ELOISE
I was halfway through my morning shower when Mom's voice thundered through the house like she'd seen me in one of her nightmares.
"Eloise!"
Judging by the pitch, she was one step away from storming into my bathroom.
Did she seriously barge into my room again without permission?
I ignored her murderous tone, rinsed off quickly, and wrapped my towel around my chest.
When I stepped out, there she was—standing in the middle of my room, glaring like I'd just robbed her.
"What now?"
Honestly, if she wasn't here to end my life, I'd be surprised.
She shoved her new iPhone in my face—the one Dad had just bought for her. "Your father and I use a joint account. Did you buy another car without our permission?"
Oh. That.
Pfft. The smallest of crimes.
"Yeah, I did." I shrugged. They were my parents. They existed to take care of me, right?
I didn't see anything wrong with spending their money.
"What happened to your Maybach?" she demanded, hands on her hips. Sometimes I hated how she'd aged like fine wine. At her age, she still had that perfect figure—and I got nothing. Anastasia was the lucky one who inherited the curves.
Selfish Mom.
"Mom, I've been using that Maybach for years—long before Anastasia even got married."
"So?" Her eyes flashed. "It's still new and strong. Even after that little accident you had."
Ever since that night—me, the accident, and the hotel—I noticed how they'd both carefully avoided bringing it up. Not a check-up, not a call to the family doctor. Like I hadn't nearly died.
"Stop wasting money on nonsense," she snapped. "If you want something, earn it. You have a degree. Use it. This isn't a white man's family where money falls from the sky. Your father might keep spoiling you, but I still work from home—even in retirement."
There she went again—barking orders like the guard dog of our household. Then she stormed out.
Ugh. Goodness me.
I locked my door and reached for my body lotion. My vanity was a shrine—over thirty tubes of creams and oils, each with its divine purpose.
I'd already booked my morning spa appointment. The best part about living in Switzerland—especially Zürich—was how everything looked and felt effortlessly perfect. Fresh air, crisp breeze, manicured gardens, mountains that looked like paintings. It was paradise.
Unlike Nigeria, where we only had two moods: rain or dust.
I slid into my new ride—a black Lexus LX 600. Don't blame me. I love big cars. When I drive out, the world knows it's me.
I'd warned my father's guards to stay out of my way. I still didn't know which of them had the guts to spy on me for Dad. Unbelievable creatures.
I turned on the radio—only to be greeted by the weirdest music imaginable.
Whatever. My mind was too busy wandering.
At the spa, I went through my usual routine—massage, detox, silence. Afterward, I sat in the reception flipping through a magazine, waiting for my hair and nail session.
"Eloise?"
That voice.
I turned—and nearly rolled my eyes off. My brother Henri's wife was smiling at me like she'd just found her long-lost best friend.
"Roselle," I muttered.
For years, we'd never sat this close, let alone shared words longer than hi.
Roselle was sunshine and smiles—my polar opposite. Once a club stripper, now a doctor. She'd gone from dancing for tips to saving lives. And my brother—my very serious, very judgmental brother—married her.
Talk about a wild love story.
"You had an appointment here too?" she asked.
I stared at her. "No. I came to farm."
Her face fell. "Oh… sorry. I just thought—never mind."
She gave that awkward chuckle—the one that grated my nerves.
I could barely breathe sitting next to her. The air felt thick with everything I disliked—family, pity, politeness.
I wasn't old, for crying out loud. Thirty-two isn't old. But they treated me like a washed-up spinster.
Thankfully, my name was called. Saved.
At last.
After my session, I was driving home when Mom called. Of course.
I sighed and connected the call to my car stereo. "Yes, Mom?"
Her voice nearly made the speakers crack. "I've been calling you! Where's your phone?"
"In my bag. I couldn't hear it. I was at the spa."
Ever since my near-accident, I refused to multitask while driving.
"I sent you some money," she continued. "Check your account. Get the items I listed on WhatsApp and grab my frappuccino from Starbucks."
I frowned. "But, Mom, we have maids—couldn't you just—"
"Eloise!"
Oh, here we go.
"I asked you to get something. Don't tell me about the maids! Didn't I know they existed before asking you?"
"Mom—"
"Get what I asked for, lazy girl." Click.
She hung up.
"Arrgh!" I slammed my hands on the steering.
Eloise, Eloise, Eloise.
Can't I breathe for once?
Everyone's a thorn in my flesh.
I should just buy a new house. But Dad wouldn't give me the money, and honestly, working for it wasn't an option. Not when I already had everything at my fingertips.
And don't get me started on my twin brother, Maverick. If Dad forced me to work under him again, I'd lose my mind.
So instead of obeying Mom, I turned my car around and drove home. Empty-handed.
When I walked in, Mom's eyes nearly burned a hole through me. "Where are the things I asked you to get?"
"Sorry, Mom. I couldn't. I was tired after the spa—and I used the money to fuel my car."
I almost laughed.
Who was this new me? I kind of liked her.
"You did what?" Mom's fury lit up the room.
"Mommy!" I dodged as she lunged forward, ready to shred me alive.
Thank God for Dad—my accidental savior. He held her back before she could touch me.
"Hey, honey," he said softly, "you know she's fragile. Don't hit her."
Right. Fragile. The Caucasian daughter with the 'delicate' body.
"Don't tell me that, Darin!" Mom hissed. "She's still African enough to face discipline. How dare she disobey me?"
Dad rubbed her back gently. He always knew how to calm her. "Let it go, please. I'll handle it."
She breathed hard, chest rising and falling like a predator cooling down after a failed hunt.
Once she left, Dad turned to me.
"Eloise." His tone was calm—too calm. A trap.
"You're stubborn," he said. "So I'll give you one option. Pack your credentials and submit them to Maverick."
"What?"
"Get your resume approved by him—or don't come back to this house."
"But, Dad—"
He was already gone.
"Damn it!" I kicked the sofa. "Stop staring at me, idiot!"
Why did I always end up venting at the wrong things?
Why him? Why Maverick?
Of all the people in the world, why my twin brother?
Maverick was a nightmare—and working under him would be pure torture.