Chapter 9
When we got back to the city, I was clearly not welcome at the Hartwell place anymore.
Willow’s passive aggressive comments became straight up vicious.
Like right now:
“Some people are just ungrateful bitches who can’t be tamed.”
“Mom’s been so good to her, but she only acknowledges that mute hillbilly woman.”
Mrs. Hartwell shot me a cold look and announced loudly: “Sweetie, Mommy’s taking you shopping for the new Chanel collection.”
She grabbed her purse and left with Willow.
I quietly rolled my eyes.
So much drama.
Mr. Hartwell stayed behind and called me to his study, encouraging me to study harder and get into a prestigious university to bring honor to
the Hartwell name.
He didn’t seem to care about my future–more like he was excited about having a useful business marriage tool.
I gave him some noncommittal responses and used studying as an excuse to escape.
The day after the SATS ended was Willow’s 18th birthday.
Mine too.
They obviously knew, but nobody gave a shit.
Early that morning, Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and Camden rushed out looking frantic.
Before the door slammed, I caught Willow complaining about something.
Sounded like a bunch of wealthy families had bailed on the Hartwells last minute.
The whole event was a mess and had to be reorganized.
No wonder they were freaking out.
Nobody invited me, so naturally I wasn’t gonna volunteer for humiliation.
When the time came, I casually took an Uber over.
Soon as I walked into the venue, Mr. Hartwell’s face darkened: “Look at yourself–what the hell are you wearing?”
I looked down at my clean, comfortable casual clothes: “What’s wrong with this?”
I’d definitely gotten Mr. Hartwell’s message telling me to [dress nicely], but I ignored it.
I had no intention of kissing their asses.
Willow covered her mouth, fake–laughing, and mouthed: “Trashy.”
I gave her a flat look.
the Dool Haiross Here to Wreck the Game!
21.7%
Chapter 9
Camden was getting impatient: “Just get inside before you embarrass us more!”
The Hartwell family started walking toward the banquet hall.
But after a few steps, they all stopped dead.
The venue next door–which was usually closed to the public and the Hartwells couldn’t book–v
-was now packed with people.
And if I wasn’t mistaken, a lot of those people were the wealthy families Mr. Hartwell had invited who claimed they had “emergencies” and
couldn’t make it…
The Hartwells were stunned speechless.
For the longest time, nobody could process what they were seeing.
Mr. Hartwell’s ego was shattered–his hand holding the wine glass was shaking.
Camden spotted one of his buddies who’d ditched him and charged over: “Dude, you said you were busy–what the hell are you doing here?”
The guy looked startled, then embarrassed when he saw it was Camden: “Bro, I couldn’t say no to this one.”
“You can blow me off but not them?”
Camden looked like someone had slapped him in public.
His friend looked constipated, words dying on his lips.
“I’m gonna find out who the hell hijacked our people and made us look like idiots!”
Camden started charging forward but his buddy yanked him back: “Are you insane? That’s the fucking Sinclair family!”
The Sinclairs.
Old money. Like, really old money.
Camden wasn’t stupid enough to mess with them, but he was dumb enough to say: “I don’t give a shit if it’s the Sinclairs or whoever–nobody disrespects us like this!”
He rolled up his sleeves, ready to fight.
Mr. Hartwell shut him down: “Get your ass back here!”
“Mr. Sinclair.”
At almost the same moment, a chorus of greetings drowned out Mr. Hartwell’s voice.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
A distinguished elderly man walked through, supported by an elegant woman.
I lazily glanced over.
My gaze swept past them and froze.
