Chapter 3My Golden Child Twin Is Genuinely A Disaster

Patrice clearly didn't get it. She stared at Harper, utterly baffled. "What on earth does being a celebrity have to do with getting married?"

I took pity on her and gave a quick, basic explanation. "Ma'am, in the idol world, if a star dates, it’s considered an 'unacceptable breach of contract.' They have to pay massive penalties and often retire."

Patrice whirled on Harper, her eyes blazing. "Is that true?"

Harper nodded, her eyes placid as a stagnant pond. "I told you years ago, I don't want to get married. You just never listened."

Patrice instantly became a furious, wounded thing. "What's so bad about marriage? That nice young man's family owns a factory, they're offering us two hundred and fifty thousand dollars cash, and he bought you a new car! The man is stable and honest; you'd be the lady of the house! What more are you looking for?"

"You're an idiot who’s read too many books! I wish I'd never let you go to that pretentious university!"

Harper’s hands, resting on her knees, clenched into tight fists until her knuckles were white. The cool, distant composure on her face dissolved, replaced by a devastating despair. She looked like she might shatter.

The comments section filled with pure outrage.

[Is this woman seriously selling her daughter?]

[Harper makes millions. What is $250k to her? This is insane.]

[This isn't pressure to marry; it's a social execution.]

When Harper didn't respond, Patrice's voice grew louder and more choked with tears. "If you don't marry him, do you know what the neighbors say about me? Stop being so selfish!"

"You're quitting this show, and you're coming home to meet him!"

Harper finally snapped.

She shot up, her eyes like chips of ice. "Mom, why can't you accept that some people in this world simply don't need a husband? Or a marriage?"

Patrice looked thunderstruck, her eyes wide. "Are you a monster? You need a doctor!"

The living room fell into a deathly silence. A dozen cameras were focused entirely on Patrice's distorted face.

Her chest heaved. The words spilling out of her mouth were poisonous. "A woman who doesn't marry isn't a woman! When you get old, you’ll die alone in your apartment, and no one will even know until you start to smell!"

The entire scene felt like a massive emotional chokehold.

[Someone help Harper! I'd have lost it already.]

[How is being asexual or simply single 'being a monster'? This mother is terrifying.]

[She has money. She can afford a retirement home and full-time care. A man isn't the only solution!]

Watching the comments, a familiar ache settled in my chest. It was the tight grip of inherited obligation, the kind of emotional bondage that’s universal but feels particularly inescapable when the words are dripping with 'for your own good.' Harper couldn't hate her, and she had no energy left to love her.