"So, all this stuff in your house is just fake junk to keep up appearances, huh?" Oliver scoffed, holding up the porcelain teacup like it personally offended him. "Gotta say, though, they're decent imitations. But that glaze? Way too fresh. Obvious knockoff."
I let out a quiet, amused laugh. "Good eye, Oliver."
Which was funny, because that teacup?
Ironically, it was the only fake thing in this entire place.
But Oliver didn't catch the irony. Of course not. He took my words as mockery, and his expression went ice-cold all over again.
"Therese, I don't have time for this." His tone turned sharp, clipped. "You've got two options today. Pay back the $500 grand and sign these agreements, or the engagement is officially over."
Oliver tossed a thick envelope onto my coffee table like it was some kind of final warning.
Then he pointed directly at me, with his finger stiff with accusation.
"And once that happens, kiss your dream of marrying into wealth goodbye. Don't come crawling back."
He paused briefly, then added with that same greasy sneer, "And your parents? They've got no pensions. Don't expect me to support them in retirement—"