Podczas luksusowej gali syn bogatej pary „przypadkowo” wylał drinka na sukienkę prezeski, podczas gdy jego rodzice się z tego śmiali. Ona tylko wygładziła sukienkę, uśmiechnęła się i odeszła. Godzinę później po cichu zakończyła ich wartą pięćset milionów dolarów współpracę – i tym razem nikt się nie śmiał.

“Tell me you’re going to do something about that,” she said.

“I already did,” I said.

Jenny frowned.

I gestured to the glass walls, to the city, to the building itself.

“Mallory will remember that our company has her back,” I said. “That’s what I did.”

Jenny’s expression softened.

Then she said, “And what about them?”

I looked out at the skyline again.

“They’ll remember something too,” I said.

That evening, I went home and cooked dinner.

That might sound boring.

But it matters.

Because when you grow up with chaos, peace can feel like something you have to defend.

My apartment was quiet.

Clean.

A view of the city, yes.

But I didn’t live like the people in that ballroom.

No gold-plated fixtures.

No marble everything.

Just warmth.

Books.

A kitchen that always smelled like coffee.

I changed out of my suit and into sweatpants, tied my hair up, and put a pot of water on the stove like I was just another woman with a long day.

Jenny texted once.

Mark emailed twice.

Lawrence called.

I didn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t care.

Because I needed one night where I didn’t belong to anyone else’s crisis.

I ate pasta at my counter, staring at the steam rising from the bowl.

And for the first time since the gala, I let myself feel it.

The wine.

The laughter.

The way my dress clung to my skin.

The way Gregory’s voice boomed, proud of cruelty like it was a talent.

And underneath all of it, the oldest feeling.

Not humiliation.

Not anger.

Grief.

Because it didn’t have to be like this.

They could have raised Brandon better.

They could have stopped him.

They could have apologized that night.

Not with panic.

With sincerity.

But they didn’t.

And now, instead of a partnership that could’ve saved their company and protected thousands of employees, they were staring into a future they’d never once imagined.

A future where their names didn’t open doors.

A future where people didn’t laugh at their jokes.

A future where the world didn’t bend.

At 9:12 p.m., I finally called my mother.

She answered on the first ring.

Like she’d been waiting.

“Hey, baby,” she said.

Even now, even with everything I’d built, when she called me baby, it anchored me.

“Hey, Mom,” I said.

“How was your day?” she asked.

I stared at the window.

I could have lied.

I could have said, Busy.

Fine.

Work.

But something in her voice broke my defenses.

“Not great,” I admitted.

There was a pause.

Then her tone changed.

Not panicked.

Not dramatic.

Focused.

“What happened?” she asked.

So I told her.

Not every detail.

Not the deal numbers.

Not the headlines.

Just the heart of it.

A man poured wine on me.

His parents laughed.

And I walked out.

My mother didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then she said, “Did you cry?”

I swallowed.

“No,” I said.

“Good,” she said.

I blinked.

“Good?”

My mother exhaled, slow.

“Not because you shouldn’t cry,” she said. “Cry if you need to. But because I know you, Sophia. If you didn’t cry, that means you kept your power.”

I felt my throat tighten.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” she added.

“I know,” I whispered.

She was quiet, then said, “Do you remember the mansion when you were sixteen?”

Of course I did.

I could smell the bleach.

I could hear the music upstairs.

I could see the woman’s pearls.

“Yes,” I said.

My mother’s voice softened. “I went back there once,” she said.

I sat up.

“You did?”

“I needed the money,” she said simply. “And I promised myself I wouldn’t let those people take the work from me too.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I cleaned that house again,” she continued. “And you know what I did?”

“What?”

“I used the front door,” she said.

I froze.

My mother chuckled softly, like she was remembering a private victory.

“They stared,” she said. “They didn’t say anything. But they stared.”