Chapter Four Scarlett
I can’t get my heart to stop racing.
I feel sick. Like horribly, terribly, sick. This was a bad idea. I should’ve just sucked it up and settled with what I already have instead of trying to ask for more.
After I park in the driveway of my parents’ house, I drop my hands from the wheel and lean back against the headrest. I need to get my breathing under control.
Confronting my parents isn’t anything new to me.
Being the youngest daughter means it’s practically in my blood to argue with my parents.
So I don’t know why, sitting in the car outside my childhood home, everything feels different.
The house covers eight thousand square feet by the Wastach Mountains, stunning brownstone with ivy and vines stretching across the walls. It’s straight out of a fairy tale, a mystical land where kids grow up to be anything they dream they could be.
There’s always been a magical glow around this place, childhood memories that scream at full volume in pictures framed behind glass.
Like how my brothers and I would spend summer days swimming in the pool or hosting our annual Voss family pickleball tournament with our cousins.
My parents would go all out for Easter, and we’d have to search the entire property for our eggs and there’d be different prizes each time.
And the puppet shows Leo would do for me and Junior when we were kids, where he’d stay up past his bedtime to make sure we fell asleep, and looked after us all through the night.
Something clatters against my window, and I jump, jolting from my daydream. I turn to find Junior with a handful of gravel as he grins at me.
Of all my brothers, he looks the most like me—same brown hair, same shade of brown eyes—but while I’m five-seven, he has a couple more inches on me.
We could easily pose as twins when we were younger since we’re only three years apart in age, but now that we’ve both grown into our features we’re starting to look more like our parents. Which is both wonderful and horrifying.
Junior stares at me.
I stare back.
When neither of us speaks, he throws another chip of gravel at my window just to make himself laugh, and that’s where I draw the line.
Apart from my family and the girls, this car is the most important thing in my life. With red stitching on the seats and a sound system perfect for my late-night drives, my Lamborghini Urus is my baby, and I won’t allow my brother to scratch its perfect windows.
I roll down the window and Junior leans forward, poking his head through. “Are you coming inside or what?”
He smells distinctly like . . .
The realization hits me. “Did you guys order takeout without me and you knew I was coming over?”
His eyes widen like I’ve just busted a secret between my brothers I was definitely not supposed to know.
As if I wouldn’t smell the greasy indulgence our parents would treat us with when we were kids.
LettuceFeedU has some of the best burgers this country has to offer and my family ordering it without me being there is a crime.
“I-We-I-I didn’t think you were still coming,” Junior argues, the apples of his cheeks turning red. I just glare at him even harder. “It’s been, like, two months, Scar.”
“It’s been four weeks. And I told you guys in the sibling group chat that I was going to talk to Mom and Dad about what happened this summer.”
“Oh. Right. That’s why you look like you’re about to go to a conference.”
“I am.”
Junior’s eyebrows furrow before he bursts into annoying, uncontrollable laughter, clutching his chest and wheezing with every breath.
Apparently, another thing we don’t have in common is our humor.
He thinks I’m taking this too seriously, but I don’t care.
I need to take this seriously. This can’t be another thing I mess up by being unprepared and afraid.
I pin him with a look until he stops laughing. “Oh, you’re being serious?”
“Can you be serious for one second? This is important to me,” I say, unclipping my seatbelt and sliding out of the car.
I round the front of it to meet Junior as we walk up the path.
The door he left open taunts me, and a part of me wishes the wind would just blow it shut so I could use it as a sign not to go in.
I knew it was a little over the top to get dressed up like this, but I need to show my parents how serious I am about it. I’ve planned everything through, and a pantsuit was the cherry on top.
Junior slings his arm over my shoulder, rocking me to the side a little.
“I know this is important to you, Scar. I’m sorry.
” I scoff, shrugging off his arm and walking through the foyer.
High ceilings shine as I look up, taking in the elegant nineteenth-century architecture.
I take a left at the end of the hall, past the dining room and toward my parents’ offices.
“Look, I think what you’re doing is really brave,” Junior says, catching up to me, and he actually sounds sincere.
