Chapter 2

"Jocelyn, what are you talking about?" Clark Scott, my "father," stood up, his voice a low growl disguised as concern. "This is your engagement party, not a business meeting. Don't be so materialistic."

"Your father is right," Maria added, her tone sharp and accusing. "After everything we've done for you, do you really distrust us this much? We've given you everything."

Andrew leaned in close, his voice a harsh whisper in my ear. "Stop this, Jocelyn. You're embarrassing us. You're embarrassing yourself. This isn't how things are done in our world. It's low-class."

Ethan strode over from the stage, his face a mask of fury. "Is this some kind of joke? Are you trying to humiliate me? After I planned this perfect night for you? You ungrateful..."

He stopped himself, but the venom in his voice hung in the air. The pain of their words was sharp, a bitter sting in my throat. I remembered everything I had done for them, thinking they were my family.

A comment flashed in my vision, reminding me of the incident with the hostile takeover.

[She' s so stupid. Remember when she dug up dirt on those corporate raiders? She saved their asses and they called her a 'thug.' All because she almost exposed Gabby's secret lover, who was one of the raiders. LOL.]

I remembered it clearly. I had used my old street connections, calling in favors, staying up for three days straight, digging through filth to find the leverage that saved Scott Automotive. They had thanked me with clenched teeth, telling me my "thuggish" methods were a disgrace to the family name.

Now I knew why. I hadn't just saved their company, I had protected the man who was secretly involved with Gabby.

My silence, my stunned stillness, seemed to enrage Ethan further. He had built this perfect moment to reach his goal, and I was ruining it.

"Say something!" he snarled, his control completely gone.

He shoved me. Hard.

I wasn't expecting it. I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the soft grass. I fell to the ground in a heap of designer silk. A long, ugly tear ripped through the skirt of my expensive gown.

A collective gasp went through the crowd. The live music stopped.

The world went silent, except for the frantic scrolling of text in front of my eyes.

[HOLY SHIT HE PUSHED HER!]

[Ethan's Likeability Score is plummeting! 99... 95... 89!]

[Idiot! He couldn't keep his temper for five more minutes! Now the penalty is a risk!]

As the number 89 flashed in my vision, Ethan, Andrew, and my parents all flinched at the same time. A look of genuine distress, of physical discomfort, washed over their faces. Ethan clutched his head, his face suddenly slick with sweat.

"Oh, my God, Jocelyn! I'm so sorry!" He rushed to my side, his voice filled with a desperate, fake panic. "I don't know what came over me. Are you okay? Please, forgive me."

He was trying to fix his score.

My parents and Andrew scrambled forward, their faces etched with a similar forced concern. "Darling, are you hurt?" Maria cried, kneeling beside me.

Ethan grabbed his own wrist, fumbling with the clasp of his watch. It was a Patek Philippe, a famous Scott family heirloom. "Here, take this. Please. As an apology. I'm so, so sorry."

He tried to fasten it on my wrist, his hands trembling. They were terrified. Not for me, but of this "penalty."

I looked down at the torn dress, at the dirt staining the silk. I looked at their panicked, lying faces. And then, I looked at the worthless portfolio still clutched in my hand.

An opportunity.

Tears welled in my eyes, but this time they were cold and deliberate. I let out a sob, a sound of pure, heart-wrenching betrayal that echoed in the sudden silence.

"An apology?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "You want to apologize with a watch... after you gave me these?"

With a trembling hand, I opened the portfolio. I pulled out the top sheet, the beautifully printed, utterly fake stock certificate.

Then, with all the strength I had, I tore it in half.

And then another. And another. I ripped the entire stack of fraudulent documents into pieces, scattering them over the pristine lawn like confetti at a funeral.

The crowd gasped again, louder this time. The Scotts and Ethan stared at the shredded paper, their faces turning from pale to ashen gray.

The text in my vision went berserk.

[IT'S OVER! SHE KNOWS! THE SCORE IS CRASHING!]

[Likeability Score: 70... 60... 55...]

[GET IT BACK UP! DO SOMETHING! THE PENALTY IS COMING!]

[49.]

The moment the number dropped below 50, all four of them-Clark, Maria, Andrew, and Ethan-collapsed. They didn't just fall; they crumpled to the ground as if their bones had turned to dust. They writhed, their mouths open in silent screams, their bodies convulsing in an agony no one else could see or hear.

They were being punished by their system. And I was the one who controlled the switch.