I glanced down at my yellow Armani casual jacket and the custom AGV helmet sitting beside me.
Fair enough. I do look like a delivery guy.
Before I could respond, Alberta's mocking voice cut through the noise.
"Mike Finch, it's been four years since we broke up. Are you still this desperate for attention?"
"This reunion is about reconnecting—there's no rich or poor here. Maybe try being genuine for once."
I leaned back in my chair, utterly unbothered, and regarded her with cool indifference.
"I am being genuine. I really am the son of the richest man in the city."
"How do you think you even got a reservation at the Emperor Suite in Pinecrest Pavilion? It's because of my connections."
Truth be told, I hadn't planned on coming to this reunion at all.
I had no desire to see Alberta, and I didn't exactly run in the same circles as these former classmates. There was no point forcing it.
But Brett Lane had called me twenty-eight times, swearing Alberta wouldn't show up.
He'd promised no one would flaunt their status—that it was purely about catching up.
Yet here Alberta was, not only present but parading her success for everyone to see.
A gold-digger playing socialite.
Pathetic.