The uncle

chapter 13

Chapter 13

Betty hesitated outside the dining room, smoothing down the soft cream blouse tucked into tailored black trousers. The blazer was draped over her shoulders just as the saleswoman had suggested. She looked… polished. Expensive. Like someone who belonged in this house.

It felt like armour.

She walked in, bracing herself. Her mother sat at the head of the table, Bennett across from her, already halfway through his soup. Chris sat in his usual spot, slouched slightly, arms folded, gaze on his phone.

Laura looked up first. For once, her eyes didn’t narrow in disapproval.

“Well,” she said, placing her napkin in her lap. “That suits you.”

Bennett gave a curt nod. “Much better than those oversized shirts you favour.”

Betty forced a smile. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to burn all my hoodies.”

Her mother ignored the sarcasm. “It’s important you look the part.”

Chris finally looked up.

His eyes swept over her, slowly. But not in the appreciative way she half-expected.

He frowned, barely noticeable — but to Betty, it felt loud.

“You look… like one of them now,” he muttered, turning his attention back to his plate.

Betty blinked. “One of who?”

Chris shrugged. “The mannequins. Perfect and empty.”

Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure why his words stung more than anything Bennett had ever said.

“I like my new clothes,” she said evenly.

Chris didn’t look up. “Yeah. Shame.”

The table fell into silence. Laura was too focused on her wine to notice the tension. Bennett was already talking about some event they were expected to attend.

But Betty sat still, staring at her soup, the compliment from her mother ringing hollow now. It shouldn’t matter what Chris thought. It shouldn’t. But part of her missed the way he used to roll his eyes at her hoodies — not because he hated them, but because he saw her.

Now, she wasn’t sure he did.

The air was crisp that morning, the kind that made your breath visible and your nerves sharper. Betty stepped off the school shuttle wearing the cream blouse and blazer combo from the boutique. Her hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail, her shoes polished, and her books tucked into a structured leather bag.

Heads turned.

Whispers followed.

“Is that the new girl?”

“She looks… different today.”

She ignored them, walking through the courtyard like she belonged — even if she still didn’t believe it. The clothes made her stand straighter, made her feel protected. But they also felt like a costume, like she’d left part of herself at home.

Tasha caught up with her near the lockers, eyes wide. “Okay, Betty — hello upgrade. Where’s your motorcycle and secret rich-girl agenda?”

Betty laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No seriously, you look amazing. Like the main character in a reboot. You okay?”

Betty shrugged, adjusting her bag. “If I don’t cry by lunch, we call it a win.”

Tasha linked arms with her. “Done. Let’s slay.”

They headed down the hallway just as Dean turned the corner. He paused mid-step when he saw her, something flickering across his face. Surprise. Admiration. Maybe even something more.

“Wow,” he said, coming to a stop. “Betty in designer clothes? I thought I was hallucinating.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I kind of want to,” he said, grinning. “Walk with me?”

She nodded, and they fell into step. Tasha peeled off toward her classroom with a knowing wink.

Dean leaned closer as they passed a group of seniors. “You know, everyone’s looking at you like you’re some new queen bee.”

“Let them look,” she said softly. “It’s just clothes.”

“You’re wrong,” Dean replied. “It’s you. You’re glowing.”

She glanced sideways at him, warmth blooming in her chest — until she caught a glimpse of Chris across the hallway.

He was leaning against a locker, arms crossed, surrounded by a few guys from the basketball team. He hadn’t even turned his head toward them, but she felt the tension the moment their paths crossed.

Dean didn’t notice. He kept talking about the literature assignment, cracking jokes.

But Betty’s smile wavered. Because even in her perfect outfit, even on a day when she finally felt seen — Chris's coldness found a way to creep in.

The day dragged on slower than usual, each period bleeding into the next. By the time the final bell rang, Betty felt drained — not from school, but from pretending she didn’t care.

She stayed behind in the library with Tasha, pretending to study, until her driver called to say he was outside. Tasha walked her out, then veered off toward the buses with a cheerful wave.

Betty headed toward the car, her heels clicking lightly on the pavement — and that’s when she saw him.

Chris.

Leaning against the passenger side of his car, laughing at something a girl was saying. The girl — tall, polished, legs bare under a short skirt — looked like she belonged on the cover of a teen magazine. She was playfully tugging at his jacket, and he let her.

Betty froze mid-step.

Chris said something, and the girl threw her head back laughing. Then, as if in slow motion, she leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t just a peck.

It was deliberate. Familiar. Like they’d done it a hundred times before.

Something in Betty’s chest twisted.

She looked away fast, cheeks burning. Her driver pulled up just then, and she climbed in without a word, sinking into the leather seat and yanking the door shut behind her.

The car started moving, but her mind didn’t.

She’d known it was stupid — to let that kiss with Chris mess with her head. It meant nothing. He’d made that clear. A joke, he’d called it. She should’ve laughed too.

So why did it feel like her throat was closing?

She blinked hard and stared out the window.

It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

Chris was a jerk. A liar. Her mother’s brother-in-law.

She had Dean now. Kind, steady Dean.

Still, her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her bag, and she hated the part of herself that cared so much.

The house was quiet when Betty walked in — the kind of quiet that usually meant trouble was waiting somewhere.

She kicked off her shoes by the front door and headed upstairs, hoping to avoid everyone. But as she passed the hallway toward her room, a voice called out.

“Betty.”

She turned slowly. Chris stood at the end of the hall, leaning against the frame of his bedroom door, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Her heart thudded, but she kept her face cold. “What do you want?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t expect you to storm off like that. Something wrong?”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Storm off? I went home, Christopher. You know — like normal people do after school.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “You saw her.”

Betty stiffened. “Do you want a medal for that too?”

Chris tilted his head. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” she snapped. “But you kissed me — mocked me — and the next day you’re playing prince charming in the parking lot?”

“I never said I wanted you,” he said flatly. “I was just proving a point. You’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be.”

She recoiled like he’d slapped her. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe,” he said, eyes dark. “But at least I don’t walk around pretending I’m the victim in a house that feeds and clothes me.”

“That’s rich coming from you. You think just because you grew up here, you own it?”

“No,” Chris said, voice low. “But I didn’t walk in acting like I was owed something.”

Silence fell between them, thick and furious.

She started to turn away, but he caught her wrist. “Dean doesn’t see you. Not really.”

Betty pulled her hand back like it burned. “And you do?”

He stared at her for a long, unreadable second. “No,” he said quietly. “And I don’t want to.”

She waited for him to add something — a smirk, another insult, a jab — but he just turned and disappeared into his room, door shutting softly behind him.

And for the second time that day, Betty was left breathless — not from pain, not from anger — but from something far more dangerous.

Confusion.