"You want me to peel shrimp for you?"
Tina Cheney stared at Jack Brooks with a look of pure, unfiltered loathing. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.
"You are just a live-in son-in-law who got lucky," Tina spat, her voice trembling with indignation. "You rode on Claire Lynch's coattails to win a bet. You didn't do anything yourself! And you expect me, the personal secretary of the Lacy Family, to serve you like a maid? Keep dreaming! Hmph!"
She turned her head away sharply, her ponytail whipping through the air. It was a gesture of supreme arrogance, a final attempt to salvage her dignity.
"Tina."
Winter Lacy’s voice cut through the air, cool and composed. She swirled her wine glass, watching the crimson liquid catch the light.
"What is
