My Rich Dad Rented Me a Five-Hundred-Dollar Toxic Room

Chapter 1

Emily's POV:

As the luxury sports car turned onto the private drive of the lakefront mansion, my eyes were still burning from the fumes in that room. Dad had looked so proud of himself back there.

"It was just renovated. I know the landlord, so he gave us a good deal."

There was only one window. I'd tried to push it open, but it moved no more than two inches. Outside was the fried chicken place's exhaust vent. The bed frame by the window was bare, without even a mattress.

Now manicured lawns rolled past the car window, and a white terrace stretched all the way to the lake. The three-story mansion in front of me was several times the size of our old house. I kept glancing at a second-floor window facing the lake, already imagining where I'd put my desk.

Clutching my diploma, I got out behind Dad.

My mother, Karen Wright, stood waiting at the door in a silk dress I'd never seen before. The moment Dad stepped out, her face lit up. She rushed over and kissed his cheek. "Darren, you're incredible. Tiffany said she was so excited last night that she couldn't sleep. We're so blessed to have a husband and father like you."

"Mom," I called softly.

She finally turned toward me. The moment she saw me, her smile vanished. "Shoes off. These are imported hardwood floors, and the grit on your soles will scratch them."

Embarrassed, I glanced down at my canvas sneakers. I'd had them for two years, but I had scrubbed them carefully for graduation that morning. Mom had already turned and walked inside. "From now on, call before you come over. Don't just ring the bell. Tiffany hates being disturbed."

'Our house?'

I stopped and looked at Dad. He didn't defend me. He tossed his keys to one of the staff by the door and called upstairs with a grin, "Tiffany, sweetheart, come see what Dad brought you!"

A delighted scream came from upstairs, and Dad hurried up the stairs.

I took off my shoes and followed Mom into the living room. She pointed enthusiastically toward the staircase. "The first floor has the kitchen and living room. The live-in housekeeper and driver have rooms down here, too. Your father and I have the master bedroom on the second floor, along with the study and guest rooms." When she got to the third floor, she became even more animated. "The entire third floor is your sister's. Her bedroom, walk-in closet, gym, and a studio for filming videos. The lake view is best up there, so don't go up unless you have to."

The longer she talked, the more uneasy I felt. Then she pointed at the fireplace. "Look at this marble—"

"What about me?" I forced a smile and cut her off.

She frowned. "What about you?"

"Where's my room?"

She gave me an impatient look. "Didn't your father show you? The room above the fried chicken place. It's 150 square feet, all to yourself. Isn't that enough?"

A chill ran down my back. "You're serious?"

Mom didn't even look at me. She bent to straighten a vase.

"I can work over the summer, but why don't I have a room here? Even if I live in a dorm once school starts, what about Christmas? Thanksgiving? Where am I supposed to stay when I come home?"

"We'll deal with that later."

"But there are guest rooms upstairs."

"Those are for guests." She said it as if it were obvious.

For several seconds, I couldn't come up with a response. "So guests can stay here, but I can't?"

Mom finally straightened up, and the last of her patience was gone. "Emily, do you have to make a scene on a day like this? Your sister saw the house and thanked your father. Why are you the only one complaining?"

I tightened my grip on my diploma folder. My throat felt raw.

"Because Tiffany has an entire floor, and I don't even have a bed."