“Nice?” I teased, climbing into his car.
“Beautiful,” he corrected quickly. “Just… simple. My mother is a bit… grand.”
The drive to the Grand View Hotel was filled with his anxious chatter. He prepped me like I was going into battle.
“My mother, Clarissa, is very particular,” he warned. “My father, Kenneth, is all about business. My sister Natasha can be blunt, and my cousin Jessica has a sharp tongue. Just… try to blend in.”
Red flags were waving in my face, but I was colorblind with love.
We arrived. The ballroom was a sensory overload of wealth. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen tears. Tables were draped in heavy silk. The air smelled of expensive perfume and entitlement.
There were easily two hundred people there, a sea of sequins, velvet, and diamonds. The women wore gowns that cost more than my annual salary as a designer. The men wore watches that could fund a small startup.
And then there was me, in my forty-dollar yellow dress.
The stares started the moment we crossed the threshold. Eyes raked over me, dissecting my appearance, pricing my outfit, and discarding my value in seconds. I heard the whispers ripple through the room like a cold breeze.
“Who is that?”
“Is she with Brandon?”
“Look at that dress. Did she make it herself?”
Brandon’s hand tightened on mine. It wasn’t a grip of reassurance; it was a grip of embarrassment.
Then I saw her. Clarissa Hayes.
She stood in the center of the room, holding court like a monarch. She wore a deep purple couture gown, and her neck was choked with real diamonds. Her posture radiated an icy arrogance. When she saw Brandon, her face lit up with maternal pride.
Then she saw me. The light died instantly.
