Chapter 5: Standing Up

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4

My brow twitched.

I felt my jaw clench, the kind of anger that burned hot and fast. I fought the urge to laugh in his face.

Is this even something a human would say?

The absurdity was almost funny, if it weren’t so cruel. I couldn’t believe he had the audacity.

I glared at him. "Derek, don’t you know the truth? You’ve lived off me all these years, and now you have the nerve to say this?"

The words hung in the air, sharp and clear. Rachel’s eyes darted nervously; she bit her lip again, clearly wishing she was anywhere else.

Derek’s expression didn’t change at all. He spoke righteously:

He puffed up his chest, trying to look noble, as if delivering a TED Talk on loyalty.

"You know what, Natalie? Some people are just born lucky. Rachel’s always had it all, and I’m gonna make sure she keeps it. That’s just how it is."

There was real venom in his voice. For a second, I wondered if he even realized how much he sounded like a high school bully.

"Maybe you don’t know, but Rachel’s parents are both teachers. In every way, she’s a hundred times better than you."

He looked so proud, as if family pedigree was all that mattered. I wanted to roll my eyes so hard they’d get stuck.

The boyfriend I’d dated since college now turned on me with the harshest words.

I remembered late-night study sessions, ramen dinners, the way we used to laugh at silly sitcoms. How did it come to this?

He only knew I was from a single-parent family and that I moved out because I didn’t get along with my mother.

He never bothered to ask more, never wanted to know. Assumptions were easier for him.

But he didn’t know my mother is the North American CEO of a multinational corporation.

She made Forbes’ 40 Under 40 by the time I was in high school. The only reason I struggled was because I wanted to make it on my own.

After my father passed away, he left us a nine-figure inheritance.

We had a lawyer on retainer, a trust fund I’d never touched, and a house in the Hamptons I hadn’t seen since graduation. The irony was almost poetic.

In truth, if I hadn’t stayed here to avoid inheriting the family business,

I might’ve been on the cover of Entrepreneur instead of the author’s note of a campus romance. But I needed to find myself first.

I would have been someone Derek could never even hope to meet in his life.

That’s the thing about social climbing—you never know who’s already on the next floor.

Seeing me silent, Derek thought his words had hit home. He sneered and continued:

He mistook my calm for defeat. That was his fatal flaw—he never learned to read between the lines.

"Some people are born princesses. Some, no matter how hard they try, are just maids who’ll never see the light."

The misogyny practically oozed from him. Rachel winced, as if embarrassed, but she didn’t defend me.

"If I were you, I’d slink away and leave everything here to Rachel."

He gestured around the room as if offering her the grand prize—a lifetime supply of heartbreak and IKEA furniture.

"Why are you still standing there? Get on Twitter and apologize to Rachel, or don’t blame me for what happens next—"

He stepped closer, voice low, but I refused to be intimidated. I felt heat rising in my chest.

But the next second, I raised my hand and slapped Derek hard across the face.

My palm stung. The sound echoed off the walls, startling even me. Years of hurt and humiliation channeled into one clean hit.

I hit him so hard his head snapped to the side.

For a moment, the world stood still. Derek’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in disbelief.

He stared at me, his eyes instantly bloodshot.

I’d never seen him look so small, so powerless. It almost made up for everything he’d said.

"Natalie Porter, you actually dare to hit me?"

His voice cracked, not nearly as menacing as he thought.

Rachel screamed and stumbled back two steps, pulling out her phone to record.

She fumbled with her phone, fingers trembling, ready to spin the story before the truth caught up.

But I knocked her phone away, grabbed my suitcase, and shoved the two of them aside.

I didn’t care who saw. I was done being polite, done being the scapegoat.

I vented all my anger, smashing whatever I could reach. I didn’t plan to keep anything anyway.

Glass shattered, books thudded to the floor. It was cathartic, like finally exhaling after years of holding my breath.

"Since you like my stuff so much, you can have it all!"

Let them sort through the wreckage. I wouldn’t need any of it where I was going.

The place was a mess, everything in sight smashed to pieces by me.

Dust and memories swirling in the air, I stepped over the chaos without looking back.

I opened the door and strode out of the tiny apartment I’d lived in for three years.

The hallway smelled like takeout and old carpet cleaner, the kind of scent you only notice when you’re leaving for good. I took one last look at the hallway, then walked out into the crisp night, suitcase rattling behind me, heart suddenly lighter.

For years, I let him chip away at me, one insult at a time. Now, for the first time, I felt the weight lift—a little.