I should feel something—panic, maybe, or fear about losing my inheritance. About being cut off from the family fortune that’s been there my whole life like a safety net I never asked for but always knew existed.
Instead, I feel nothing. Or maybe not nothing—maybe relief.
“I don’t want your money,” I say, and the truth of it settles in my chest like something solid and real. “I never did. I have my own money from Kid Logic. I bought this house. I’m living my life on my terms. Your will doesn’t control me.”
Mother’s composure cracks slightly. Just a flicker of surprise before she smooths it back into place. “Don’t be foolish, darling. That money won’t last forever?—”
“It’ll last long enough.” I lean back in my chair, and for the first time since sitting down, I feel like I can breathe. “I’m not leaving Willow Shade Island. I’m not going to Stanford. I’m not joining Father’s firm or working in tech or doing anything else you’ve decided is acceptable for a Stone family member.”
“River.” Her voice drops to a whisper, sharp with warning. “Keep your voice down. People are looking.”
“Let them look.” But I do lower my voice, more for the comfort of the other diners than for Mother’s sake. “I’m done living my life trying to meet your expectations. I’m done feeling like a disappointment because I chose art over business. I’m done, Mother.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the calculations happening behind her eyes. She’s trying to figure out what leverage she has left, what buttons she can push to get me back in line.
Then her expression shifts into something colder. More calculated.
“Is this about her?” she asks. “That girl from last night?”
My entire body goes tense. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb, darling. It’s beneath you.” She picks up her teacup again, taking a sip like we’re discussing the weather. “I saw you on the beach last night. After I went upstairs, I looked out the window and saw the two of you down at the beach. Kissing.”
Heat floods my face, but it’s not embarrassment. It’s anger at the invasion of privacy, at the way she’s weaponizing something beautiful and turning it into ammunition.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business when it’s clouding your judgment.” She sets down the teacup with deliberate precision. “Tell me, River—are you digging in your heels about Stanford because you’re sleeping with the help?”
The accusation hits like a slap.
“We’re not—” I stop myself, forcing my voice to stay steady even as rage builds in my chest. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We’re not sleeping together.”
“But you want to.” It’s not a question. “I’m not stupid, River. I can see what’s happening here. Some provincial island girl with pink hair and no prospects has caught your attention, and suddenly you don’t want to leave. How convenient.”
Something inside me snaps.
“Her name is Kiera,” I say, and my voice is low and dangerous. “Not ‘that girl’ or ‘the help’ or ‘some provincial island girl.’ Her name is Kiera Emmerson, and she’s more talented, more hardworking, and more genuine than anyone in your social circle has ever been.”
Mother’s eyebrows rise. “My goodness. You’re quite defensive of her.”
“Because you’re treating her like she’s nothing when she’s—” I stop, taking a breath. “She’s been through things you can’t even imagine. She survived being homeless. She’s working two jobs while preparing for a culinary competition that could change her life. She’s kind and funny and she doesn’t judge people based on their bank accounts or their family names.”
“How noble.” Mother’s tone drips with condescension. “And I’m sure she has absolutely no interest in your money or your connections. She’s just a pure-hearted working girl who happened to catch the eye of a wealthy young man.”
“She doesn’t care about my money.” My hands clench into fists under the table. “She tried to turn down the job when I offered to pay her what she’s actually worth. She lives in a tiny studio apartment and saves every penny for her future. She’s not using me, Mother. She’s just—she’s amazing.”
“She’s a floosy with pink hair who saw an opportunity and took it.” Mother dabs at her lips again with her napkin. “Andyou’re too infatuated to see it clearly. This is exactly why you need to come home, darling. Before you make a mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”
The restaurant feels too quiet suddenly. I’m aware of the other diners, the classical music, the server hovering nearby—all of it feels surreal, like I’m watching this scene play out from somewhere outside my body.
“Don’t,” I say, and my voice is steady now. Controlled. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that.”
“I’m simply being realistic?—”
“You’re being cruel.” I meet her eyes, holding her gaze. “And judgmental. And everything that’s wrong with the way you see the world. You look at someone like Kiera and all you see is pink hair and a working-class background. You don’t see her talent or her strength or the fact that she’s one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met.”
Mother opens her mouth to respond, but I’m not finished.
