152 Trapped

“Oui,” Jacqueline says unapologetically. “And I insured that your designs were . . . well, less than they already were.” She presses her perfectly lined lips together as she gloats, as though she was trying to keep from laughing out loud—at Monica. Monica crosses her arms, glaring at her. “You needed to learn what you refused to see. My nephew is a man of appetites and expectations, and you meet neither. With your designs, or with . . . yourself.” She looks down her nose at her, scanning Monica from head to toe, making her feel like a slug unworthy of oxygen or her presence. It’s as though Monica can hear her thoughts . . . You are not good enough. Not for Jackson—he deserves better.

Not for House Corbin—inexperienced, unimaginative hack. You are nothing but a small-town girl who should know her place, which is at most as the Apple Saucing Queen. That voice was all too familiar—it was her mother’s, but amped up, playing to the insecurities she holds at her core. Monica have fought ha