“Toms family looked down on me for being poor, but they had no clue Im actually the granddaughter of a billionaireand I was putting them to the test.”
“Tom, for goodness sake, what on earth is she wearing?” Margarets voice dripped with fake sweetness, barely hiding 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. Ten quid at most.”
I quietly smoothed the collar of my plain blue dresssimple, cheap, like everything I wore. It was part of the strict deal Id made with my grandfather.
Tom, my husband, coughed awkwardly and glanced away.
“Mum, leave it. The dress is fine.”
“Fine?” His sister, Claire, scoffed, stirring the pot. “Tom, your wife has the fashion sense of awell, what do you expect from someone who grew up in some tiny village?”
She gave me a once-over, her eyes lingering on my bare wrists. A smug grin played on her lips.
“You could at least wear some jewellery. Oh, waityou dont have any, do you?”
I met her gaze calmly, coolly, like I was observing a lab experiment.
In my mind, I noted: *Subject No. 2Claire. Aggression: high. Motivation: envy, dominance.*
It was like watching a pack of wolves. Fascinating. Predictable.
Margaret sighed dramatically and plopped onto the sofa beside me, her hand heavy on my shoulder. She smelled of hairspray and leftover takeaway.
“Emma, love, were not your enemies. We just want whats best for you. Its just our Toms a successful man, a manager, well-respected. And you well, you know.”
She paused, waiting for tears, stammers, weakness. Nothing came. I just watched.
Where was the Tom I fell for? The confident, witty, independent man? Now he was just a shadow, controlled by his mother and sister.
“Ive got an idea!” Margaret brightened, as if struck by genius. “Youve still got your mums earrings, havent you? The little ones with the stones? You never wear them. Lets pawn them.”
Tom choked on air.
“Mum, seriously? Theyre sentimental!”
“Oh, sentimental my foot,” Margaret waved him off. “Sentimental over whatbeing broke? At least theyd be useful. We could get Emma a couple of decent outfits. And a new barbecue for the garden. Everyone wins.”
Claire jumped in:
“Exactly! Those earrings look ridiculous on her anyway.”
They didnt realise they werent humiliating methey were exposing themselves. Their pettiness, their greed.
I studied their smug faces. Every word, every gesturetextbook. Perfect for my experiment.
“Alright,” I said softly.
The room fell silent. Even Tom stared at me, stunned.
“What dyou mean, alright?” Margaret demanded.
“Ill sell them,” I said, letting a small smile slip. “If its what the family needs.”
Margaret and Claire exchanged glances. Doubt flickeredbrieflybefore being swallowed by triumph. They mistook strategy for surrender.
To me, they werent family. They were chess pieces. And theyd just walked right into my trap.
The next day, Margaret dragged me to a pawnshop. Claire tagged along, smirking. Tom drove in silence, grim-faced. He tried to protest, but his mother snapped:
“Dont interfere! Cant you see she dresses like a charity case?”
The pawnshop was cramped, bars on the windows, the air thick with the smell of old metal. The appraisera tired-looking mantook the velvet box I handed him.
He examined the earrings under a loupe. Margaret tapped her nails impatiently.
“Well? Theyre gold, right? The stones sparkle. Youll give us fifty quid?”
The man snorted.
“Gold, yeah, 14 karat. But the stones are cubic zirconia. Cheap. Twenty quid. And thats generous.”
Margarets face fell. Claire groaned:
“Twenty? That wont even cover a pair of shoes.”
I played my part perfectly. Leaned in, hesitant:
“Maybe we shouldnt? Theyre sentimental And twentys so little. Maybe try somewhere else?”
A calculated movea false compromise I knew theyd reject.
“Shut it, Emma!” Margaret barked. “What do you know? The man said twenty, so twenty it is!”
Claire chimed in:
“Exactly! Or well traipse all over town and get even less. You ruin everything.”
Tom tried again:
“Mum, maybe a jewellers”
“Shut up!” Claire cut him off. “Under her thumb now, are you? *We* decide whats best for the family!”
They took the money. Right there on the street, they split it. Twelve quid to Margaret: “For the barbecue and plants.” Eight to Claire: “For a manicure.”
“And what about my new clothes?” I asked softly.
Claire laughed in my face:
“Oh, Emma, dont be daft. With that? Maybe a jumble sale.”
They left, smug, leaving me with Tom. He looked broken. He hadnt defended me. Another mark against him.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, staring at the pavement.
“Its fine,” I said gently, taking his arm. “I understand. Family first.”
But the real blow came that evening. Back home, I noticed my laptop was gone. An ordinary-looking one, but encrypted, secure. My link to my real life.
My heart skipped, but my face stayed calm.
“Tom, wheres my laptop?”
Claire sauntered in, grinning.
“Oh, that ancient thing? I took it. Mine broke, and Ive got work to do. What dyou need it for? You dont even work. Watch telly on your phone.”
I turned to her slowly. Inside, a switch flipped.
The trap was sprung. The last piece was in place.
That laptop wasnt just a deviceit was my lifeline. Encrypted, untouchable. Inside: reports, logs, every detail of my experiment. No hacker could crack it. But that wasnt the point.
Theft. Blatant, shameless. Like I was nothing.
I looked at Tom. His last chance.
“Tom, get my laptop back,” I said, quiet but firm.
He faltered, eyes darting to Claire, then back to me.
“Claire, give it back. Its hers.”
“Oh, come off it!” Claire scoffed, flopping into an armchair. “Youre actually listening to her? I *need* it! Well buy her a new one with your bonus.”
“Emma, you heard her,” Tom turned to me, helpless. “She needs it for work. Be reasonable. Dont make a fuss.”
That was it. The final straw.
He didnt just stay quiet. He sided with them. Justified them.
The Tom I lovedconfident, principledwas gone. This was reality. Hed made his choice. Now Id make mine.
Enough.
The experiment was over. Data collected. Results clear.
I pulled out an old flip phone. Dialled the contact labelled *Supervisor*. That number existed for one purposeactivation. I pressed call.
“James, evening,” I said, voice icy. “Observation phase complete. Proceed to action. All three subjects. Initiate Protocol *Consequences*. Start with the sister.”
I hung up. Put the phone down. Looked at Claire, her mocking smirk fading into unease.
“Youve got ten minutes to return my laptop. Exactly as it was.”
Claire laughed nervously:
“Or what? Youll what? Who even *are* you?”
“Im not threatening,” I said, cold. “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 you leaking trade secrets. Thats corporate espionage. Criminal charges.”
Her face paled.
“Youre lying!”
“Nine minutes,” I said, glancing at my phone. “Clocks ticking.”
Her phone rang. Screen: *Mr. Thompson*. Her boss.
She grabbed it, hands shaking.
“Y-yes, Mr. Thompson? What report? No, that wasnt meits a mistake!”
She shot me a panicked look. I nodded at the wardrobe. Claire yanked the laptop out, hurling it onto the bed.
“Here! Take it! Just call it off!”
“Too late,” I said calmly. “Process is already in motion.”
Tom, frozen until now, finally croaked:
“Emma, whatve you done?! Shes my sister!”
I turned to him. No more masks.
“You still dont get it?
