No More Submission: The Heiress Strikes Back

Harmony needed her passport. Two hours after Conner froze her accounts, she walked back into the penthouse. The air inside the massive living room was thick and suffocating. Conner was standing by the crystal bar cart, pouring himself a heavy glass of neat whiskey. Eleni was slumped on the white sofa, aggressively rubbing her temples. The moment Harmony's heels clicked on the marble floor, Alon shot up from his leather armchair. "Look who's back," Alon sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. "Did you take a walk outside and realize you can't even buy a cup of coffee without our money? Ready to apologize?" Harmony didn't even look at him. She kept walking, heading straight for the hallway that led to her bedroom. "Stop right there," Eleni snapped, her voice sharp like breaking glass. "You are going to explain yourself for the absolute humiliation you caused us today." Harmony stopped. She turned around slowly. Her eyes swept across the living room. As she scanned the space, she caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows near the grand staircase. Fallon was hiding behind the banister, eavesdropping. Harmony walked toward the center of the room. She sat down on the armchair opposite Eleni, gracefully crossing her legs. She looked far more relaxed than anyone else in the room. "I was grounded," Harmony said, her voice chillingly calm. "I wasn't even informed you were visiting Mrs. Astor today." She shifted her gaze directly to Conner's bloodshot eyes. She threw out a question that cut straight to the bone. "Who made the decision to let Fallon pick the gift?" Conner's hand froze mid-pour. The whiskey bottle clinked against the crystal glass. His mind flashed back to last night. Fallon had begged him to let her handle it, promising she would give Mrs. Astor a "charming, down-to-earth surprise." Harmony saw the hesitation in her father's eyes. A cold, predatory smile touched her lips. She turned her attention to Eleni, her tone shifting into that of a strict, professional consultant. "Mrs. Astor is severely allergic to the sulfites used in industrial, mass-produced wines," Harmony stated flatly. "She only drinks from a specific, organic vineyard in Bordeaux. Did you not know that, Mother?" Eleni's face drained of all color. As a woman who prided herself on being a socialite, missing a detail that could have sent a hostess into anaphylactic shock was an unforgivable sin. Harmony didn't give them a second to recover. She pressed her foot harder on their throats. "But even without a custom gift," Harmony continued, her voice rising slightly, "a properly educated woman knows how to use conversation to smooth over a faux pas." She snapped her head toward Alon, her eyes locking onto him like a sniper. "What exactly did Fallon do on that lawn, Alon? Did she act like a desperate door-to-door salesman? Did she shove her hand into the faces of people who didn't want to look at her?" Alon opened his mouth to defend Fallon, but the words died on his tongue. He remembered Fallon frantically trying to hand out compliments to the heirs who were actively mocking them. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Harmony's logic was a surgical blade. It sliced right through the family's delusion, exposing the ugly, undeniable truth underneath. She stood up, looking down at her parents with absolute authority. "I didn't humiliate this family," Harmony declared, her voice ringing with finality. "You brought a ticking time bomb who doesn't understand the basic rules of our world, and you let her explode." Behind the staircase, Fallon's face turned a sickly shade of white. She took a panicked step backward. Her elbow clipped a small, antique marble statue resting on a pedestal. The heavy marble hit the hardwood floor with a deafening, violent crash. The statue shattered into a dozen jagged pieces. Everyone in the living room whipped their heads toward the sound. Fallon stepped out from the shadows. Her eyes instantly filled with large, trembling tears. She hunched her shoulders, defaulting to the fragile, victimized posture that usually got her whatever she wanted. "I... I was just trying to help," Fallon sobbed, her voice shaking violently. "I didn't know rich people were so mean and hard to please." Normally, Conner would have rushed over to comfort her, charmed by her lower-class innocence. But right now, with the sting of the Hamptons humiliation still burning his skin, her words sounded incredibly grating. Conner's thick eyebrows pulled together. For the first time, he looked at his adopted daughter not with affection, but with a cold, critical evaluation. Eleni stared at Fallon's trembling, pathetic posture. Suddenly, the girl looked entirely out of place in their multi-million-dollar penthouse. The cheapness was glaring. Harmony watched the subtle shift in her parents' eyes. The seed of doubt had been planted, and it was already taking root. She didn't say another word. She turned her back on the wreckage, walked down the hall, entered her bedroom, and locked the heavy door behind her. The living room fell into a suffocating, dead silence. Fallon's loud, wet sobs echoed awkwardly against the high ceilings. Alon took a hesitant step forward to comfort Fallon, but Conner raised a hand, waving him off with a look of intense irritation. "Alon," Conner ordered, his voice low and dangerous. "Call the best etiquette agencies in New York. Get her a tutor. Now."