"Brown sugar is rare, but to a man like you, it's nothing. Don't even think about touching my sugar."
Disbelief flashed across his face, followed by a sting of pain.
"In your eyes," he asked, his voice low, "is that the kind of person I am?"
Memories from my past life clawed at me. I smiled bitterly—this wasn't paranoia. This was experience.
Ever since my widowed sister-in-law Brooklyn moved in, everything I owned had slowly become hers. My barely-worn designer coat, the fabric coupons I'd saved for months—Justin handed them all over in the name of "family support."
Now he was desperate to prove he wasn't petty about some brown sugar. He had his subordinates haul in every gift from New York.
Imported toys. A set of luxurious cashmere coats.
The crowd gasped.
"Look at that cashmere! You can tell it's expensive just by looking."
The whispers shifted. "So she really is the Director's wife..."
Mocking gazes turned toward Brooklyn. She shot me a look of pure venom, then stormed off.
I ignored her. I just stared at that familiar coat—and that night, the nightmares returned.
In my previous life, I'd refused to give up the master bedroom after Brooklyn moved in. Justin and I fought viciously.