Chapter 3

The next morning, Arthur sat at the head of the dining table, his Wall Street Journal spread out in front of him. His coffee was cold, untouched.

I sat down in my usual spot.

Four chairs. Three people were already eating. My plate was empty.

"Dad, I don't have silverware."

Arthur didn't even look up. He just flipped the page.

"Get her a plate."

Eleanor took a bite of the pan-seared salmon Chloe had made.

"Chloe, your cooking is incredible. This tastes exactly like Grandma's signature recipe."

Chloe smiled, serving her another bowl of vegetable soup.

"Eat up, Mom. I'm testing Grandma's thirty-seventh recipe today, the Apple Tart. I'll make it for dinner."

The maid finally brought my plate.

In front of me was a bowl of plain oatmeal and a single slice of whole-wheat toast.

Across from me, they had eggs, bacon, sausage, and fresh-squeezed orange juice.

Noticing my gaze, Eleanor offered a lazy explanation.

"You're meeting the Vance family next month. You can't afford to gain weight. Self-control is everything."

I looked at the dry bread and took a bite. It tasted like cardboard.

Arthur suddenly folded his newspaper. He adjusted his posture, looking at me with his signature corporate negotiation face.

"Maya, your mother told me about your little reaction last night."

"I get that you're emotional right now, but let me show you some numbers. You'll understand."

He slid his phone across the table, showing a graph.

"The Vance Group's revenue is three times ours this year. Their cold-chain logistics cover the entire East Coast—which is exactly where Shea Group has a blind spot."

"If you marry Ethan Vance, their distribution channels become ours. You'd basically be unlocking a massive new market for Chloe to run."

"Maya, I would never hurt you. I've met Ethan. He's handsome, well-educated, and frankly, he's more than you could ask for."

More than I could ask for.

As if I were a discounted item, and Ethan Vance was paying a generous price.

"Dad, how many times have you actually met Ethan?"

Arthur paused, thinking.

"Twice. Once at a charity gala, once at a golf club."

"And twice was enough for you to sell your daughter to him?"

The air in the room instantly froze.

Eleanor slammed her fork down, glaring at me.

"Watch your tone with your father!"

Arthur didn't get angry. Instead, he put on a deeply patient face, like a CEO explaining strategy to a clueless intern.

"Maya, marriage isn't a game. It's about mergers, acquisitions, and resource matching. Why do you think your mother married me?"

He smiled at Eleanor.

They exchanged a knowing, calculated look.

There was affection in that look, sure, but it was mostly the trust of two business partners.

And I was their next transaction.

Chloe walked out of the kitchen with the last dish, catching the end of the conversation.

"Maya, don't stress too much," she said, sitting across from me. Her voice was like sugar.

"Dad and Mom are actually doing you a favor. Think about it. Everything you've learned since you were a kid—golf, horseback riding, social etiquette—isn't that the perfect starter pack for a billionaire's wife?"

"You'll thrive in the Vance family."

"But if you stay at Shea Group... you haven't even touched Grandma's recipes. How would you even gain the board's respect?"

Every single word was a reminder: You can't cook, so you don't deserve the crown.

But nobody ever asked me why I couldn't cook.

From the moment I could remember, Eleanor banned me from the kitchen.

The oil ruins your skin. The heat is hard to control. If you get a scar, you'll lose points in your etiquette presentation.

Meanwhile, Chloe was allowed in the kitchen with Grandma since she was five, learning ingredients, sauces, and cooking techniques.

I had never even seen the cover of that legendary recipe book.

It wasn't that I refused to learn.

They just never let me.

"Chloe, can I see that recipe book?"

Chloe's smile stiffened for a fraction of a second.

"The book is with Grandma. I only get to read it when she's teaching me."

Eleanor quickly cut in.

"Alright, let's not talk about work at the table. Maya, go get your hair done this afternoon. The Vances are coming next week, and you need to look flawless."

I looked down at my oatmeal.

It was tasteless.

But I forced myself to swallow it, bite by bite.

Not because I was being obedient.

But because I suddenly realized that at this table, I had zero cards left to play.

I had to eat what they fed me.

I had to marry who they chose.

Unless... I flipped the entire board.

At 2:00 PM, Eleanor told me to go to the salon.

I said okay.

But the moment I walked out of the estate, I didn't go to the salon.

I went to the bank.

Seventeen years of allowance, academic cash prizes, and competition awards were all stashed in a private account Eleanor knew nothing about.

Balance: $83,400.

Not a fortune, but enough to get me started.

I stood at the ATM, changed my PIN, and then walked into a phone store to buy a burner SIM card.

When I got home, Eleanor asked why my hair looked the same.

"The salon was overbooked. I rescheduled for tomorrow."

She just hummed and didn't ask further.

At dinner, Chloe served her Apple Tart.

Grandma Margaret showered her with praise via FaceTime.

Everyone was laughing.

No one noticed that throughout the entire dinner, I was counting the things in this house that actually belonged to me.

A bowl of oatmeal, some dry toast.

That was it.