The silence in the ballroom was absolute. The relatives at the surrounding tables began to whisper frantically.
The ruthless CEO Claire had always bragged about to assert her dominance, the man she used to strike fear into her subordinates, was now standing on a brightly lit stage, using that exact same terrifying power to publicly defend the sister she had spent a lifetime despising.
Ethan smiled, raised his glass to the rest of the room. “To my beautiful wife, Hannah.”
“To Hannah!” the room roared back.
As Ethan sat down and took my hand, I watched my mother scramble out of her chair. She practically sprinted toward our table the moment the music restarted.
Her face was a mask of sheer panic mixed with a nauseating, desperate sycophancy I had never seen her direct at me before.
“Hannah! Oh my goodness, Hannah!” my mother gasped, leaning over the table, her hands fluttering nervously. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say Ethan was… was Ethan Whitmore? A billionaire! We could have prepared better! We could have hosted the dinner at the club! We could have paid for a bigger venue!”
I looked at the woman who had sat silently while her eldest daughter bullied me for decades. I felt a profound, liberating detachment.
I coldly, deliberately pulled my hand out from under her hovering grasp.
“Prepared better for what, Mom?” I asked, my voice flat and devoid of any daughterly warmth. “To hide the true, ugly nature of this family from him? He’s seen exactly who you are. And so have I.”
