“I came to congratulate the happy couple,” I said.
Richard appeared beside my mother as if conjured by threat. He looked older, softer around the jaw, but his eyes were the same—calculating, cold, always measuring whether intimidation could still solve a problem.
“You need to leave,” he said quietly.
I laughed once. “That’s familiar.”
Jonathan, who had clearly not been briefed well enough on family history, stepped in with the tentative confidence of a man who still thought this was manageable. “Vanessa, who is this?”
I looked at him before she could answer.
“I’m her sister.”
The word landed like broken glass.
Jonathan’s eyebrows lifted. He looked between Vanessa and her mother, waiting for someone to contradict me or explain why the bride-to-be appeared to have seen a ghost.
Vanessa recovered first. “Half-sister,” she said sharply, like trimming the word would improve the bloodline. “And she wasn’t invited.”
“No,” I said. “But the hotel didn’t seem to mind.”
That drew a few uneasy laughs from people who regretted them instantly.
My mother straightened. “Olivia, don’t do this here.”
I took a slow sip of champagne. “Interesting. Because six years ago, you all had no problem doing things publicly when I was the one being humiliated.”
Richard stepped closer. “Whatever game you think you’re playing—”
