I needed that money. My daughter’s insulin wasn’t going to pay for itself.
The Sterling mansion felt like a museum. Marble everywhere. Gold trim. Crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than my annual salary. I pushed my cart through the service entrance, head down, ready to disappear into the background.
“You’re the new girl?” A woman in a designer suit blocked my path. Victoria Sterling. Richard Sterling’s sister. I’d seen her photo in magazines. “Just so we’re clear—you don’t speak to guests. You don’t make eye contact. You’re furniture.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. My brother’s making some ridiculous announcement tonight about his mute daughter. Stay out of the way.”
She clicked away on heels that cost more than my car payment.
I found my station near the ballroom entrance. The party was already in full swing. Politicians. Tech CEOs. Old money and new money pretending to like each other.
Then I saw her.
A little girl sat alone on a bench, wearing a fancy dress that looked like it was strangling her. She couldn’t have been more than eight. Her hands were folded perfectly in her lap, but her eyes… her eyes were screaming.