4721. That was my bank card.

Three months ago, Otto had called me in tears. He said his company's servers were about to be shut down for nonpayment. If he couldn't come up with the money, six months of work would be wiped out overnight.

That night, I ran through a downpour to three different pawnshops until one of them would take my grandmother's gold bracelet, the only thing she ever left me, and give me enough to scrape together the last fifty thousand dollars. I wired every cent to that card.

I ate nothing but plain noodles and tap water for three straight months.

And he had taken the money from my grandmother's heirloom and bought Davina a handbag.

A savage pain tore through my chest. My fingers shook so violently that the receipt crumpled into a ball in my grip.

"What do you think you're doing!"

Davina's shrill voice sliced through the air behind me.

She stormed over, snatched the bag out of my hands, and inspected every inch of it.

Then she jabbed her finger at a tiny scratch on the bottom and screamed in my face. "Are you blind? Otto bought this with the very first profit his company ever made. It's a milestone gift! And you scratched it! You pathetic, bottom-of-the-barrel nobody. You're just jealous of me, aren't you?"

I straightened to my full height and met her eyes, cold and level.

"That scratch is old. The edges are already oxidized. I didn't do it."

"You dare talk back to me!" Davina raised her hand and swung it at my face.

I caught her wrist mid-air and shoved.

She was wearing slippers. Her balance gave out and she dropped onto the carpet. Instantly, a piercing shriek ripped from her throat, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

The front door slammed open.

Otto burst in.

"Davina! What happened?"

Davina pointed a trembling finger at me, sobbing so hard she could barely get the words out. "Otto, this organizer ruined the bag you gave me, and then she hit me! My stomach hurts so bad!"

Otto's head snapped toward me. His eyes were vicious.

He crossed the room in three strides, and without a second of hesitation, shoved me hard in the shoulder.

"Joan! Have you lost your mind? If you have a problem, take it up with me. Don't you dare touch Davina!"

His shove sent me stumbling back five or six steps. My back slammed into the glass display cabinet in the walk-in closet.

The glass cracked with a dull, sickening crunch.