The next morning wasn't any different. The sun crawled through the narrow window of the guest room, hitting the pile of laundry Miranda had "left out" for me to fold. In the Sterling house, my morning routine didn't start with coffee; it started with chores that weren't mine.I walked into the breakfast nook, the smell of expensive dark roast and maple syrup filling the air. Victor and Miranda were already seated, their heads bent over a set of blueprints spread across the table. Lilian sat to the right, typing furiously on her tablet.There were four chairs at the table. Three were occupied. The fourth, the one usually meant for me, was covered in Miranda’s designer shopping bags."Morning," I said, my voice sounding raspy in the quiet room.No one looked up. It was as if I hadn't spoken at all."If we can secure the corner lot on 5th," Victor said, pointing at a blue line on the map, "the Sterling Plaza becomes the crown jewel of the district. We just need the final signature from t

The Sterling Estate was glowing with a predatory kind of warmth. It was the night of the "Legacy Dinner," a quarterly tradition where the extended clan gathered to brag about their portfolios and measure their worth against one another. To me, it was simply another night of navigating a minefield of polished marble and sharpened tongues.I stood in the foyer, adjusting the cuffs of my only suit. It was a charcoal-grey piece I’d bought from a department store sale three years ago. I kept it clean, the creases sharp, but standing under the crystal chandeliers of the Sterling foyer, I felt like a black-and-white photograph in a technicolor world. The other men, cousins, uncles, and business associates—moved in a sea of bespoke Italian wool and silk ties that cost more than my monthly grocery budget."Damien, move. You’re blocking the flow of traffic."I didn't even have to look up to know it was Marcus, Lilian’s cousin. He brushed past me, deliberately catching my shoulder with his. He d

"So, Lilian, how long are you going to keep this up?"The question cut through the air like a cold blade. I stopped just outside the circle of light in the drawing room, holding a tray of drinks. Mr. Henderson, a long time friend of the Sterling family, was leaning back in his leather chair. He was a man who smelled of expensive tobacco and the kind of old money that thought it could buy anything including the right to be cruel."Keep what up, Bill?" Lilian asked. She sounded tired. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her hands tucked under her thighs."This little game of house," Henderson said, gesturing toward me without actually looking at me. "The charity work you’re doing by staying married to... whatever his name is. Damien, right?""Bill, please," Lilian whispered. She glanced at me, and for a second, I saw a flicker of shame in her eyes. But it wasn't shame for Henderson’s rudeness. It was shame that I was standing there to hear it."I’m being serious, Lilian," Henderso