My husbands relatives looked down on me because of my poverty, but they had no idea I was a millionaires granddaughter conducting an experiment on them.
“Simon, just look at what shes wearing,” my mother-in-law, Margaret, sneered, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “That dress is straight from a charity shop. I saw one just like it last week.”
Fifty pounds, tops.
I adjusted the collar of my plain blue dress without a word. It *was* cheap. Just like everything else in my wardrobe.
It was part of the cruel bet Id made with my grandfather.
My husband, Simon, coughed awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.
“Mum, leave it alone. Its a nice dress.”
“*Nice*?” his sister Emily scoffed, pouring fuel on the fire. “Simon, your wife has the taste of awell, what do you expect from an orphan from the sticks?”
She gave me a once-over, her lip curling as she lingered on my bony wrists. Triumph glittered in her eyes. “At least put on a bracelet. Oh, waityou dont *have* any.”
I met her gaze slowly, my expression calm. Almost analytical.
Inside, I made notes: *Subject Two, Emily. Aggression level: high. Primary motivation: envy and self-validation through belittling others.*
It was like observing predators in the wild. Fascinating. Predictable.
Margaret sighed theatrically and sat beside me on the sofa, her heavy hand landing on my shoulder. She smelled of hairspray and roast beef.
“Annie, love, were not your enemies. We only want whats best for you. Simons a successful manhead of his department. And you well, you know.”
She paused, waiting for tears or excuses. She got neither. I just watched.
Where was the Simon Id married? The sharp, self-assured man whod enchanted me with his independence? Now he was just a shadow, a puppet on his mothers strings.
“Ive had a brilliant idea!” Her face lit up with self-congratulation. “You still have your mothers earrings, dont you? The ones with the little stones. You never wear them. Lets sell them!”
Simon choked.
“Mum, are you serious? Those are sentimental!”
“Oh, sentimental rubbish!” She waved a hand. “Sentimental over *poverty*? This way, well get some money. Buy Annie a few decent jumpers. And we can finally get that new barbecue for the garden. Everyone wins!”
Emily chimed in instantly.
“Exactly! Besides, those earrings look ridiculous on her anyway.”
They didnt even realize they werent humiliating *me*they were exposing their own pettiness.
I studied their faces, twisted with greed and smugness. Every reaction was exactly as Id predicted.
My experiment was going perfectly.
“Fine,” I said softly.
Silence. Even Simon looked startled.
“What do you mean, *fine*?” Margaret blinked.
“Ill sell them,” I said, allowing the faintest smile. “If its for the family.”
Margaret and Emily exchanged glances. Suspicion flickeredbrieflybefore dissolving into gleeful anticipation.
Theyd mistaken my strategy for weakness.
Each of them was just another piece on my chessboard. And today, theyd walked right into checkmate.
—
The next day, Margaret dragged me to a pawnshop. Emily tagged along, eager for the drama. Simon came too, his face stormy. He tried to argue, but his mother cut him off.
“Stop interfering! Were looking out for your wifecant you see she dresses like a beggar?”
The pawnshop was cramped, the air stale. The appraiser, a tired-eyed man, lazily took the velvet box I handed him.
He examined the earrings under a loupe while Margaret tapped her fingers impatiently.
“Well? Its gold, isnt it? And the stones sparkle. Youll give us two hundred?”
The man snorted. “Gold, yes. 14 karat. Stones? Cubic zirconia. Workmanship is basic. Fifty quid. And thats being generous.”
Margarets face fell. Emily clicked her tongue.
“*Fifty*? I thought wed at least get enough for new boots.”
I played my part perfectly. Stepping forward, I murmured, “Maybe we shouldnt? Theyre sentimental and fifty is so little. Should we try somewhere else?”
A calculated move. A pretend compromiseone I *knew* theyd reject.
“Shut up, Annie!” Margaret snapped. “What do *you* know? He said fifty, so its fifty! Hes the expert!”
Emily nodded. “Obviously! Or well traipse all over town just to get less. You always ruin everything.”
Simon tried again. “Mum, maybe a jeweller?”
“*Enough*!” Emily cut in. “Youre whipped, Simon. *Were* deciding whats best for this family!”
The money changed hands. Right outside, Margaret pocketed thirty “for the barbecue and plants.” Emily took twenty, declaring she *desperately* needed a manicure.
“What about my jumpers?” I asked softly, playing my role to the end.
Emily laughed in my face. “Oh, Annie, dont be daft. What jumpers on that pittance? Try a charity shop.”
They strutted off, leaving Simon and me on the pavement. He looked crushed. He hadnt defended meor his mothers memory.
“Sorry,” he muttered, not meeting my eyes.
“Its fine,” I said, taking his arm. “I understand. Theyre family.”
But the real blow came that evening.
Back home, I saw my bedside tableempty. My laptop was gone. It looked ordinary, but it was a secure, triple-encrypted model.
My heart skipped, but I stayed calm.
“Simon, wheres my laptop?”
Emily waltzed in, beaming. “Oh, that old thing? I took it. Mine broke, and I *urgently* need it for work. Its not like *you* use it for anything important.”
I turned slowly. My meek mask didnt crackbut inside, something *clicked*.
Final exhibit delivered.
That laptop wasnt just a device. It was my portal to *real* lifereports, charts, every detail of my social experiment.
Unbreakable. But theft was the last straw.
I looked at Simon. Final test. Final chance.
“Simon. Get. My. Laptop.”
No plea. A demand.
He hesitated, glancing between us.
“Em, just give it back. Its hers.”
“Ugh, *here we go*!” Emily flopped into a chair. “Why do you listen to her? I *need* it more! Buy her a new one when I get my bonus.”
“Annie, come on,” Simon pleaded. “Its for her *job*. Be reasonable. Dont be selfish.”
There it was. Rock bottom.
Not just failing to protect me*siding* with them.
The Simon I loved had never existed.
I pulled out my cheap burner phone. Scrolled to *Supervisor*. The emergency line.
“Mr. Whitmore, good evening,” I said, voice crisp. “Observation phase complete. Proceed. Yes, all three subjects. Activate Protocol Consequences. Start with the workplace.”
I hung up. Emily gaped.
“Youve got ten minutes,” I said. “Return my laptop. *Unharmed*.”
She laughed nervously. “Or what? Your *mysterious supervisor* will?”
“Im not threatening. Im informing.” My voice was ice. “In ten minutes, your *urgent project*the excuse for stealing my propertywill be wiped from your companys servers.”
She paled. “Youyoure *lying*!”
“Nine minutes,” I said, checking my phone. “Clocks ticking.”
Her phone rang within seconds. *MR. HARRISON* flashed on-screen. Her boss.
She answered, hands shaking. “*What report?* I never!”
She stared at me, panic-stricken. I pointed at my laptop.
She lunged for it, shoving it at me. “Take it! Just *stop them*!”
“Too late,” I said. “Its done.
Simon finally found his voice.
“Annie, what the hell? Thats my *sister*!”
I turned. No more acting.
“You still dont get it, do you? You thought I was some poor orphan you could bully? Strip bare under the guise of *family care*?”
I walked to the window. A black sedan waited below.
“My surname isnt Carter. Its *Kensington*. My grandfatherthe man you thought was a pensionerowns Kensington Holdings. And *this*,” I gestured around the room, “was an *exper
