Genevieve POV
I sat curled in the corner of our dimly lit apartment, my knees pulled tight against my chest.
Outside, the rain lashed against the windowpane, a relentless rhythm that echoed the storm raging inside my head.
Two days.
Two agonizing days had passed since Don Arlington Foley had left me discarded in the mud like refuse.
Two days of deafening silence.
Ignatz was gone.
He had vanished, claiming he needed to finalize the details of the "plan." But in the quiet, doubt began to fester.
The calendar on the peeling wall mocked me.
Five days left.
Five days until the launch. Until freedom. Or until the end of everything.
Needing a distraction from the silence, I flicked on the small television in the corner.
The news was already on, the anchor’s voice droning over the hum of the storm. Then, a headline flashed across the bottom of the screen in bold urgency.
FOLEY FAMILY HEIR ENGAGED TO SOCIALITE EVERLEIGH HOOPER.
I blinked, sure I had misread it.
Everleigh Hooper.
She was Ignatz's ex-girlfriend. Or so he had claimed. They had a history—a messy, tangled web of a history.
Why in the world was she marrying my cousin?
A sharp knock on the door made me jump, my heart hammering against my ribs.
It wasn’t a friendly knock. It was heavy, authoritative. The knock of someone who owned the building, or perhaps the world.
I hesitated, then opened it.
Three men in immaculate suits stood in the hallway, sucking the oxygen out of the space.
I recognized the one in the center immediately. Mr. Henderson. The family’s fixer disguised as a lawyer.
"Genevieve," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "We need to come in."
They didn't wait for an invitation. They marched into the tiny living room, their eyes sweeping over the wobbly furniture and peeling paint with undisguised disdain.
Henderson placed a leather briefcase on the rickety table with a heavy thud.
"Your father sent us."
I crossed my arms, trying to shield myself from their judgment. "To apologize for pushing me out of a moving car?"
Henderson didn't smile. He didn't even blink. "To finalize the severance."
He clicked the briefcase open and pulled out a thick stack of crisp documents.
"Due to recent events involving the family's reputation, the Don has decided to formally strip you of any remaining trust funds or potential inheritance."
I let out a laugh—a dry, humorless sound that scraped my throat.
"I thought I was already disowned."
"This is legal. Permanent. And it comes with a clause."
He slid a single sheet of paper toward me.
"You are to admit to a series of financial improprieties during your time at the university."
"What?" I stared at him, incredulous. "I never stole anything."
"It is necessary for the narrative," Henderson said smoothly, as if discussing the weather. "To protect the family image during the nephew's engagement. Someone has to be the black sheep, Genevieve."
My stomach twisted. They wanted to frame me.
They wanted to paint me as the villain so the golden boy could look pristine by comparison.
"Is this about Everleigh?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
Henderson's eyes flickered, a crack in his stony mask.
"This is about the family."
I looked down at the paper. It was a confession. If I signed it, I would be a criminal on paper, branded for life.
"And if I don't?"
"Then Ignatz's little business venture might run into... significant regulatory issues."
My blood ran cold.
They knew. They were watching us.
Before I could respond, the door flew open again.
Everleigh walked in.
She wasn't wearing an engagement ring. Instead, a stark white bandage was taped across her forehead.
"Oh, look at this dump," she sneered, her voice shrill.
She brushed past the lawyers and stopped directly in front of me. She looked frantic, her pupils dilated, her composure fracturing.
"You have to sign it, Gen. You have to."
"Why?" I asked, stepping back.
"Because he hurt me!" she screamed suddenly, the veneer of the socialite shattering.
She pointed a trembling finger at her bandage.
"Your cousin! He went crazy! He hit me!"
The lawyers shifted uncomfortably, adjusting their ties.
"Ms. Hooper, please," Henderson warned, his tone clipping the air.
She ignored him, her desperate eyes locking onto mine.
"He needs a distraction, Gen! If the press finds out he hit me, the engagement is off. The merger is off. The Don will kill him!"
I stared at her, processing the twisted logic.
"So you want me to take the fall for... what? Being a thief? Just so people talk about me instead of the fact that he beat you?"
"Yes!" she hissed, grabbing my arm. "You're already nothing! You're already the disappointment! What does it matter if you add one more stain?"
I looked at her.
She was selfish. She was cruel. But beneath the malice, she was terrified.
Then I looked at the lawyers. They stood like vultures, waiting for me to sacrifice myself.
Again.
Just like when I was a child. Just like when I left.
Always the stepping stone. Never the person.
Slowly, I picked up the pen.
Henderson smiled, a triumphant curl of his lip.
I looked him dead in the eye.
And I snapped the pen in half.
Ink splattered onto the white paper, blooming like black blood.
"No," I said.
Everleigh gasped, recoiling.
"You can't say no!"
"I just did."
I ripped the confession into pieces, the sound sharp in the silent room.
I threw the shreds into the air, watching them rain down like confetti at a funeral.
"If my cousin is a monster, let the world see his teeth. I am done cleaning up your blood."
Henderson's face flushed a violent shade of purple.
"You will regret this, Genevieve."
I walked to the door and held it open, my posture rigid.
"Get out. All of you."
Everleigh paused as she passed me, looking at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You think you're free?" she whispered, her voice venomous.
"You have no idea what chains you're wearing."
They left, leaving silence in their wake.
I slammed the door and locked it, the bolt clicking into place like a gunshot.
I slid down to the floor, the adrenaline leaving me weak.
My hands were shaking uncontrollably.
I had defied the Don. I had defied the entire structure of my family.
But as I looked at the ink staining my fingers, dark and permanent, I didn't feel fear.
I felt the first spark of a fire that was going to burn them all down.
