I never told my family that I own a 1.5 billion empire. They still see me as a failure. So, they invited me to Christmas Eve dinner to humiliate me, to celebrate my sister becoming a CEO earning $600,000 a year.
I wanted to see how they treated someone they believed was poor, so I pretended to be a naive, broken girl.
But the moment I walked through the door, I stood outside the house where I grew up, the winter wind clawing through the thin thrift store coat I had chosen on purpose, frayed at the cuffs, missing a button, deliberately worn so no one inside would suspect it was merely a costume. Through the frosted windows, warm yellow lights spilled across silhouettes moving in celebration.
I could hear laughter, clinking glasses, the high-pitched shimmer of women admiring each other’s dresses. And right in the center of the living room, hanging beneath the glossy chandelier, was a massive banner.
“Congratulations, Vivien, our CEO.”
My sister’s triumph displayed like a family crest.
They had not invited me home for love or reunion. They invited me so I could witness my own supposed failure reflected in her success. They thought I would shrink when placed beside her glow.
What they didn’t know was that the woman they were waiting to belittle tonight was the founder of a $1.5 billion empire.
They saw my worn boots. They saw my cheap purse with a broken zipper.
They saw the ponytail I tied without care, but they never saw me. And tonight, I was ready to observe exactly how far people would go to mistreat someone they believed had nothing left to offer.
The front door opened before I even reached for the handle.
My mother, Loretta Hart, stepped into the doorway with a smile so polite it bordered on brittle. She looked dressed for an upscale holiday gala—emerald satin dress, pearls, hair meticulously curled. Her eyes swept over me like a scanner evaluating damage.
“Well, you made it,” she said, stepping aside without offering a hug.
“Everyone’s in the living room. Try not to track snow in, dear.”
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me as warm air washed over my cold skin.
The house still smelled of cinnamon and cranberry cider, the way it always did on Christmas Eve. Garlands wrapped the banister, candles flickered on side tables, and the scent of expensive wine drifted from the kitchen.
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