“She’s done so much more with her life. Dylan, you should learn from her.”
I blinked.
I actually blinked like maybe I heard him wrong.
“Learn what exactly?” I asked, my voice low but shaky. “How to marry rich at 22? How to fake brand deals on Instagram? How to get a $10,000 monthly allowance and call it hustle?”
Belle’s face snapped toward me like a whip.
Her eyes widened and for the first time that night, she didn’t have a smirk.
“That’s enough,” my dad said, standing up now. “We’re not doing this.”
But I wasn’t done.
Not even close.
Because while I was working two jobs to build my company, while I was sleeping on a friend’s couch and skipping meals, she was blowing 10 grand a month on imported skincare and thousand dinners.
And you applauded it every step of the way.
“Don’t talk to your sister like that,” Mom said quietly, finally breaking her silence.
But that only made me laugh.
I couldn’t help it.
It was bitter and joyless and sharp.
“Of course. God forbid we hold Breelle accountable for anything. God forbid she face one ounce of criticism. But me, I sneeze in the wrong direction, and it’s Dylan, don’t ruin the mood.”
“She’s just better at being part of this family,” Grandma said suddenly.
And I swear to you, she said it like it was a fact. Like it was the most obvious truth in the world.
My breath caught.
I actually sat back stunned.
“Better. She brings people together. She’s graceful. She doesn’t make things about herself.”
That one almost made me laugh again.
Except this time it hurt too much.
I looked across the table at my sister draped in a silk dress that probably cost more than my first car.
Eyes wide and full of fake innocence.
She wasn’t graceful.
She wasn’t kind.
She was just louder, louder, shinier, and easier to worship.
Lucas, her fianceé, leaned over and muttered, “Maybe don’t turn a birthday party into a therapy session, bro.”
And that did it.
I stood up.
I didn’t shout. I didn’t throw anything.
I just stood there, gripping the back of my chair so hard my knuckles turned white.
“You know what? I’m done trying,” I said. “I’ve been trying for years, trying to be part of this family, trying to share things with you, trying to earn something, your respect, your support, anything, but it’s always been a one-way street. I show up, I stay quiet, I play the part, and for what?”
I looked around the table, and no one would meet my eyes.
“None of you even asked what my company does. You all just assumed I was lying, that I made it up, because God forbid I actually succeed at something.”
“Because success doesn’t come from bitterness,” Grandma snapped.
“No,” I said quietly. “It comes from being seen.”
And then I dropped it.
The thing I’d been holding back for months.
The thing I swore I wouldn’t say because I knew what it would do to her.
“Bel didn’t find Lucas. Mom did.”
The silence was instant.
Palpable.
Reel froze.
Her glass of wine hovered in midair.
My mother’s face went pale.
“Dylan,” she whispered. “Don’t.”
But I kept going.
“She set you up. Didn’t she?” I said, eyes locked on my sister. “Told him to take you out. Told him how fragile you were, how much you needed someone to take care of you. And Lucas, well, he was bored and rich and probably thought it would be fun to play night and shining armor.”
“That’s not true,” Bel said quickly, but her voice cracked.
“Oh, it’s true. You told me yourself after your third date. You thought it was weird at first, remember? You were creeped out that he already knew your favorite drink and how you wanted to go to Bali.”
I turned to my mom.
“You fed him the lines just like you always do because you don’t think she can stand on her own.”
“I did it for her,” my mom said. “She needed someone. She was struggling. She was 20. She had panic attacks, Dylan.”
“And I had no health insurance,” I shot back, “but nobody set me up with a rich spouse.”
There it was.
The moment the room shifted.
Grandma stood up so fast her chairs screeched across the floor.
Her face was red.
Her eyes were narrowed.
She looked like she was about to throw something.
And then she did.
Her fork.