeling. "Dad? On what grounds are you forcing a confession out of me? Did I ever once say I was selling myself?"
I turned to the relatives packed around the table and pointed straight at Eric. "Because of a few careless words from an outsider, you're all ready to condemn me? Do you understand that what he's doing is slander?"
Anne grabbed the front of my shirt, her voice shrill. "Eric Dickerson is the man I love—he is not an outsider!"
She jabbed a finger at me. "You haven't held a job in five years. How exactly are you affording Chanel?"
Rage flooded my chest until I could barely breathe. I fired back, "Other people might not know, but you do."
Anne released her grip. I stumbled backward, lost my footing, and hit the floor.
Not a single person moved to help me up. Twenty-some relatives, and not one.
Anne let out a derisive laugh. "Oh, right—you did tell me something. You said you'd landed yourself a man. That the two of you were very close. Couldn't keep your hands off each other."
Before I could react, she reached down and tugged the silk scarf from my neck. The marks it had been hiding drew a collective gasp from the room.
Eric already had his phone aimed at me, snapping photos. "That many hickeys, and you're still going to claim you're not a sex worker?"
I slapped the phone out of his hand. "What is wrong with you? Taking photos of a woman's exposed skin?" My voice shook with fury. "I'm a grown adult. Whatever I do with my partner is my business—completely legal and none of yours!"
Anne's voice rang out across the room. "Fine, Glenda. If you're so sure of yourself, tell everyone. What's your boyfriend's name?"
I clenched my jaw. "Jarvis Sanchez."
The room went dead silent for half a second—then exploded with mocking laughter.
"I'm sorry—did she just say Jarvis Sanchez? As in the eldest son of the most powerful family in Kingsbury?"
"The Sanchez family sits at the very top of the food chain. Why on earth would someone like that look twice at a nobody family like ours?"
