Chapter 5
DIANA
Before bàba hosts his dinner parties, plans have to be made.
I stride across the marble floors leading to the war room.
In my clammy hand, my phone buzzes with emails and news updates.
All I can muster is a single email replying to a source’s clarification on a story I’m working on for class.
The rest of my attention hinges on what I’m about to hear once I step through those French doors.
“When I tell you I want to wear my pink Angeline Vivienne heels, you bring them to me.” Sophia’s voice pierces through the doors, sharp as ice against the maid’s meek voice.
“But your father said—”
“You don’t serve my father. You serve me. Although, that might not be true the next time you ignore my orders. Get this through your head: I am wearing pink or nothing at all.”
The doors swing open. A maid scurries out with her head down. A pair of ruined black shoes flail in her hands.
I suck in a breath and walk into the war room.
“Sophia, do you really have to speak to Priscilla that way? She waits on you, hand and foot.”
My little sister flicks a disdainful glance at me from her velvet armchair.
“Don’t get sappy with me, Diana.” She touches up her makeup in a floral compact mirror. “She refused to listen to me when I’ve made it very clear that I only wear specific colors. I simply showed her what the consequence was.”
With her glossy dark brown hair, sultry doe eyes, and pastel pink dresses, Sophia is as pretty as a rose. But she’s as sharp as its thorns.
I shake my head and walk towards the bar cart. “Well, in that case, add a ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ next time. I promise your skin won’t wilt.”
Sophia rolls her eyes. When she gazes back into her compact mirror, a silver of remorse flickers on her face. But, like always, the look disappears as quickly as it had appeared. That cold arrogance returns, easing her back into the little sister I no longer recognize.
“Māma and bàba said they’ll be returning home from the airport in about twenty minutes.”
A bitter smile teases my lips as I pour myself a glass of whiskey. “Did māma give you the speech on Monday?”
“With glee and condescension.” Sophia shrills in māma’s voice, “Remember, Sophia, you might be one of the heirs to the Huang Media Group, but—”
“—Your siblings have a claim to it, and they can take it from right under you.”
A deep voice drawls. Gregory snatches the glass of whiskey out of my hand as he saunters in behind me.
The faint smell of cigar smoke and perfume trails in his wake.
My older brother throws himself into the armchair across from Sophia’s.
The collar of his white silk dress shirt slinks apart.
I roll my eyes at the lipstick stain smearing his belt buckle.
Before I can verbally eviscerate him, my fraternal twin brother Jonathan strides into the war room.
“Everybody, quiet down and listen closely because I won’t be repeating myself on what needs to happen tonight.”
He straightens the cuffs on his pristine black suit, looking like the picture of ego and power. His hair is coiffed back, shiny and dark, like the eyes barely acknowledging us. Jonathan positions himself in front of the fireplace and checks the time on the mantel clock.
I cross my arms. “And exactly who put you in charge tonight?”
“Oh?” Jonathan arches his brow and smiles at me with mock modesty. “I’m sorry, Diana. Did you want to take the lead? I’m sure bàba told you what we need to know for tonight's partnership dinner.”
My nails dig into the armrest. Jonathan cocks his head.
I’m not rattled that bàba told Jonathan everything.
This is just another one of his tactics: He’ll give one of us key details that we can share or keep to ourselves before an event.
It’s done at random, but his reasoning is methodical.
Knowing that one of us possesses information that you don’t pushes you to work harder and do what you need to do to get ahead of the others.
Tonight, Jonathan has the upper hand.
My jaw clenches. He smirks as I begrudgingly settle back into my chair.
Jonathan smooths down his lapel and clears his throat.
“For the last several weeks, bàba has been negotiating with the CEOs of Decibel 6 and the Pacific Observer. He wants to strike up a new partnership with them to make our news stories available through podcasts and documentaries. Tonight, the CEOs and their business advisors will be coming here to celebrate the new partnership before it’s announced to the media at the end of the week. ”
“So?” Gregory shrugs. “What do we have to do?”
Jonathan glares at him for interrupting.
“So, bàba wants us all to start familiarizing ourselves with the CEOs and their business advisors this evening. Since one of us will be leading the HMG in the next year, bàba thought it would be best for us to build business relationships with his partners as early as possible. It’ll assure them they’ll still be in good hands even after he resigns. ”
Sophia shuts her compact mirror and smiles. “In that case, I’ll be busy talking to Patrick Hertzberg.”
