“My husbands family looked down on me for being poor, but they had no idea Im the granddaughter of a billionaireand they were part of an experiment I was running on them.”
“Simon, good grief, what on earth is she wearing?” Margarets voice dripped with faux sweetness, not bothering to hide her disdain. “That dress looks like it came from a charity shop. I swear I saw one just like it last weekend at a car boot sale. Five quid at most.”
I adjusted the collar of my simple blue dressplain, unassuming. Like everything I wore. It was part of the strict agreement Id made with my grandfather.
Simon, my husband, cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away.
“Mum, leave it. The dress is fine.”
“Fine?” his sister Emily scoffed, fanning the flames. “Simon, your wife dresses like shes still in secondary school. What do you expect from someone who grew up in some backwater town?”
She gave me a once-over, her gaze lingering on my thin wrists. A poorly concealed smirk played on her lips.
“You could at least wear some jewellery. Oh waityou dont have any, do you?”
I met her eyes calmly, almost coldly, as if observing a test subject.
In my mind, I noted: *Subject No. 2Emily. Aggression: high. Motivation: envy, dominance.*
It was like watching wolves circle their prey. Predictable.
Margaret sighed dramatically and flopped onto the sofa beside me, her hand heavy on my shoulder. She smelled of cheap perfume and last nights takeaway.
“Lily, love, were not your enemies. We just want whats best for you. Its just our Simon is a man of standinga manager, respected. And you well, you know.”
She paused, waiting for tears, excuses. None came. I simply watched.
Where was the Simon Id fallen for? The confident, witty man? Now he was a shadowa puppet in his mother and sisters hands.
“Ive got an idea!” Margarets face lit up. “You still have your mums earrings, dont you? The ones with the little stones? You never wear them. Lets sell them.”
Simon choked on air. “Mum, are you serious? Theyre a keepsake!”
“Oh, come off it,” Margaret waved dismissively. “A keepsake of what? Poverty? At least theyd be useful. Well buy Lily a decent outfit or two. And maybe a new barbecue for the garden. Everyone wins.”
Emily jumped in. “Exactly! Those earrings look ridiculous on her anyway. Like costume jewellery.”
They didnt realise they werent humiliating me. They were exposing *themselves*their greed, their pettiness.
I studied their smug faces, every word, every gesture fitting my hypothesis perfectly. The experiment was going exactly as planned.
“Fine,” I said quietly.
The room fell silent. Even Simon stared at me in shock.
“What do you mean, fine?” Margaret demanded.
“Ill sell them,” I said, allowing a small smile. “If its what the family needs.”
Margaret and Emily exchanged glances. Doubt flickeredbrieflybefore vanishing under their glee. Once again, they mistook strategy for surrender.
To me, they werent family. They were chess pieces. And theyd just walked straight into my trap.
The next day, Margaret dragged me to a pawn shop. Emily tagged along, smirking. Simon drove in silence, jaw clenched. He tried to object, but his mother snapped, “Stay out of it! Cant you see she dresses like a charity case?”
The pawn shop was cramped, the air thick with the smell of old metal. The appraisera tired-looking bloketook the velvet box I handed him and examined the earrings under a loupe. Margaret tapped her nails impatiently.
“Well? Theyre gold, right? The stones must be worth something. Fifty quid?”
The man snorted. “Gold, yeah. 14 karat. But the stones are cubic zirconia. Cheap. Fiftys pushing it.”
Margarets face fell. Emily groaned. “Fifty? That wont even cover a pair of boots!”
I played my part perfectly. Leaned in and whispered, “Maybe we shouldnt? Theyre sentimental And fifty seems low. Maybe another shop?”
A calculated movea false compromise.
“Oh, shut it, Lily!” Margaret barked. “What do you know? The man said fifty, so fifty it is!”
Emily chimed in. “Yeah! Otherwise youll drag us all over town and get even less. You always make things difficult.”
Simon tried to step in. “Mum, maybe a jeweller would”
“Quiet!” Emily cut him off. “Since when do you take orders from her? *We* decide whats best for this family!”
They took the money. Right there on the street, they split itthirty for Margaret (“for the barbecue and plants”), twenty for Emily (“for a manicure”).
“And what about my new clothes?” I asked softly, still in character.
Emily laughed in my face. “Oh, Lily, dont be daft. With that pittance? Maybe a second-hand jumper.”
They left, smug, leaving me with Simon. He looked defeated. He hadnt defended me. Another mark in his file.
“Im sorry,” he muttered, staring at the pavement.
“Its fine,” I said gently, taking his arm. “I understand. Family comes first.”
But the real blow came that evening. Back at the flat, I noticed the nightstand was empty. My laptopgone. Outwardly ordinary, but triple-encrypted. My link to reports, analytics, the entire experiment.
My pulse spiked, but my face stayed calm.
“Simon, wheres my laptop?”
Emily strutted in, smirking. “Oh, that ancient thing? I took it. Mines broken, and Ive got work to do. What do *you* need it for? You dont even have a job. Watch telly on your phone.”
I turned slowly. Inside, a mechanism clicked. *Finally.*
The trap was sprung.
That laptop wasnt just a deviceit was my lifeline. Encrypted, unhackable. Inside: every detail of my experiment. But that wasnt the point.
Theft. Brazen, cynical. As if I were nothing. As if my rights meant nothing.
I looked at Simon. His final test.
“Simon, get my laptop back,” I said quietly. Not a pleaa command.
He hesitated, eyes darting between Emily and me.
“Em, could you”
“Oh, *please*!” Emily rolled her eyes. “Youre actually listening to her? I *need* it! Well buy her a new one when you get your bonus.”
“Lily, just let it go,” Simon said weakly. “She needs it for work. Dont make a fuss.”
Something inside me shattered.
This was it. He hadnt just stayed silenthed sided *with them*. Justified it.
The Simon I loved was gone. Only a coward remained.
Enough.
The experiment was over. Data collected. Results clear.
I pulled out an old flip phone. Dialled the contact labelled *Handler*. That line existed for one purposethe final phase.
“Mr. Whitmore, good evening,” I said coolly. “Observation complete. Proceed with *Consequences Protocol*. Start with the sister.”
I hung up. Placed the phone on the table. Met Emilys mockingyet suddenly uneasygaze.
“You have ten minutes to return my laptop. *Exactly* as it was.”
She laughed. “Or what? Youll call your *handler*? Who even *are* you?”
“Im not threatening,” I said, icy. “Im informing. In nine minutes, your urgent project will vanish from your companys servers. Five minutes after that, your boss gets a full report on your leaks to competitors. Corporate espionage. Prison time.”
Her face drained of colour.
“Youre bluffing!”
“Eight minutes.”
Her phone rang. The screen flashed: *Director Harris*.
She snatched it up, hands shaking. “Y-yes, sir? What report? Thatsthats not true!”
She looked at me, panic in her eyes. I nodded toward the wardrobe. She lunged, yanked out the laptop, and threw it on the bed.
“*Take it!* Just call them off!”
“Too late,” I said. “Process started.”
Simon, frozen until now, finally croaked, “Lily, what have you *done*? Shes my sister!”
I turned to him. No more masks.
“You still dont get it? You thought I was some poor girl you could walk over? That I was *nothing*?”
I walked to the window. Below, a black Jaguar idledunnoticeable from their flat.
“My name isnt Lily Carter
