My mother grabbed it without warning.
And threw it straight into the trash.
“Don’t ruin the evening with your insecurities,” she said, cold and perfect. “We already do enough by letting you live here.”
The cake landed sideways, frosting crushed against an empty bottle. I heard Ethan laughing behind me. My father glanced toward the living room, only worried that no guest had seen.
And something inside me finally broke.
“I’ll come back tomorrow for my things,” I said.
My father exhaled, relieved.
“That’s for the best.”
I nodded, took one last look at them, and understood something that burned deep: losing me didn’t hurt them—it freed them.
I had no idea that by the next morning, they would be the ones begging me to stay.
I didn’t sleep in the basement that night.
I left quietly and checked into the most exclusive hotel in Los Angeles, where the presidential suite was booked under one of my companies. From the window, the city stretched out like a glowing map, and for the first time in years, I could breathe.
I ordered wine. Then I made three calls.
One to my legal team in New York City.
One to the financial director managing my assets.
And one to the board of Silvercrest Holdings.