My husbands family looked down on me for being poor, but they had no clue Im actually a billionaires granddaughterand they were part of my little social experiment.
For goodness sake, Simon, what on earth is she wearing? Margarets voice dripped with fake concern, her smile sharp as a knife. 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 plain blue dresssimple, unassuming, just like everything else I wore. It was part of the strict agreement Id made with my grandfather.
Simon, my husband, coughed awkwardly and glanced away.
Mum, leave it. The dress is fine.
Fine? His sister Emily screeched, fanning the flames. Simon, your wifes got the fashion sense of awell, what do you expect from some nobody from the countryside?
She gave me a once-over, her nose wrinkling as her eyes lingered on my bare wrists. Couldnt even bother with a bracelet. Oh, waityou dont own any, do you?
I met her gaze calmly, coolly, like I was studying a lab specimen.
*Subject No. 2: Emily. Aggression level: high. Motivation: jealousy, superiority complex.*
It was like watching a pack of hyenas. Fascinating. Predictable.
Margaret sighed dramatically and plopped onto the sofa beside me, her hand landing heavily on my shoulder. She smelled of cheap perfume and yesterdays takeaway.
Lucy, love, were not trying to be cruel. We just want whats best for you. Its just our Simon is a man of status, a manager, well-respected. And you well, you know.
She paused, waiting for tears, apologies, some sign of weakness. Instead, she got silence.
Where was the Simon Id fallen for? The confident, funny, independent man? Now he was just a shadow, his strings pulled by his mother and sister.
Ive got an idea! Margarets face lit up. Youve still got your mothers earrings, havent you? The ones with the little stones? You never wear them. Lets pawn them.
Simon choked on air.
Mum, be serious. Those are sentimental.
Sentimental? Margaret scoffed. Sentimental over what? Poverty? At least this way theyll do some good. Well get you a proper outfit, maybe a new barbecue for the garden. Everyone wins.
Emily jumped in.
Exactly! Those earrings look ridiculous on her anyway.
They didnt realise they werent humiliating me. They were exposing themselvestheir pettiness, their greed, their utter lack of class.
I studied them, their smug faces twisted in triumph. Textbook behaviour. Perfect for my experiment.
Alright, I said softly.
Silence. Even Simon gaped at me.
What do you mean, alright? Margaret demanded.
Ill sell them, I said, letting a faint smile slip. If its whats best for the family.
Margaret and Emily exchanged glances. For a second, doubt flickeredthen vanished under their glee. Once again, they mistook strategy for surrender.
To me, they werent family. They were chess pieces. And theyd just walked right into checkmate.
The next day, Margaret dragged me to a pawn shop. Emily tagged along like it was a spectator sport. Simon drove in silence, jaw clenched. He tried to object, but his mother snapped, Oh, dont interfere! Look at herdressed like a vagabond!
The pawn shop was cramped, the air thick with the smell of old metal. The appraisera tired-looking bloketook the velvet box and inspected the earrings under a loupe.
Well? Margaret tapped her nails. Theyre gold, right? The stones sparkle. Fifty quid?
The man snorted.
Gold, yeah. But the stones are cubic zirconia. Cheap. Twenty quid, take it or leave it.
Margarets face fell. Emily groaned.
Twenty? That wont even cover a pair of shoes!
I played my part perfectly. Leaned in, hesitant. Maybe we shouldnt? They *are* sentimental And twentys so little. Maybe another shop?
A calculated moveone I knew theyd reject.
Oh, shut it, Lucy! Margaret barked. What do *you* know? Take the money!
Emily sneered. Yeah, or youll drag us all over London and get even less. You always mess things up.
Simon tried again. Mum, maybe a proper jeweller
Quiet! Emily cut in. Since when do you take *her* side? *We* decide!
They took the cash. Right there on the pavement, they split itfifteen to Margaret (For the barbecue and plants.), five to Emily (I need my nails done.).
And my new clothes? I asked softly.
Emily burst out laughing. Oh, Lucy, dont be daft. Twenty quid? Maybe a Primark sale.
They left, smug, leaving Simon and me behind. He looked shattered. He hadnt defended me. Another mark in his file.
Im sorry, he mumbled.
Its fine, I said gently. I get it. Family comes first.
But the real blow came that evening. Back at the flat, my laptop was gone. An ordinary-looking one, but in realitytriple-encrypted, untraceable. My lifeline to the real world.
My stomach dropped, but my face stayed calm.
Simon, wheres my laptop?
Emily strutted in, grinning.
Oh, that ancient thing? I took it. Mine broke, and Ive got deadlines. What do *you* need it for? You dont work. Watch telly on your phone.
I turned slowly. Inside, a switch flipped.
The trap had sprung. The final piece was in place.
That laptop wasnt just a deviceit was my *real* life. Reports, data, the entire experiment. Unhackable. But that wasnt the point.
Theft. Blatant. Shameless. As if I were nothing.
I looked at Simon. His last test.
Simon, get my laptop back. My voice was quietnot pleading, *commanding*.
He hesitated, glancing at Emily.
Em, give it back. Its hers.
Oh, *please*! Emily rolled her eyes. Youre actually siding with her? I *need* it! Buy her a new one when you get your bonus.
Simon turned to me helplessly. Lucy, be reasonable. Shes got work.
That was it. The last straw.
Hed chosen. Now so would I.
The experiment was over. Data collected. Conclusion clear.
I pulled out an old flip phone. Dialled the contact labelled *Handler*.
Mr. Whitmore, good evening, I said, voice icy. Observation phase complete. Initiate Protocol *Consequences*. Start with the sister.
I hung up. Placed the phone down. Looked at Emily, her mocking grin fading into unease.
Youve got ten minutes to return my laptop. *Exactly* as it was.
She laughed nervously. Or what? Youll call your *handler*? Who even *are* you?
Not a threat. A fact. In nine minutes, your urgent project will vanish from your companys servers. Five minutes after that, your boss gets proof youve been leaking trade secrets. Thats a criminal offence.
Her face paled. Youre bluffing!
Nine minutes, I said. Clocks ticking.
Her phone rang. *Boss Daniel*.
She snatched it up, hands shaking. Daniel? What? Nothats not!
She looked at me, panic flashing. I nodded at the wardrobe. She yanked the laptop out, hurling it onto the bed.
*Take it!* Just stop this!
Too late, I said. Process started.
Simon finally found his voice. Lucy, what have you *done*? Shes my *sister*!
I turned to him. No more masks.
Still dont get it? You thought I was some helpless little thing you could walk all over? That my things were yours to hand out like spare change?
I walked to the window. Outside, a black Range Rover idled.
My name isnt Lucy Carter. Its Lucy *Wentworth*. My grandfather isnt some retired blokehes the founder of Wentworth Holdings. And this? I gestured around. A one-year experiment. His condition: I had to live like a normal girl, no money, no status, to see why *you* married me.
I smiled bitterly.
I wanted to prove him wrong. That you loved *me*, not
