Chapter 3: Plotting Their Own Undoing

My stepsister was still on the fence about going. I leaned in and said,

“That headscarf? Total limited edition. He looks super noble—he’s gotta be a real Dubai prince.”

“Sis, with your looks, he wouldn’t stand a chance. You’d totally win him over.”

Her eyes gleamed, soaking up the praise. Then she narrowed them at me. “Madison, are you trying to set me up?”

I blinked, playing dumb.

She scoffed and waved her phone. “Scams are all over the internet. Dubai’s a paradise for scammers, you know. You want me to go there and get kidnapped for my kidneys or something?”

“Come on, admit it!”

So she knew all along.

I rolled my eyes inside, but kept smiling. “Sis, you’ve been talking to him forever. If he was a scammer, wouldn’t he have slipped up by now? You’re smart—you’d totally notice.”

She looked satisfied. “True.”

Before she could change her mind, I jumped in: “You should totally go! I’ll even buy your ticket. Heck, I’ll get three—just in case.”

She frowned. “Why three?”

“Dad and Mom can go with you. I’ll stay home.”

She gave me the cold shoulder. “Why would your dad go? He doesn’t deserve to travel with us.”

“And you? Dream on. You think you belong in Dubai?”

“Book me two tickets and get $5,000 in spending money ready.”

My dad had poured everything into this woman and her daughter, but my stepsister still looked down on him. She even told my stepmother to divorce him and find someone richer.

It was me, giving my dad $800 out of my $2,000 salary every month just so he could keep his head above water.

But even then, I was always the one he blamed. After every fight, he’d beg me not to ruin his marriage.

For the sake of family, I took it for years.

But the day I died at the bottom of that cliff, I finally got it: none of them ever saw me as a real person—not even my father.

So, this time, you can all go. All of you.

It almost made me laugh, standing there in my Walmart jeans while she talked about Dubai like we were trash. This was America—everyone’s got big dreams, but my family’s were always about someone else’s money. I watched her, ambition in her eyes, the fridge humming behind her, the old wall clock ticking down to their own destruction.