Page 43 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

I watched her, stunned by how unaffected she was by everything that felt so impossible to me. Words caught in my throat.

“Did you hear me?” she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “My bag’s ruined. I need a new one.”

I set the papers down, swallowing the frustration that clawed up my chest. “Jen,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can it wait?”

She looked up then, eyebrows raised, like I’d spoken another language. “Oh my god, you’re not still crying about that job, are you? I thought you’d be over it by now.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. How was I supposed to explain it? The numbers. The bills. The job I’d lost because I refused to lose myself, and the safety net I thought I’d have with Alexander torn to shreds.

I exhaled slowly, feeling my pulse in my throat. “I’m not crying, Jen. I’m just trying to figure out how to make this work.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s really not that hard, Claire. You’ve done it before. I’m sure you’ll do it again. Like, find some rich guy to take care of you again, or whatever.”

I clenched my jaw. If she’d arrived five minutes earlier, she would have seen me sobbing over the latest final notice. If she’d arrived five minutes later, she would have seen me frantically applying for another position—any position—to keep us afloat.

But she’d arrived just in time to demand more, more, more.

“We’re barely keeping up with rent,” I said. It was a lie. We were so far behind I had to figure out how to juggle things just to keep our heads above water. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are a lot of bills to cover.”

She blinked at me, bored. “And a new bag,” she said. “I don’t care if you have to sell a kidney to get it. Just do it before everyone turns me away for not being properly attired.”

I felt something snap, like a thread pulled too tight. A bag. She cared about a bag. “Are you kidding me?” I said, surprised atthe sharpness of my own voice. I wasn’t the sister who told her off. I wasn’t the sister who fought back.

But suddenly, I was.

Jen stared at me, her phone paused mid-scroll. “Wow, what crawled up your—”

“I’m tired of you using me,” I cut her off. My words shot out, harsh and hot, like they’d been waiting to escape all along. “We don’t have the money. I don’t have the money. If you want a new bag so badly, get out there and make your own damn money. Maybe go find some rich dude to take care of you or whatever.” I was actually proud at how well I mimicked her voice with that last line.

The room went silent. I waited for the backlash. For the explosion of anger, for tears and accusations that would make me feel like a monster for finally saying no.

But they didn’t come. Not the way I expected. Jen looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something shift in her expression. Confusion. Maybe even concern. But then, something crueler.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice too light, too entertained by the idea. “You and Alexander. That’s why you’re such a freaking mess. He finally got tired of you.”

I felt the world tilt beneath me, and my stomach twisted like I was about to hurl all over her and her broken bag. He’d given up. Let me go home like a returned purchase, like he’d planned all along. It stung more than I wanted to admit, even to myself.

My silence gave her the answer she wanted.

She leaned back, a grin spreading across her face like she’d just been handed the winning lottery ticket. “Wow,” shesaid, drawing the word out. “I didn’t think you’d actually lose everything. This is a new low for you, Claire.”

“Shut up, Jen,” I said, but the fight was already draining from my voice.

She laughed, light and airy, like this was the most fun she’d had in ages. Like she hadn’t just gutted me and left me fighting back tears. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, her tone shifting from cruel to sweet. “That man of yours? Totally fair game now, right?”

I froze. The threat in her words landed hard. My lips moved, but nothing came out.

“Looks like I’m free to win him over myself,” Jen sang, her voice taunting and sure. “I’ll probably have that new purse by the end of the day.”

I stared at her, speechless, as she did her best catwalk toward the door. As the door slammed behind her, I let out a slow, shaky, painful breath.

Lowering my head to the little desk covered in bills and notices, along with my laptop, I tried to figure things out.

I worried she’d walk back in. But she wouldn’t.

She’d gotten what she wanted and left me with everything I never wanted to feel. Panic. Rage. Helplessness. And worst of all, the certainty that she was right. Alexander, my hasty escape—it was all rushing back, and I could barely breathe. I had to do something, anything, but the room started to spin, the edges of my vision closing in until all I could do was sit there, choking on everything, doing nothing, and feeling it swallow me whole.

Jen, like Alexander, were just behaving as they always did. I was the stupid one for thinking things could be different. Mysister would never change. Alexander would never love me. I was a pawn to both of them in different ways.

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