My grandfather’s live-in caregiver is a selfish piece of work. She’s dead set on setting me up with her loser son. She spends all day establishing dominance in my own house: "My Earl is a good, honest man. You’d be lucky to land him." "You city girls are too picky. Keep looking for prince charming and you’ll end up an old maid with nothing but cats." My parents just nod along like bobbleheads. They want me married off ASAP so they can use the "dowry"—or rather, the money they’ll save by dumping me—to fund my brother’s lifestyle. But what none of them know is that the "girlfriend" my brother brought home for the holidays... is actually a man in a wig. 1 Two weeks before Christmas, I took leave and drove back to my hometown in rural Alabama. Grandpa’s health had taken a nosedive this year, and I wanted to be there to care for him. The town was already decked out in lights and plastic Santas. I stopped by Mrs. Higgins' deli downstairs to grab some pot roast. Mrs. Higgins grabbed my arm, her face serious. "Chloe, honey, have you met the new caregiver your folks hired for your grandpa?" I nodded. Grandpa had a stroke three years ago. My parents claimed they were too busy with work to help, so I footed the bill for a full-time aide. I even doubled the salary so she’d cook for the household. Mrs. Higgins didn't say much, just gave me a look. "You just... go on home and see for yourself." I walked up the steps and found the front door unlocked. A wave of stench hit me instantly—a mix of stale bathroom smells and cheap, overpowering perfume. It made my eyes water. I frowned and looked at the new caregiver, Brenda. She was in her fifties, heavyset, wearing enough makeup for a pageant, and a gold ring on her finger that looked suspiciously familiar. She was currently feeding Grandpa a piece of greasy, fried bacon. "Come on, pops, eat up. This is the good stuff from my farm." I stepped in, furious. "He has high blood pressure and a history of strokes. He can't have that much sodium and grease. Are you trying to kill him?" Brenda dropped the fork and glared at me. "Who the hell are you? Busting into people's houses? I'm calling the cops. You millennials have no manners." I kicked my suitcase inside and slammed the door. "I don't care who you think I am. I'm the one signing your paychecks." Brenda froze. She squinted at me, a fake smile slowly plastering onto her face. "You... you must be Chloe?" I ignored her and checked on Grandpa. He looked frail. "Chloe, you’re back?" Brenda’s voice went syrup-sweet. "Why didn't you call? I didn't cook much, just some fruit." She pointed to a bowl of withered, brown apples. I stared at the fruit, then at the thick gold band on her ring finger. "Brenda, I send you two thousand dollars a month for groceries alone. Why is my grandfather eating grease and rotting apples?" Brenda turned red. "Are you accusing me of stealing? I work my fingers to the bone for this family! I should sue you for slander!" I picked up the fruit bowl and smashed it on the floor. "Your breath smells like a landfill. Show me the receipts. Now." Grandpa, bless his heart, tugged my sleeve. "Let it be, Chloe. Brenda works hard." Brenda smirked at me, triumphant. Before I could scream, the door opened. Mom walked in, followed by a man who was about 5'4", shaped like a pufferfish, and wearing a stained hoodie. Mom beamed. "Chloe! Perfect timing." "Come meet Brenda's son, Earl. He’s thirty-five and single." "You guys have so much in common. Sit down and chat." Me: "?" 2 Brenda scrambled to the kitchen. Suddenly, the rotting apples were replaced by fresh cherries, and a pot roast appeared on the table. I sat there, picking at my food, listening to Mom and Brenda hype up the pufferfish. "My Earl is a catch," Brenda bragged. "He’s a foreman at the construction site. Makes good money. He just has high standards, that’s why he’s single." Mom nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. You two should get to know each other. I worry about you, Chloe. Twenty-eight and no husband? You’re expiring, honey." I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. Since when is twenty-eight an expiration date? "Mom," I interrupted. "Statistically, humans live past twenty-eight. I'm not a carton of milk." Mom kicked me under the table. I ignored them and focused on eating. I figured I’d just survive the holidays and leave. Then, the pufferfish spoke. Earl leaned back, lit a cigarette inside the house, and looked me up and down with greasy eyes. "Not bad," he puffed. "You got good hips. Look like you’d breed well." I choked on my water. Was this guy for real? Brenda clapped her hands. "See! Earl likes you! He usually never talks to the girls I introduce him to. He’s serving you!" Serving me? He slid a glass of soda toward me. That was it. I pushed the glass back. "I drank from it. I don't want to contaminate royalty." "And frankly," I looked at Mom, "the air in here is toxic." Mom frowned. "What smell?" "The smell of trash men," I said, standing up. That killed the dinner conversation pretty effectively. 3 Earl finally left that evening, carrying three Tupperware containers of food Brenda had packed for him, plus a bag of my dad’s expensive coffee. I stood on the balcony, lighting a cigarette. "Did your son come for a date or a robbery? Should I pack him my garbage too?" Brenda glared at me but retreated to Grandpa's room. I went to put my suitcase in my bedroom, only to find the door locked. "Mom!" I yelled. "Why is my door locked?" Mom rushed over, shushing me. She dragged my suitcase to the living room sofa. "Quiet down! Your brother Justin is bringing his fiancée home tomorrow. They’re getting married soon." "You know the tradition. Once the son gets married, the daughter gives up her room. We’re turning your room into the nursery." "You don't come back often anyway. Just sleep on the couch." I paid the down payment for this house. I pay half the mortgage every month. Growing up, Mom always said, "We love you both equally." But whenever push came to shove, Justin got the gold, and I got the scraps. "So because Justin is getting married, I’m homeless in the house I pay for?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Am I your daughter or your ATM?" Mom didn't even blink. "Don't start with that 'equality' nonsense. We couldn't afford a new house for him. You’re the big sister; you should sacrifice." My heart turned to ice. "I raised you, fed you, sent you to college," Mom continued, her voice rising. "And look at you now, picky and ungrateful. If Brenda's son didn't want you, I wouldn't even let you in the door. Once you marry him, his bride price can pay for Justin’s wedding." So that was the plan. Sell me off to the pufferfish to fund the golden child. I laughed, cold and sharp. I walked past her to my bedroom door and kicked it open with a single, violent thrust. "In your dreams." 4 That night, I lay in bed, fuming. My phone pinged. A friend request. Username: AlphaWolf69 I accepted, thinking it was a client. AlphaWolf69: "You awake, babe?" I grimaced. Me: "Who is this?" AlphaWolf69: "It’s Earl. We had dinner. I was sitting right next to you." AlphaWolf69: "My mom says you work hard in the city. A little woman like you shouldn't struggle. You’re too strong." AlphaWolf69: "But don't worry. Your Alpha is here to tame you." I fought the urge to vomit. AlphaWolf69: "Let me lay it out. I’m handsome, 5'5, 180 lbs of muscle. I have a self-built house in the country and a Dodge Neon." AlphaWolf69: "When we marry, you quit your job. Be a trad-wife." Me: "Why?" AlphaWolf69: "Because you’re my woman. I’ll give you love. You cook, clean, raise the kids. How many sons do you want?" Me: "I don't want kids. Especially not with you." AlphaWolf69: "Stop being shy. Females always play hard to get." I stared at the screen. This man needed to be studied in a lab. AlphaWolf69: "I want four boys. But you only need to birth three. I already have one from a previous... situation." I blocked him immediately. I felt like my IQ dropped just reading his texts.
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