Chapter 3She Laughed While My Porsche Burned — Turns Out It Was Hers

"Babe," Ryan's voice comes through loud. "I'm still stuck in Jersey with the client. Won't be back till late."

"Just call the cops and file the insurance claim. That's it."

"Okay — quick question, tell Nyla real fast, which Porsche did you take to church this morning —"

Click. Dial tone.

The second Marcy hears "cops," she loses it.

"No! No cops! Please, no cops!"

I ignore her. I pull up my keypad. Type 9-1—

SMACK. My phone flies out of my hand and hits the pavement.

Nyla. Standing there. Chest heaving.

I glare at her so hard I almost swear out loud. "Nyla. Are you *out of your mind*?"

She dives for the phone before I can grab it. Her thumbs fly. Cloud storage — deleted. My dashcam clip — deleted. The video I recorded of the wreck — deleted. Every photo — gone.

She hands the phone back with a smirk.

"There. Call the cops now. You've got nothing. Suck it up, sister."

Something snaps in my chest.

"How the hell did Cody end up with a piece of trash like—"

SLAP.

My face is on fire.

Nyla's shaking. Her voice cracks like a whip.

"Nina Carter. I have put up with you for YEARS."

"Walking around with your nose in the air like you're better than me."

"Cody and I busted our asses to get that Porsche. YOU? You sleep till noon, do nothing all day, and Daddy just hands you one because you bat your eyelashes!"

"We have the same name, Nina. The *exact same name*. And your life is a fairy tale and mine is a grind. Why?! Tell me why?!"

Her voice climbs.

"Four hundred grand is nothing to you! But Marcy — she's working class! Two paychecks and a mortgage! You'd be killing her!"

And the crowd — the crowd eats it up.

"Yeah, cut the woman a break, she's rich."

"Four hundred grand to her is like forty bucks."

"Rich people love to nickel-and-dime."

Nyla catches the mood. I see the flicker of triumph in her eyes.

I'm shaking. And not from the fever.

Three years ago, I begged my dad for a hundred grand to bankroll their little factory. First six months, they didn't land a single order. I begged Dad again — swap our packaging supplier over to Cody and Nyla. Dad kept saying they cut corners, delivered garbage. I paid out of my own pocket to cover the difference, just to keep them on the account.

I hooked them up with my uncles' clothing factories too.

She sees me sleeping till noon. She doesn't see me livestreaming till 3 a.m. She doesn't see me editing content on my lunch break.

In her head, I'm just a spoiled brat.

And me — I was such an idiot. I thought we were family.

I rub my cheek. Roll my wrist. Then I wind up and slap her back so hard my palm stings.

Nyla's eyes go red. She's foaming.

"You bitch. You'll regret that. YOU'LL REGRET THAT!"

She lunges at the boy. Rips a firecracker out of his hand.

Lights it.

Throws it at what's left of the Porsche.

WHOOSH. Flames roar back up.

And this time? I don't move.

I just stand there. Arms crossed. Watching it burn like it's the Fourth of July.

Nyla glances at me. Her face falters.

A neighbor jogs over with an extinguisher. "Sweetheart — you gotta put it out, it's only gonna get worse—"

I give him a tight smile. Wave him off. "Thank you. Really. But let it burn."

He gives me a weird look. But hey — if the "owner" doesn't care, what's he gonna say?

The Porsche crackles and pops like fireworks. Just like whatever love I had left for this sister-in-law of mine — going up in smoke.

Burn, baby, burn. The cleaner the better.

By the time it's over, it's a metal skeleton on wheels.

I let out a bitter little laugh.

She's hated me this whole time. And I was out here playing family. What an idiot.

I turn to head back upstairs.

Then — headlights. Sharp. Blinding.

A car pulls in fast. Door swings open.

Cody's back.

Finally. Someone who actually knows the truth.

I hurry over, ready to explain everything.

But before I can open my mouth, Cody slaps a stack of papers onto the hood in front of me.

A settlement agreement.