My parents had not just saved her from debt. They had handed her their life’s work, bought her a luxury image, and poured the rest into whatever fantasy business she was chasing. They were ruined, and I was their backup plan. At dawn, the yellow Porsche rolled into my driveway. Chloe stepped out wearing sunglasses and a white faux-fur coat, looking like she had arrived at a photoshoot instead of a disaster.
“Ew. Why is all our stuff outside? Did you guys seriously sleep in the car?”
“Carter wouldn’t open the door,” Martha said weakly.
Chloe looked up at me on the balcony.
“Carter! Stop being dramatic and open the door. Mom looks half dead, and I need to plug in my ring light.”
“Nice car, Chloe. Does it come with a heated garage, or do you sleep in the trunk?”
“Don’t be jealous. It’s a business asset for my personal brand.”
