Alex scoffed, "You think she's in your league?" Then he ushered Cecelia into the elevator.
I sat there a long while before I gathered the ruined mementos into a box. I took them downstairs, burned them, and buried the ashes.
Guess this is a different kind of rest-in-peace.
Just as I buried the last of my mom's things, I turned to find Alex not far off, his eyes wide with panic.
He managed a shaky, "Lily, I... I'm sorry. I never thought she'd actually... you know, from that night."
Turns out, he knew the truth after that bit of while.
Turns out, it wasn't hard for him to figure out the real story.
I scoffed, "What? As long as she survived, your little game was fine? How much money do you need to stop these cruel games?"
These games, they belong in thrillers, not real life, where trust funds play with lives.
Alex and I, we're new to big money. Sure, we hit a million on streams, but the real cut? Just a slice. Costs of glam giveaways, hosts, platform cuts—it adds up.
He failed to see, bigger broadcasts meant bigger risks for a startup like ours, teetering between chance and collapse.
Some small tricks he encountered like someone cashing in his fame might lead to the destruction of our company.