I peer up at him cautiously. “You do?”
“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “You might be the favorite child, but you’ve still had it harder than the rest of us. Leo gets a round of applause if he remembers to tie his laces.”
I want to laugh, but it hurts too much to.
That has been the way this family has worked for as long as I can remember.
The boys have always had an easier run than me even if my parents spoiled me in other ways.
For a while, I never questioned it. They’re all smart and capable and they’re clearly good at what they do.
But even with the small things, my parents have always shown a little more interest in them, praising them for the simplest of tasks, while I have to work twice as hard to be noticed.
It was good motivation for a while, until .
. . well, until I had to do something to really get my parents’ attention.
Junior drops his arm from my shoulder, and I peek into my bag, making sure I’ve got all that I need. “What if they don’t take me seriously?” I whisper, feeling stupid for even voicing my worries out loud.
“They will. They have to,” Junior says, serious brown eyes on mine. “We’ll be out here waiting.”
“We?”
It’s then that Leo and Arthur appear from behind one of the hidden doors.
Arthur is dressed to the nines as usual, a crisp Voss suit stretching across his frame, dark black hair slicked back behind his ears.
His twin, Leo, is wearing sweatpants and a hoodie two sizes too big, holding a bag of fries in his hand. Typical.
I frown. “All of you?”
They smile at me and it’s hard to pretend I’m mad. Avoiding my parents meant avoiding my brothers too. And even though nine-year-old Scarlett would never say these words out loud . . . I missed them. A lot.
Arthur leans against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. “Hello to you too, sister.”
“We won’t eavesdrop, we promise,” Leo says, but the smirk on his face tells me otherwise.
I take in a deep breath, getting one good look at the encouraging smiles of my siblings before I turn the handle on the meeting room door and step inside.
The large room is bathed in a soft, warm glow from the last rays of today’s sun. A large conference table fills most of the room, chairs tucked neatly into each space, as a screen projects sales trends onto a presentation board.
My parents are sitting at the end of the table, talking quietly as they look over papers.
I stand up straighter, push my shoulders back, holding out the box of cookies I retrieved from my bag as I make my way toward them. I need to get my breathing under control in the next five seconds, so I don’t sound as panicked as I feel when I get to them.
They’re both still looking down, so I clear my throat to get their attention. “Mother, father,” I greet, and they lift their heads, slightly confused eyes flickering between each of mine. I hold out the cookies toward them. “I come bearing gifts.”
My mom tilts her head to the side, but it’s my dad that retrieves the box, an amused smile on his lips. “Thank you . . . daughter?” I nod, gripping on to the strap of my bag now that my hands are empty. “What’s going on, tesoro?”
I smile brightly. “Nothing. I just wanted to see my wonderful parents.”
My mom frowns. “After you’ve been ignoring us for weeks?”
My chest tightens.
This is going great, so far.
Still, I push through, holding my chin even higher.
“I haven’t been ignoring you,” I say calmly, “I just needed some space to cool down.”
My parents share a look, stacking their sheets of paper and putting them to one side.
That’s a good sign that they’re listening to me.
Progress, a friendly reminder in my head cheers.
I imagine an angel on my shoulder doing a little happy dance and it makes me smile, calming me enough to get my breathing to return to normal.
“Is this about the work you did this summer? Because we loved having you on the team,” my mom says, and my dad nods in agreement.
“I did all that without recognition,” I mumble.
“Right,” Dad says, nodding again as if he’s trying to figure out what to say. “Scarlett, I can see that you’re upset—”
“Yes, I’m upset, Dad. I did so much work, missed out on spending time with my friends all summer, got behind on schoolwork, all for . . . nothing.”
My mom tries to reach for me, but I step back. “If this is about money . . .”
I almost laugh. “It’s about more than that.
So much more than that,” I say, letting out an incredulous laugh.
My mom opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.
“Look, I produced some of my best work and it’s like I wasn’t even in the room.
I don’t get recognition for anything, no matter how hard I try or how much I show you I’m capable of doing something good for this company. ”