Gregory tosses back the rest of his whiskey and rolls his eyes. “Mèimei, the key motive here is to build business relationships. We don’t need you whoring yourself to keep our partners interested.”
Sophia’s smile drops. Rage burns in her eyes, fierce as the scar that slashes her palm.
I snatch the lace doily off the couch and smack it over Gregory’s belt buckle. “Stop projecting, Gregory. It’s beneath you.”
He scrambles up to wipe the lipstick stains away.
Sophia shrinks into her chair, crossing her arms. “I hope you have one for his mouth,” she mutters.
My gaze softens on her. “Patrick has done stories on arts and culture just like you. He’d be a good fit to talk to.”
“I know what I need to do,” Sophia snaps. “You don’t have to coddle me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sophia, I’m just trying to help you.”
“And I don’t remember asking for your help.”
“God forbid we support each other in the succession plan.”
Gregory scoffs, tossing the doily aside. “In case you forgot, there’s only one person who can secure the position, Diana. Take your sappy morals elsewhere.”
My hands curl into fists. “And that leaves us with what, Gregory? Disrespect and resentment? If those are the qualities you want to lead with, the HMG is better off without you.”
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he snarls.
“You might want to watch yours instead,” I hiss. “There’s still lipstick stains on your belt.”
“At least I know how to build lucrative connections,” Gregory sneers. “After all, I’ve learnt from the best.”
The front door on the main floor suddenly swings open. “Welcome home, President Huang!”
The air in the war room tenses. Bàba’s presence grips the mansion in a chokehold that makes all of us go quiet. Only the faint thuds of his footsteps and māma’s chattering seep into the silence. The French doors part. We rise to our feet as māma sweeps out her arms.
“Wo de qīn’ài de!” My darlings!
We hug and kiss her, careful not to ruffle her bouffant and the blush on her cheeks.
A tall shadow suddenly looms over her as bàba steps into the room. I swallow hard. My siblings file into a line beside me.
The smoldering chandelier lights dawn over the sharp planes of Edward Huang’s stern face and the disapproving curve of his lips.
He glowers at Sophia. “I thought I left an appropriate outfit for you to wear.”
“You did. I didn’t want to wear it,” Sophia says.
Her head is held high, yet her fists curl up at her side.
This is a fight I stay out of. Sophia has been waging it ever since she was sixteen and she hated it when anyone tried to help her.
As childish as it seems to obstinately wear pink, it’s the last piece of her that Sophia refuses to let bàba take away.
Jonathan rolls his eyes and placates bàba with a steady hand on his shoulder. “She’s already attending the dinner. Let’s not push it. We’re running short on time.”
Bàba relents. His gaze unhitches from Sophia and glints proudly at Jonathan. “Thank you for handling the meeting tonight.” He pats Jonathan’s cheek. “I know I can always depend on you.”
They smile at each other. Jealousy pricks my heart, fueling all the insecurities in my head that tell me I’m not doing enough to be in Jonathan’s place.
“They’re all up to date with what needs to be done tonight,” Jonathan declares. “They’re prepared to present their speeches on how they’d further the business partnerships after you resign.”
My breath catches.
Sophia goes pale. “We are.”
The question lingering at the end of her words is faint. Stifled. But Jonathan hears it, and his smile sharpens.
His silence earlier makes sense now.
He was weaponizing our argument with Gregory. He wanted us to be so riled up with each other that we wouldn’t be level-headed enough to handle a curveball like this.
“You said we would only be familiarizing ourselves with the CEOs and business advisors,” Gregory seethes.
“That’s right.” Jonathan shrugs. “And what better way to do that than in a speech? The CEOs and the advisors are looking forward to it.”
That’s the other thing with bàba’s tactics: You can decide how much you want to share.
I don’t give Jonathan the satisfaction of watching me react.
In the news world, everything changes fast. You need to be on your feet, ready to tackle the issue no matter which direction it swerves.
Blowing up means you aren’t prepared. I will never let either of them see that, even if I’m sinking under the knowledge that I have to come up with a speech to impress our business partners in so little time, and the fate of my future hinges on every move I make past this point.
Pressure swells inside of me. I take a deep breath before faking a smile that I pray they can’t see through.
I can handle this. I always do.