Chapter Text
Shiv hadn't realized, when she voted the way she did, that it wouldn't be a one-time ordeal. It was like a band-aid- that's what she thought to herself, walking back into the meeting, Kendall shouting after her as Roman kept him from fucking tackling her or something. The bastard. It was like a band-aid; She just needed to rip it off. Act in her best interests, and the company's best interests, two things that she was certain were aligned after that shitshow. Vote for Gojo. Vote for Tom.
It's not like it made much difference- whether it was Tom, or Kendall, or- fucking Greg. Whoever. It wasn't her. It was a hard pill to swallow- it was like a suicide. But she was already dead in the water. She knew it. It wasn't her. It couldn't have been her. She sang and danced for Matsson, and he fucked her, just like every other asshole in the race. The thought of it was enough to make her throat tighten, even now. Betrayal after betrayal after betrayal. Because of her tits. Because of her pussy.
But she hadn't entirely grasped, in the moment, that it would be a series of humiliations. Something she'd be made very well aware of in the year to follow, in every board meeting, every company event, every private dinner- at every event she'd be paraded around as Tom's Wife, one of a set of four disgraced Roy children, forever young and naïve and stupid, and doubly so for being the girl. She never even had a shot.
And the birthgiver. God forbid she live that down.
"What a beautiful baby boy." Lucky bastard. He'll have the world one day. Perks of having a pecker.
It's humiliating, though. It hurts her pride, being seen by people she'd known, picking at her food as the suits talked, listening in on a world she'd once been a part of. Briefly. It's like being a kid again, tugging Dad's sleeve to let him know Roman kept flicking peas at her, having to shut up and endure it when he said Not Now. Shoving her dinner around, business talk like static hanging in the air.
She hates it. She hates her life. She hates her husband, she hates her son, she hates herself. She hates Matsson, stupid Matsson, a permanent fixture of her life for the foreseeable future. Hand shoved firmly up Tom's asshole, so firmly that Tom wouldn't so much as brush his teeth without floating the idea past the swede first. She hates her brothers, not big enough to take the company, not small enough to let her. She hates her dad. And her mom. And she hates her stupid cousin.
She's all dried out and bitter, she thinks- she mourns. There isn't a soul in the world she has an ounce of warmth left for. It isn't fair.