He scoffed, brushing off my words like dust. “Stop pretending to be the victim. If you don’t like it, earn your own money. Otherwise, don’t complain.”
As I sat there, struggling to breathe through the pain, Oscar continued rummaging through the room like a thief in his own house. He eventually spotted my designer bag—one I had bought for myself as a reward for a hard-earned work bonus.
“Perfect,” he said with a triumphant smirk.
“Madeline’s going to a party tomorrow, and she needs a bag. Your Chanel will do just fine.”
I froze. That bag wasn’t his to give. I shot to my feet, wobbling slightly as I snatched it out of his hands.
“No! I bought this with my own money. If she needs a bag, she can buy one herself!”
At that moment, Madeline came downstairs, her sweet voice grating on my nerves. She clung to Oscar’s arm, her doe eyes wide with fake innocence.
“Oscar, it’s fine. If Evelyn doesn’t want to share, let’s forget about it,” she cooed, her voice dripping with syrupy manipulation.
Oscar’s face darkened, and he turned on me, his voice rising as he shouted at me, “Don’t be so stingy, Evelyn! You’re just making a big deal out of nothing. I’ll give it back to you after she uses it.”