“Blimey, who the hell are you?” a deep voice growled from the bedroom as Emma pushed open the door to her flat.
“I think that’s my line,” she snapped. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”
A blonde woman in a silk dressing gown stepped into view, smirking.
“Oh, so you’re Emma! Ollie’s told me so much about you,” she drawled. “I’m Sophie, your fiancé’s sister.”
After a gruelling day at work, all Emma wanted was a hot bath. Instead, she found her future sister-in-law making herself at home.
“Oliver is my fiancé, not my husband,” Emma corrected coldly. “And I don’t recall agreeing to this little visit.”
A sheepish young man peered over Sophie’s shoulder.
“We’re here on holiday,” Sophie cut in before he could speak. “Ollie said we could crash at yours for a week.”
Emma walked into the kitchen, greeted by chaos—dirty dishes, empty takeaway boxes.
“Funny, he never mentioned guests this morning.”
“God, you’re so uptight!” Sophie pulled a wine bottle from the fridge. “Ollie gave me the keys a month ago. I assumed you’d talked about it. If not, well, no harm done.”
“We didn’t. And why are you in *our* bedroom instead of the guest room?”
Sophie shrugged. “The guest room’s tiny, and yours has a king-sized bed. Ollie said you wouldn’t mind bunking in there for a couple of nights—the sofa pulls out.”
Emma remembered the awful first meeting with Oliver’s family, where his mother and sister had made their disdain clear.
“Sorry to disappoint, but this is *my* flat, *my* bedroom, and *my* bed,” she said firmly. “Oliver’s here because I allow it.”
“Ah, so the rumours are true,” Sophie laughed. “Mum said you’ve got Ollie on a tight leash.”
“Listen, I’m exhausted. You can stay in the guest room—*tonight*. But our bedroom is off-limits.”
“We’ll see what Ollie says. I’m sure he’ll explain how rude you are,” Sophie huffed.
When Oliver arrived, his sister pounced.
“Ollie! Your missus wants to kick us out of the bedroom!”
“Em, what’s going on?” he asked, bewildered.
“Why did you give your sister keys to *my* flat?” she asked calmly.
“*Our* flat, Emma. I live here, remember?”
“I remember. By my invitation. That doesn’t give you the right to hand out keys without asking.”
On the balcony, Oliver sighed.
“What’s got into you? She’s my sister. I promised they could stay.”
“So they take our bedroom without asking?”
“What’s the big deal? The bed’s bigger. We can manage a few nights on the sofa.”
“The big deal is you gave strangers access to *my* home.”
“Tom’s not a stranger! He’s Sophie’s bloke.”
“I’ve *never* met him! And I barely know your sister.”
“So you just hate my family, then?”
Inside, Sophie whined into her phone, “*She’s trying to kick us out! Ollie’s sorting her out now.*”
“Em, be reasonable,” Oliver pleaded. “It’s just a week. If we’re getting married, you’ll have to compromise.”
He walked back inside, leaving her alone. She watched him laugh with Sophie, ignoring her completely.
Emma stepped back in. The trio on the sofa didn’t glance up.
Something inside her snapped. Two years of love, support, compromise—all flashed before her.
“Get out of my flat,” she said quietly.
They stared.
“*What?*” Oliver spluttered.
“I said, *get out.* All of you.”
“Ollie, control your psycho,” Sophie sneered.
But Emma was already hauling Sophie’s suitcase to the door, dumping clothes, makeup, shoes onto the landing.
“Have you lost your mind?!” Sophie shrieked.
Emma shoved the suitcase outside.
“You’re insane!” Oliver grabbed her arm. “Stop this!”
“No, *you’re* insane if you think I’ll let your sister humiliate me in my own home. Now it’s your turn.”
“Em, please—”
“*We’re done.* Your opinion matters more than mine? Fine. Pack up.”
She marched to the bedroom, flinging his shirts, trousers, watch onto the landing.
“You *mental* cow!” Sophie screeched, scrambling after her things.
“You can’t just throw me out,” Oliver said, stunned. “We were getting *married*.”
“Thank God we didn’t. I deserve a man, not a spineless git. Go live with your sister.”
She slammed the door.
Half an hour later, the yelling faded. Emma ordered takeaway from her favourite Indian. When the deliveryman arrived, Oliver and Sophie were still on the landing, glaring. She took the food, thanked him, and shut the door without a glance.
Setting the table, she queued up a film. Sipping wine, she realised—she wasn’t heartbroken. She was *free*.
*How odd,* she thought. *To lose love and find yourself in the same day.*
She raised her glass to her reflection.
“To me.”
*”In love, respect is everything. Without it, even the strongest passion is just fleeting fancy.”* —Honoré de Balzac.
