Dad hovered near the entryway, phone in hand, speaking in low tones to someone I couldn’t hear. Every few seconds he glanced at Odette, measuring her mood like a stock chart.
Tessa strutted through the living room, pointing at corners. “My desk can go here. I’ll need the upstairs bathroom. And obviously the closet off the primary—” She caught my expression and smirked. “Relax. Grandma has money. She can buy you another closet.”
Odette remained seated on a barstool in the kitchen, perfectly composed, watching them like a scientist observing a predictable reaction.
I walked to her, trying to keep myself from shaking apart. “Grandma, I didn’t want a war on my birthday.”
Odette’s eyes softened for a moment. “This isn’t a war, Ivy. It’s a demonstration.”
“A demonstration of what?”
“Of what they think they can take from you,” she said. “And what they believe you’ll tolerate.”
My mother snapped her fingers at a mover carrying a box. “Careful! That’s my—” She stopped mid-word, realized what she’d said, then recovered. “That’s Tessa’s.”
Odette raised an eyebrow. “Your furniture seems to be walking into a property you don’t own, Melissa.”
Mom spun around. “Odette, don’t start. We’re family.”
“Family doesn’t mean trespassing,” Odette replied, voice mild.
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