The Real Heiress Is Overworked, Forget Love and Just Pay Her Chapter 02

The Real Heiress Is Overworked, Forget Love and Just Pay Her Chapter 02

His palm never landed. Vera grabbed his arm. “Chase, don’t hit her!”

She turned to me, eyes tearing up. “Gemma, please stop fighting with him. This is all my fault. I took your place and your shares. If you really want them back, I can return them to you.”

She’d barely finished speaking when Chase just exploded.

“Absolutely not! Those shares are your safety net, your future. If you hand them over—”

“Great.” I cut him off and grinned at Vera. “Since you’re so eager to give them back, let’s do the transfer.”

Vera froze solid.

Chase’s face darkened. “Gemma, don’t you dare guilt-trip her just because you share the same blood. She earned those shares.”

He was loud, but I kept my eyes locked on Vera. “I’m talking to you, Vera. You’re not backing out already, are you?”

Vera’s face went pale for a few seconds. Then her usual sweet-girl act clicked right back into place.

“Of course not. I’d be happy to give them back. It’s just… you’ve never worked inside the company, so you don’t understand how complicated a share transfer can be.”

“Having shares isn’t as great as you think. There’s a ton of risk involved, and honestly, I’m just worried the other stakeholders are going to make your life miserable.”

Right on cue, Mr. and Mrs. Shaw jumped in. They’d been quiet for a while, and now suddenly they had plenty to say. They explained that Shaw Holdings had a unique structure with multiple shareholders. A transfer required majority approval.

They said even though I was their biological daughter, I’d been gone for years, lacked proper training, and had zero experience. The other stakeholders would never agree.

Excuses. Nothing but excuses.

The company had a few major shareholders, sure, but they were all family. A simple heads-up would get it done. And what risks? None of them wanted to say it outright, but their real fear was making Vera unhappy.

One after another, they piled on, selling me the idea that keeping me broke was for my own good. It made me sick.

My phone buzzed again. My boss informed me that even though tomorrow was Saturday, I still had to finish revising the proposal.

My nose stung, and all the arguments I wanted to make died in my throat.

Screw it. Let it all burn.

I ignored the four of them and walked away.

Back in my room, I showered and collapsed onto my mattress. That was the only time I actually felt like a person again.

I was just about to doom-scroll my phone in peace when a knock hit my door.

Mrs. Shaw’s voice drifted through. “Gemma, are you asleep? I warmed up some milk for you.”

I reflexively refused. “No, thanks.”

A few seconds of silence, then she spoke again. “Gemma, I’m sorry. I didn’t know about your chicken soup allergy. You loved it when you were little. How did that change?”

Her voice sounded muffled, almost hurt.

To be honest, I did have a few fragmented memories of this family. What I remembered most was being held in my mother’s arms, her singing lullabies as she patted me to sleep.

At first, I genuinely came back looking for that love. But the second I realized they’d already given all that love and affection to Vera, I stopped wanting it.

Still, I felt my resolve soften.

I got up, opened the door, took the glass of warm milk, and drank it all.

I was about to wish her goodnight when she pulled a second glass from behind her back, like some kind of magic trick.

“I can’t drink another one,” I said.

“It’s not for you.” She pressed the glass into my hand. “Gemma, sweetie, take this to Vera for me, okay? What you said earlier really hurt her. She ran to her room crying. Just bring her this so you two can make up. You’re sisters, after all.”

I stared at her in disbelief. Every word out of her mouth just gutted me a little more.

A dozen nasty replies rolled around on my tongue, but in the end, I was just too drained. I asked coldly, “If I do this, you’ll leave me alone, right?”

Mrs. Shaw looked startled by my sudden shift but nodded.

I carried the milk to Vera’s room, knocked, and held it out.