“You’re single and living alone in a huge house. Of course, the family should be able to use it, right?”

My younger sister Kristen said it without a shred of guilt, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Amid the clinking of champagne glasses and the cheerful laughter of relatives, her words reached my ears with a chilling clarity.

Today was my 30th birthday.

This $950,000 villa, something I had finally secured after launching an IT startup and working myself to the bone, was a symbol of my independence and success.

The large windows reflecting California’s clear blue sky, the custom-designed kitchen, the silence.

Every detail was proof of my effort.

And yet, in Kristen’s eyes, as she stood before me, there was not the slightest hint of respect.

All I saw was a sticky, possessive obsession. Nothing more.

Holding a glass, she strutted around the living room as if it were already her own and continued with words I could hardly believe.

“Hey, Denise, your company’s doing great, right? Managing a place this luxurious all by yourself must be a hassle. I’ll live here for you. You don’t need rent from me, obviously. We’re family.”

The gazes of my aunts and uncles froze instantly.

Kristen’s voice was unnecessarily loud, and the once calm party was suddenly engulfed in a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.

I slowly set my glass down on the table and looked straight at her.

“Kristen, stop joking. This is my house. It’s not a place for you to live.”

At my cold, firm response, my father, Robert, cut in.

He stepped into the center of the living room and looked down at me with an intimidating air.

“Denise, watch your tone. Kristen is your sister. She’s struggling right now, trying to start a new business. In this family, it’s always been our principle that those who succeed help those who haven’t yet.”

At his words, my mother, Susan, nodded slightly and joined in.

“That’s right, Denise. Family supports one another. Don’t you think keeping a house this big all to yourself is a bit too selfish?”

From the bottom of my heart, I was speechless.

Every cent of the down payment, every mortgage payment, this house was bought entirely with the fruits of my own grueling labor.

“Mom, Dad, this house is my sanctuary. I won’t let anyone trample into it, family or not.”

When I said that, my father’s face flushed red with anger.

With trembling hands, he pulled his smartphone from his pocket and declared in front of all the relatives.

“Fine, if that’s how you want it, I won’t hold back anymore. The party is over. Everyone, leave immediately.”

“Denise, brace yourself. My lawyer will be here shortly. I’ll straighten out the legal rights to this house.”

The invited relatives, wearing confused expressions, began setting down the food and drinks they were holding.

My long-awaited 30th birthday was about to end in the worst possible way.

Normally, this would be the moment to break down in tears or explode in rage and shout back, but instead I was desperately holding back laughter.

As the CEO of an IT startup, I had reviewed countless contracts and negotiated with investors.

The idea that my father could somehow legally straighten out a house that I owned 100% outright was simply absurd.

I silently nodded, turned my back on them, and walked toward the kitchen counter.

I poured myself a glass of chilled Perrier and took a sip.

The sharp sensation sliding down my throat cleared my thoughts even further.

“Hey, Denise, didn’t you hear? Dad is serious.”

Kristen called out to my back in a triumphant voice.

She was still in her mid-20s, unemployed, having burned through family money under the banner of finding herself.

She came to stand beside me, gazing dreamily at the illuminated pool outside the window.

“This house has three guest rooms, right? And that walk-in closet in the master bedroom, it’d be perfect for my clothes. You’re always working anyway. You just need a place to sleep. The smallest room is enough for you. The rest of the space should be used effectively by the family. That’s the rational choice, don’t you think?”

Without putting my glass down, I glanced at her sideways.

“You might want to check whether your definition of rational actually matches what’s written in the dictionary. Kristen, I’m not giving an inch.”

At that, my mother approached with a sigh.

Wearing the mask of a loving parent, she reached for my shoulder, but I smoothly stepped aside.

“Denise, don’t be so stubborn. Living alone in a space this big, that’s lonely. If Kristen lives with you, it’ll be lively. She can learn about business by staying close to you. It’s a win-win. Are you really going to reject your family’s love? Has success made your heart that cold?”

“Family’s love?”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“Riding on someone else’s success to live rent-free in an upscale neighborhood is called parasitism, Mom.”

The silence in the living room was unbearably heavy.

The relatives’ stares pierced into us.

Unable to stand it any longer, my mother forced an awkward smile and grabbed my arm.

“Denise, everyone is watching. Let’s not argue here. Why don’t we step out into the hallway? If we talk quietly as a family, I’m sure you’ll understand.”