Courtney whispered to her, just loud enough for me to hear, that her followers loved real family stuff. People eating, laughing, being themselves—that kind of thing. Then she added that it would be funny to show how different siblings could be.
One glammed up and working, one in a plain dress looking like she came from a grocery run.
They both snickered softly. Maddison angled the camera in my direction for half a second longer than necessary. I looked straight into the lens for a heartbeat, then away. I wondered if she would post that clip. I wondered how many strangers would watch my image on a screen and think they knew the story.
The conversation drifted. Someone mentioned a trip to Cabo. Someone else talked about a lake house renovation. The topics all sat in that comfortable middle ground of people who are doing well enough to pretend nothing can touch them.
I let myself drift too, but in a different way. My mind slipped to the years that had led me here. Tiny studio apartments. Late nights with nothing but a sewing machine and too much coffee. The nights I skipped dinner because I needed fabric more than food. The meetings where men twice my age had called me sweetheart and asked if there was a real decision maker they could talk to.
I thought about all of that as my family complained about delayed shipping on some high-end online order.
Henry spoke again, directing a question to my dad. He asked if it was true that one of his daughters had studied design. I felt every muscle in my back tense.
Before I could move, Courtney jumped in. She told him I had gone through a phase when I was younger. I used to sketch dresses on notebook paper. That I had been good in a quirky kind of way, but that nothing ever came from it. She said sometimes people cling to little girl dreams longer than they should.
The table laughed in that easy way people laugh when the person being discussed is not really present in their minds.
My dad nodded like this version of my story was carved in stone. He looked at me then, quick, like he wanted to see if I would argue. I did not. I just held his gaze for a beat longer than usual. Long enough for him to sense that something was different, even if he could not name it yet.
The lights from the tree in the corner blinked in and out, green and red and gold. The reflection in the window showed a ghost version of the room. I could see myself in it. The simple black dress. The calm face. The eyes that did not match the story they kept telling about me.
Under the table, my phone buzzed softly against my leg. I slipped my hand down and tilted it just enough to read the screen.
Naomi.
The message was short.
The article is ready. Founder profile. New York outlet. We just need your yes on timing.
My heart gave one heavy thud in my chest. For a second, the voices around me faded to a dull hum. I stared at the little rectangle of light in my hand. My thumb hovered over the screen.
Around me, my family kept talking about Ellington Atelier like it was a distant star. Beautiful. Untouchable. Powerful. None of them looked at me as they spoke.
I locked the phone and laid it facedown in my lap. I could still feel its presence, like a heartbeat against my skin. The truth was sitting there, quiet, waiting. Not just about who I was, but about who they had been to me all these years.
I folded my napkin over my knee again, smoothed the fabric of my dress, and let the conversation wash over me one more time. The timing would matter. How and when they learned the truth would matter. I just had not decided yet if it would happen before this night ended, or after.
I slipped away from the table when no one was paying attention, carrying my water glass with me like it might make my exit look less obvious. The hallway was dimmer than the dining room, quieter too, and for a moment I just stood there letting the noise fade behind me.
My mom’s old bedroom was at the end of that hall, the same room that had held her things long after she was gone. I had not stepped inside it in years. Maybe I was looking for a place where the air did not feel so tight. I turned the knob slowly. The door opened with a soft click and the scent hit me right away.
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