Savage Remi
The next day came faster than expected. I barely got four hours of sleep before Larry came bouncing into my room asking if we were still going shopping.
“You promised,” he said, arms folded at the foot of my bed like a tiny bodyguard.
I groaned into my pillow but nodded. “Alright, alright. Give me ten minutes.”
Fifteen minutes and two cups of coffee later, we were all in the car. Rowan had offered to come, but I told him to rest—his head still wasn’t fully healed, even though he pretended otherwise.
So it was just me, Larry, and Laura. Birthday prep.
They argued all the way to the store about cake flavors—chocolate versus strawberry—and who was getting the bigger balloon, and whether or not we needed glittery candles. Typical.
We pulled into a quiet upscale plaza Rowan had suggested. Nice boutiques, a toy store, and a small party supply shop tucked near the end.
The kids were already buzzing the moment they stepped out of the car. I smiled to myself, glad they were this excited. I just wanted to make their day perfect.
Inside the party store, Laura ran straight to the unicorn-themed aisle and gasped like she'd found treasure.
“Mummy! This one! This one!” she yelled, holding up a massive pink piñata with glitter horns and sparkly tassels.
Larry, meanwhile, was drawn to a weird inflatable T-Rex costume, already begging for it like it was life or death.
“You’re not wearing that to your birthday,” I said flatly.
“But I could be the entertainment,” he countered, dead serious.
I was still laughing when I turned down the next aisle—and froze.
Two women stood near the balloon display. They hadn’t seen me at first, too busy giggling behind one of the metallic number balloons.
I recognized one of them immediately. Her name was Tamara Vaughn—Rowan’s third cousin or whatever. She’d been in the corner at the family event last night, quiet, but definitely watching. The kind of girl born with a platinum spoon and a long, shiny knife hidden behind her smile.
The moment she spotted me, her lips curled.
She leaned toward the other woman beside her and whispered something, not even trying to hide it. They both laughed.
Tamara’s eyes flicked down to my basket filled with colorful candles, themed plates, a small, sensible cake topper—and then dragged slowly back up to me.
“I bet she can’t even pay for all that,” she said, voice sugary and loud enough to echo through the aisle.
The other woman stifled another laugh behind her hand.
My hand tightened around the handle of the basket.
I didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
I just watched them.
Tamara’s smile widened like she was tasting blood. Her friend leaned closer, whispering again before both of them laughed, heads tilted together like schoolgirls. It was almost impressive—how confidently they weaponized privilege.
I turned back toward the kids, trying to focus. Laura was holding up glitter streamers now, oblivious to the venom behind us. Larry, on the other hand, had noticed. His brows were pinched. He was watching them carefully, eyes flicking between their faces and mine.
I was about to brush it off when a store assistant—a tall girl in a ridiculous sash that said “Birthday Pro”—walked over. Her smile was practiced, eyes cautious.
“Um, ma’am,” she said, folding her hands in front of her like she was rehearsing a line. “Can I help you with something?”
“No,” I said simply, shifting my basket into the crook of my elbow. “We’re good.”
She nodded, but didn’t leave. “Okay, it’s just... we try to keep things orderly, especially around the balloons and—uh—premium party selections. So if you’re not planning to purchase—”
“Excuse me?” I asked, slowly raising my brow.
The girl hesitated, but Tamara stepped in, smiling like she owned the place. “I told her already. It’s okay,” she said sweetly to the assistant. “Some people just like to... look.”
Larry blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tamara turned her full attention to him now, clearly amused. “Oh—hi. Are you lost, sweetheart?”
Larry stepped beside me and squared his shoulders like he was twenty, not seven. “No. I’m here with my mum. Who’s buying things. Like everyone else.”
The store assistant looked like she wanted to disappear.
“And you don’t talk to my mum like that,” Larry added.
Tamara raised her brows, clearly taken aback.
Laura stepped in too, her tiny hand clutching my leg. “Yeah! Our mum can buy whatever she wants. She’s a doctor.”
That made Tamara blink. And for a brief moment, I caught it—the flicker of confusion, maybe even recognition, behind her eyes. She looked between them, then back to me.
Her friend whispered, “Wait… are those the twins?”
Tamara stiffened slightly, her fake smile flickering.
I tilted my head. “Problem?”
Neither of them responded.
I stepped forward then, slowly and deliberately. I could feel Larry and Laura flanking me like the cutest security team on Earth. I smiled softly at the assistant, who looked ready to faint.
“I’ll be taking that piñata,” I said, nodding toward the massive glitter unicorn Laura had begged for.
“Oh,” the girl said quickly. “Of course. Right away.”
“And the twelve-foot balloon arch kit,” I added, pointing at the garish display behind the counter.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And the deluxe sparkler candle set, the premium party throne, and that oversized T-Rex costume—he’s earned it.” I jerked my chin toward Larry, who grinned wide.
Tamara’s face fell.
The store assistant blinked. “That’ll be—”
I reached into my bag and pulled out the slim black card, handing it over with a flick of my fingers. “Just charge it.”
The assistant nodded so fast she almost dropped the card. “Yes, ma’am.”
I turned my eyes back to Tamara, who was doing everything in her power to smile and scowl at the same time.
Then I added, cool and even, “Shopkeeper—kindly assist the next customer.”
The girl turned pink with shame and nodded again.
Tamara stood there, quiet now, cheeks flushed and teeth clenched.
Beneath me.
Exactly where she belonged.
The assistant practically sprinted off to pack up the piñata and drag down the oversized balloon kit, avoiding eye contact with everyone involved. Larry was beaming. Laura held my hand like she’d just watched her mother transform into a superhero. And honestly? I didn’t feel like a surgeon in that moment. I felt like a storm.
I turned back toward the shelves, casually browsing as if I hadn’t just emotionally suplexed a Vaughn in public. But I could feel Tamara's eyes on me. She wasn't done. Vaughns rarely were.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, her footsteps clicked quietly behind me. I didn’t turn.
"You know, that was a bit dramatic," she said lightly, like we were old friends sharing a joke.
I p
lucked a glittery party sign from the rack and examined it. "If I were trying to be dramatic, you’d be crying in the parking lot."
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