ZOE, 12TH FEBRUARY 20....
We are crammed around the mahogany dining table, the scene a portrait of strained domesticity. Reagan's eyes, fixed on me, are anything but welcoming. More like a gathering storm. Tasha's kids, Bea and Ronald, both fifteen going on thirty, add to the chaos. I wonder, with a growing knot in my stomach, what the hell is brewing.
"Aunt Zoe," Bea chirps, her tone a little too sweet, "do you do anything remotely exciting today? Besides breathe, I mean."
I raise an eyebrow, fighting back a sarcastic retort. "Nothing that would make TikTok, darling. Just the usual job hunt. You know, the glamorous life of the unemployed."
God, I need a drink.
"I hear you used to be a cheer captain," Ronald chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Guilty as charged," I say, keeping my voice even.
"So, go back to that."
I blink, genuinely surprised by the audacity. "Excuse me?"
"It's better than turning into furniture," he says, his voice dripping with teenage disdain.
A flash of anger sparks within me. "Watch your mouth, kid," I snap, my voice dangerously low. "Before I remind you who buys your video games."
"Ronald has a point, Zoe," Tasha interjects, her voice laced with a syrup-sweetness that grates on my nerves.
"Are you seriously ganging up on me?" Seriously? My own sister?
"We're trying to help you," Reagan booms, his voice a low rumble that silences the table. His gaze pins me, cold and unforgiving. "Frankly, Zoe, I'm fucking tired of your extended vacation in my house."
Tasha, clearly sensing the impending explosion, intervenes. "Kids. To your rooms. Now!" They scramble away, disappearing down the hall. I remain glued to my seat, a cocktail of disbelief and simmering rage churning inside me. Betrayal. It always comes from those closest to you.
Reagan rounds the table, his movements deliberate and predatory. "Look, Zoe," he says, his voice losing the booming quality and dropping to something harder, more dangerous. "You're too old to be squatting with your thirty-year-old sister and her husband. Eight months is more than enough. Time to clip the wings and fly."
He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a thick envelope, tossing it onto the table in front of me.
"What's this?" I ask, my voice tight.
"Read it," he orders, his eyes daring me to refuse.
I grab the envelope, my fingers trembling slightly. The crisp paper crackles as I pull out the documents. The heading on the first page slams into me like a punch to the gut.
X CORP.
My breath hitches. X Corp? Seriously? One of the biggest, most powerful companies in the city. I scan the letter, my heart pounding against my ribs. An interview. With the CEO. Tomorrow. In Seattle.
A surge of adrenaline courses through me. I meet Reagan's gaze, a flicker of something akin to gratitude warring with the lingering resentment. Without a word, I push back my chair, grab my phone and travel bag. I spin on my heel and race towards my room, the wheels already turning. Seattle in twenty-four hours. Time to pack my best armor. Let the games begin.