Chapter 5
After breakfast, Angelina grabbed a bunch of bags and began packing up all the designer
handbags and clothes the original Angelina had hoarded. The pile looked massive, and packing the bags up was even more exhausting.
Sweating and out of breath, she moved awkwardly back and forth, her pregnant belly making everything harder.
Chester was typing away on his laptop, working on something important. The steady sound of his typing filled the room as both of them worked in parallel, neither bothering the other.
A while later, Angelina managed to pull the first batch of bags out of the bedroom. But they were heavier than she expected, and as she tried to drag them, her foot slipped. She stumbled backward, nearly falling–until a strong hand caught her by the waist.
“Careful,” Chester said, his voice calm.
Angelina turned to face him, her cheeks flushing as their eyes met. She was about to respond when his gaze swept over the room, taking in the mountain of stuff. Without a word, he
stepped forward and began helping her pack.
“Sit down. I’ve got this,” he said firmly.
Angelina didn’t argue. She sank onto the couch, poured herself a glass of water, and watched, Chester work. He was surprisingly efficient for someone who probably never touched. housework in his life. She felt a flicker of admiration. Leave it to a guy like him to adapt so
quickly.
As she sipped her water, the baby kicked again, harder this time. Angelina paused, marveling at the sensation. It was strange but magical, as if the baby was flipping inside her.
Angelina got up, ready to go in and help Chester clean up. Just as she moved, her eyes landed on the content shown on his computer screen.
Just glancing at the text left her completely confused. Mixed in with it were lines of jumbled code. It was messy and unfamiliar, growing more incomprehensible the longer she stared.
Once everything was packed, Chester loaded it all into the car himself. It took multiple trips to fill the trunk until it was crammed full, and he even piled the bags onto the back seat. By the time they were ready to leave, it was almost noon
Driving through Brookhaven, Angelina looked out at the towering skyline. Downtown stretched endlessly, with high–rises gleaming in the sunlight. The city’s river ran through the center like a shimmering ribbon, dividing downtown from the quieter neighborhoods on the north side.
They arrived at a modest three–bedroom house in the suburbs. Inside, Chester’s parents,
Chaps
Gerald and Emily, were tidying up. It was clear they had finally come to terms with the
family’s bankruptcy. Once accustomed to a life of luxury, they now had no choice but to make peace with their new reality.
Gerald had taken a job at a company he once brushed off as beneath him. Every day, his new colleagues greeted him with thinly veiled mockery.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. CEO himself,” they’d say with a smirk. “Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Whitmore?”
Gerald swallowed his pride and smiled through it. He knew exactly how far he’d fallen but also understood that groveling was part of survival.
Meanwhile, Emily had started babysitting for neighbors, earning a few bucks here and there to cover groceries. Isadora, who had recently graduated with a design degree, was doing her best to navigate the job market. But even her connections couldn’t fully shield her from the family’s tarnished reputation.
When they heard Angelina and Chester were coming that morning, the Whitmores scrambled to make the house presentable. Emily wiped down every surface, Gerald replaced the water in the flower vases, and Isadora collapsed onto the couch, exhausted from vacuuming.
“Mom, I think your soup’s burning,” Isadora called from the living room.
“Is it?” Emily dropped her rag and rushed to the kitchen. Lifting the lid, she sighed in relief. It’s fine. I used fresh chicken from the farmer’s market this morning.”
Gerald chuckled under his breath. “Poor chicken didn’t deserve this fate.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing, dear.”
As Emily returned to her cleaning, Isadora sat up and frowned. “What if she’s faking it?” she asked. “Angelina could be playing along just to stir up drama.”
“Isadora, don’t assume the worst,” Emily said. “People can change. Maybe she really wants to make things right.”
The doorbell rang, cutting off the conversation, Emily opened the door to find Angelina standing behind a stack of boxes that was nearly as tall as she was.
“Gerald! Isadora! Come help!” Emily called, grabbing one of the boxes herself.
The family worked together to carry everything inside. The master bedroom had been cleared for Chester and Angelina, but it quickly filled with a mountain of bags. Isadora stared at the pile, wide–eyed.
“This is insane,” she muttered. “Angelina, did you spend all our money on this stuff?”
“Isadora!” Emily scolded, elbowing her daughter in the ribs.
Chapter
Angelina shifted uncomfortably. “It’s okay. Honestly, I bought too much. If there’s anything you like, feel free to keep it. I’m selling the rest to help with expenses. I was thinking we could even use the money to buy this apartment. That way, we won’t have to worry about being
kicked out by the landlord.”
Emily’s eyes welled up as she took Angelina’s hand. “Thank you, but we don’t need any of this. It wouldn’t feel right, not with where we are now.”
Angelina nodded in understanding. They were all learning to live with less, and flaunting luxury items in their current situation would only invite ridicule.
“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll bring you some chicken noodle soup,” Emily offered.
Angelina smiled and made her way to the bedroom, though there was barely any space to sit. Chester followed her inside, closing the door behind him.
“Angelina, if you want to keep any of this stuff, just say the word,” he said quietly. “I may not have much now, but I’ll never let you sell your things to support us.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want them anymore. I’m over them.”
“You used to love this kind of stuff,” he said, his tone skeptical.
The female side character’s greatest passion in the past was spending money. Whenever a luxury brand released a new collection–whether it was a rare color or a niche design–she wouldn’t bother weighing the price against its value.
As long as she liked it, she had to have it. She didn’t care if she never wore it, carried it, or even used it. Owning these luxury items empowered her as if they filled her with strength.
“What I used to like isn’t the same as what I like now. All this stuff piled up is just clutter at this point. I might as well sell them.”
“Angelina, the soup’s ready!” Emily called.
“Alright, I’m coming.”
Angelina headed back to the kitchen, brushing past Chester on her way out. She stopped and turned to him with a small smile. “We’ll bounce back. This is just a rough patch. Don’t stress
too much.”
Emily handed her a bowl of chicken noodle soup, beaming. “Eat up, sweetheart.”
Angelina took a sip and nearly choked. The soup was so salty and sour that her eyes watered.
“Is it good?” Emily asked expectantly.
Angelina looked at Emily, trying to find the right words. Emily had probably never cooked a meal in her life before the bankruptcy, and it showed.
“Have some chicken. You’re eating for two now. No need to worry about dieting anymore.”
Chupk
Angelina usually could stomach even bad food, but this was just too awful.
Chester
came out of the bedroom, took the bow of chicken noodle soup from her hands, and
tasted it.
“Mom, it’s too salty and way too sour. Cut back on the salt, and don’t add vinegar next time,” he said before pouring out the soup and adding some water to the pot to fix it.
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