The next morning, I came downstairs to find Malcolm standing in the middle of the living room.
A girl stood beside him, timidly clutching the edge of his sleeve.
I didn't ask a single question. I walked straight into the kitchen and grabbed my breakfast.
Footsteps approached from behind, and a familiar presence enveloped me.
Malcolm rested his chin against my shoulder, his voice low and laced with amusement.
"The other girls in the Henson family's branch families keep picking on Lillian. She can't handle that kind of environment, so I brought her here to stay for a few days."
The jasmine perfume clinging to him was impossible to miss.
My lashes trembled, but I pretended not to recognize whose scent it was. "I'll have the housekeeper prepare the guest room."
Malcolm hadn't expected me to be this calm. His thumb traced slow circles over the back of my hand.
"Since she's staying here, I need you to play the big sister. Teach her some social graces, how to carry herself. Thirty million dollars. Consider it compensation for the trouble."
"Fine."
Malcolm studied my uncharacteristic composure, sensing something was off. "Are you upset?"
I lifted my gaze. My tone was flat. "No."
He sighed. "Is it because she's the Hensons' real daughter? You think she's going to take your place?"
"Don't worry, that won't happen. I'll smooth things over with the Hensons. I'll give them new contracts. They'll still claim you as their daughter."
The corner of my mouth twitched into the kind of practiced, hollow smile I'd perfected over three years.
Lillian watched me cautiously, and the moment my eyes swept in her direction, she shrank behind Malcolm.
He reached back and gently nudged her forward, his voice dripping with indulgence. "This is your sister, not a monster. What are you so afraid of?"
It was the first time I really looked at Lillian Henson.
Small face. Round eyes.
She looked nothing like me, and nothing like any of his past lovers.
No wonder Malcolm treated her differently.
I turned away and sat down to eat.
Lillian seemed to gather her courage. She picked up a bowl of porridge and walked toward me.
"I got you some porridge, sis..."
Before she could finish, her wrist jerked violently.
Scalding porridge splashed across my body.
Before I could even react, she let out a sharp cry and threw herself into Malcolm's arms.
"I didn't mean to! She pinched me, it hurt so bad I couldn't hold it steady..."
Malcolm's first instinct was to check on me, but the moment he heard her words, his head snapped down to examine the back of her hand.
Sure enough, a red mark bloomed across the skin.
His brow furrowed. He looked up and glared at me. "Prudence, why the hell are you bullying her?"
"She's not like those other women. Don't take out your frustrations on her!"
I almost laughed.
Malcolm hadn't hesitated for a single second before believing Lillian's accusation and turning on me.
Lillian burrowed deeper into his arms, whimpering softly.
"Does she not like me? If I'm causing problems, I can go back to where I was before..."
She kept her head down, the picture of wounded selflessness.
Malcolm's hand settled on her shoulder. He patted it gently, his voice tender. "Don't overthink it."
"Prudence, apologize to Lillian. Then we'll put this behind us."
He turned to me, and his tone left no room for refusal.
Enough, Prudence. What are you still expecting from this man?
My expression went cold. I grabbed Lillian's hand and squeezed hard, digging my fingers into her skin.
The back of her hand swelled instantly.
"That is what a pinch feels like. Now you know."
I released her. My voice was ice.
"If you're going to play games, at least learn to play them well. That was embarrassing."
I turned and walked upstairs without sparing Malcolm a single glance.
By the time he finished consoling Lillian and came looking for me, I had already changed.
He walked over, his tone gentle. "Lillian really isn't the scheming type. She just got a little jealous, threw a small tantrum. Don't hold it against her."
I lowered my eyes to hide what I was feeling and offered no opinion on his assessment of "not the scheming type."
Malcolm seemed pleased by my compliance. He reached for me.
I stepped aside.
His hand froze mid-air. His brow creased. "What's wrong? Still angry?"
"My period's about to start. I'm not feeling well."
I fought to keep my composure, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles went white.
This time, all I could do was refuse. The contraceptive pills were brutal on my body, and I didn't dare take them again so soon.
Malcolm's interest visibly cooled. He was about to leave.
But as he turned, his elbow caught the nightstand.
A sharp clatter. A box of pills hit the floor.
He looked down. The moment he read the label, his face went dark.
"Prudence, you've been taking birth control?!"
