Chapter Three

Y A N A

Usually, I didn't mind living in the upstairs space of the store with Lily and Jason, but this time, I found it quite bothersome.

After registering for the open conference yesterday, I tried to tell them about my meeting with Deborah and how we could possibly find ourselves out in the streets after the month of May unless I landed a deal with a douchebag bachelor. However, my cowardice was much too strong and I ended up just telling them that I would be meeting a client for brunch.

That's why right now, I'm standing in front of the mirror wondering if any of them would find my pencil skirt suspicious.

"Are you sure we can't come?" Lily asks as she watches me put on some sneakers (because my high heels are already in my bag). "I really want to go on that brunch too."

"Don't worry, we will stuff our faces as long as I get this deal," I lied, shrinking inside. "Wait for me here, okay? We need people for customers."

"Oh, yeah. For sure."

She sounds bummed and unsure about the customers. And I don't blame her because we usually just get homeless people trying to barge in, not actual paying clients who want our jewelry.

Still, I tell myself to be strong. I am not committing a sin by hiding this information from them. “I’ll see you both soon. Wish me luck!”

Before I end up breaking down in her arms and telling her how much of a liar I am, I leave the building and get to my car. I take another risk by gunning it, and just like that I’m away from Catori and on my way to Satellite Corp.

The building is massive, which is not new considering that it’s in the heart of LA, but the whole thing stands out with its beautiful glass exterior. A guard dressed like a butler ushers me into a parking space, and I immediately change my shoes before going out. My Toyota feels super out of place in the sea of Ranger Rovers and Lambos, but I just think to myself that maybe that’s a good thing.

However, my confidence only plummets even more when I get inside.

The lobby alone looks like a fancy, Victorian-inspired hotel with all its vintage furniture and gold-gilded walls, a great contrast with the modern exterior. Thin, modelesque women mill about the place, carrying signature golden folders with the Satellite logo. Men with the crispest, most expensive-looking suits are also present, talking on phones.

It seems that all the employees here are taller than normal, and they had this strange intimidating quality about them too that I can’t quite put my finger on.

Whatever it is, I just ignore it and head to the elevator, reading the confirmation email again to make sure that the conference will be held on the sixth floor. Taking a deep breath, I get into an elevator and punch down the button, closing my eyes and praying whatever entity will listen to me as I clutch my folder and my custom gift box containing my sample pieces.

I can do this, right?

I’m confident with my business. My products are stunning. All I need are people who would believe in me, and that might be Mikhail and his people. The only thing I have to do is--

“Yana?”

The sound of my name brings me out of my reverie. I flinch and look around, realizing that I didn’t move at all. I’m still on the ground floor, and people are piling into the elevator.

And one of those people is someone I never ever wanted to see.

My step-sister Gwen.

To my horror, she’s also wearing a corporate outfit, donning the same files and a big box in her arms. It doesn’t take a genius to know that she’s also going to the public conference.

As though things can’t get any worse, she clocks my outfit and my stuff too, winking at me. “Ooh, I see we’re once again head to head.”

“Yeah!” I force enthusiasm into my voice. “Nice to see you!”

I want to die.

Gwen is my age, and she’s always been the golden child. My dad married her mom when we were both ten, after my mom passed away when I was six. I’ve endured Gwen for thirteen years, but she just gets more and more unbearable every year. It’s always Gwen this, Gwen that. Even Dad likes her better.

Whenever I come to visit, he would always jump into stories about Gwen the Great and how she conquered a nasty client at her bank job, or how she scored a date with a random city accountant. Then he would look at me and translate his disappointment into a long, hard stare.

No matter what it is, it’s always Gwen who does it better.

And now apparently, she has gone from surpassing my grades and being cum laude to owning her own business too.

I would definitely get more roasted than the turkey this Thanksgiving. Dad would be merciless.

The elevator door closes and up we go. Gwen inserts herself next to me and scans me up and down. “I didn’t know you had a business.”

What a bitch. I told everyone last Christmas and she was the one who encouraged everyone to laugh.

“I didn’t know you had one either,” I just say. “And I definitely didn’t expect you to be the type to find help for it.”

That makes her blush. Ha. At least everyone knows I’m a loser, and me being here wouldn’t be a surprise. But I’m sure she would hate it if anyone in the family finds out she crawled her way to Satellite Corp from Las Vegas just to beg for funds.

