The crystal chandelier glimmers above the mahogany table, each place setting engraved with initials I was never allowed to use. I stand just outside the dining room, still clutching the velvet box—my gift, my pride, now smeared across the gossip circuit as ‘tacky cubic zirconia.’

My sister’s fiancé laughs into his wineglass. “No wonder we put her at the kids’ table. Did you really think you belonged here?”

My mother doesn’t correct him. She just nods to the butler: “Escort her out.”

But I don’t move. My phone buzzes—my COO. “We’ve got the server logs. They tried to hack our investor list tonight.”

This wasn’t just cruelty. It was a distraction.

Now I have three choices: walk away and let them win, call my lawyer and sue every last one of them, or slip back in as staff and find out what else they’re hiding.