The night of the party, the Scottsdale country club was a sea of shimmering silk dresses and forced, polite laughter. I walked into the grand ballroom alone, feeling the weight of the whispers as wealthy guests tried to figure out who the stranger in the tailored black gown was.
Justin found me near the bar, looking older but still wearing the same arrogant, entitled smirk he had used to taunt me in the attic. “Look what the cat dragged in after all these years,” he sneered while swirling a glass of expensive scotch. “Did you finally run out of money in the city and come back to beg my father for a job?”
“I am just a guest tonight, Justin, and I suggest you worry more about your own career than my bank account,” I replied calmly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
I walked past him toward the head table where my mother sat like a queen among her subjects, draped in diamonds that my father’s hard work had likely paid for. I placed the velvet box on the table directly in front of her and said, “Happy anniversary, Mother.”