“I wouldn’t say I need help,” she says in a simpering tone. “I prefer to think of it as a boost. After all, this company has helped so many people. It would be the honor of a lifetime to be a part of it.”

Gwen makes her voice louder for the last part, and I think she wants to be heard by the employees in the elevator. As if they would put in a word for her to Mikhail Sartori and flatter him into giving in.

“Very true,” I just mumble, hoping she would shut up.

Thankfully, before she can kiss more ass, the elevator dings and stops. The employees move to the side to let us out, so I just swerve away from Gwen, who quickly follows me.

I want to tell her to leave me alone, but then I see that the hall is already pretty much filled with people. All in corporate outfits, all with boxes or even crates and wagons of whatever they have to offer. I see some cosmetics and crazy contraptions, which in turn makes me curious about what Gwen has.

“Please sign in,” one woman tells us as we enter, so we both tap our names into the tablet that she’s holding. “The sequence is random and not based on punctuality, so please, be prepared.”

Gwen scoffs as we take our seats at the back. “I like that strategy. It shows that it’s not always the early bird that catches the worm. Similar to how it’s not always the first person who has the idea gets to make a business out of it.”

“What are you talking about?” I can’t help but ask, not masking my distaste for her anymore. “I think it’s quite unfair, really.”

She just shrugs. “Totally not. People who get the advantage of time by accident should not be treated like they’re special.”

I gape at her. Why does it feel like she’s drawing inspiration from something?

“Jane Harper,” the woman at the desk calls out, and a plump older lady gets up and heads to the end of the hall, where a set of double doors is located, flanked by two tall guards.

I assume that’s where the top guns are, and looking at the doors themselves makes me quite anxious.

Gwen shakes her head at me. “You’re nervous? Is your business not doing well?”

I want to ignore her. I really do. But something about her condescending tone and her comments earlier is making my blood boil. “Gwen, what’s your problem?”

“Nothing.” She shrugs again, then to my surprise, she reaches over me and tries to take the box on my lap. “I just want to see what you have--”

“Gwen!” I hiss, swatting her hand away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Instead of answering, she makes a dive at my box just as I’m about to angle my legs to move out of her way. Somehow, she manages to get a hold of it, and as much as I want to snatch it back from her, I don’t want to embarrass myself. The desk woman is already looking at me.

I swallow hard and watch as Gwen opens the box, which is a delicate woven twine material that I had to make by hand. A look of shock passes on her face as she takes out one of the sample pieces, which is a silver necklace with an eye-shaped pendant.

“Jewelry,” she mutters, smiling dryly. “How cute. That’s my business too.”

My heart sinks. Is that what she was referring to when she was making those comments about being early? Did she get the idea of making jewelry from me?

Of course she did.

Of course she fucking did.

“Give me that,” I say in a clipped tone, containing my anger even though it’s trying to burst out of me in waves. I reach out for my box but she swerves out of my grasp. “Gwen. Give it back.”

She just smirks. “My selling point is that my pieces are delicate and durable. I don’t know about yours.”

I clench my fists. She holds out the necklace to me and I grab it before she can move it away. But the only problem is, she won’t let go. I tug at it, but she doesn’t loosen her grip.

I’m seeing red now. All the bad things she’s done to me are coming back in waves. When she told her mom that I drew a mustache on her doll. When she stole aged wine from Dad’s pantry and blamed me. When she convinced them both to fund her through college instead of me, forcing me to take student loans and suffer alone.

And now this.

Sabotaging the last lifeline I have.

My rage explodes. All kind of common sense leaves my body. I yank at the necklace just as she does, and the last thing I register is the silver chain snapping in half right before my eyes.

Time slows down. Gwen lets go in pretend shock, covering her mouth with her hands as the other piece lands on the floor between us. She mutters insincere apologies I can’t make up, handing the box to me haphazardly and crushing the woven material, causing it to spill out the other sample pieces inside.

I take one look at the broken necklace and the scattered studs pieces with crumpled twine box on the floor, and I lose it.

Then I let out the angriest, screechiest, loudest scream, causing the double doors of the jury room to fly open.

Storming from it is none other than Mikhail Sartori himself.