The s:lap rang louder than the crystal champagne glasses. For one horrible second, all two hundred relatives went completely silent—and then the whispers started, my name passing between them like something filthy.

My cheek burned beneath my hand. My father towered over me in his black suit, face red, shaking with a fury that felt rehearsed instead of shocked.

“Give it back and kneel,” he thundered.

Across the ballroom, my stepmother Celeste pressed trembling fingers against her throat. Her diamond necklace sparkled beneath the chandeliers, but her matching bracelet was supposedly “missing.” She made sure everyone heard that word. Missing. Then she made sure every eye turned toward me.