Chapter 2

I stood frozen at the edge of the room, watching as the servers brought in the first course—delicate plates of seared scallops that I had personally selected to start Ryan's celebration dinner. The conversation around the table had resumed, though I caught several guests casting pitying glances in my direction. My cream dress suddenly felt too tight, the pearls at my neck like a noose.

Marcus sat at the head of the table—my rightful place—with Amanda beside him, her red dress a splash of blood against the white tablecloth. Ryan had arrived moments after them, barely acknowledging me with a nod before taking the seat on Amanda's other side. The three of them formed a perfect tableau, laughing and whispering as though this were their celebration, not mine.

When the scallops were served, I saw my moment. I picked up my champagne glass and gently tapped it with my fork, the crystal ringing clear above the din of conversation.

"I'd like to propose a toast," I began, my voice steady despite the knot in my throat. "To Ryan, whose dedication these past three years has been extraordinary. Those late nights reviewing calculus problems, the weekends I spent driving you to debate tournaments—"

The scrape of Marcus's chair cut through my words as he stood, reaching for the microphone I hadn't noticed sitting by his plate. He brushed past me as if I were invisible, his shoulder bumping mine hard enough to slosh champagne onto my fingers.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," he boomed, his voice drowning out mine completely. "This is a proud moment for the Sterling family. Ryan's acceptance to Harvard represents everything we've worked for."

I lowered my glass slowly, feeling the eyes of the room shift from me to Marcus. No one seemed to notice or care that he had interrupted me.

"But we wouldn't be celebrating tonight without the invaluable support of someone very special," Marcus continued, his gaze warm as he looked down at Amanda. "Amanda has been Ryan's rock through this entire application process. Her connections at the alumni office, her late nights reviewing his essays, her unwavering belief in his potential—these are the things that made the difference."

Amanda ducked her head in false modesty, her red lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Ryan beamed at her, nodding enthusiastically.

"To Amanda," Marcus concluded, raising his glass. "The true support behind Ryan's success."

"To Amanda!" echoed the table, glasses lifting in unison.

Something snapped inside me. Three years of my life erased in a single toast. Three years of flashcards and study sessions, of college visits and application deadlines, of putting my own dreams on hold—all credited to a woman who had done nothing but smile and nod.

"That's not true," I said, my voice cutting through the clink of glasses. The table fell silent, all eyes turning to me. "I was the one who stayed up with Ryan every night. I was the one who drove him to every interview. I was the one who—"

"For God's sake, Victoria," Marcus hissed, his face darkening. "Can't you let someone else have the spotlight for once?"

"But it's not true," I insisted, looking desperately at Ryan. "Tell them, Ryan. Tell them about all the work we did together."

Ryan's face flushed with embarrassment or anger—I couldn't tell which. "Mom, you're making a scene," he muttered, not meeting my eyes.

"I'm making a scene?" My voice rose despite my efforts to control it. "I'm simply stating facts. I gave up everything for you—my career, my company—"

"Your company?" Marcus laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. "Sterling Enterprises was nothing before I took over. Nothing!"

The viciousness in his voice shocked me into silence. I'd never heard him speak to me this way in public. The guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats, suddenly fascinated by their scallops.

"You're just jealous," Marcus continued, his voice rising. "Jealous that Amanda can do everything you couldn't. Jealous that Ryan prefers her guidance to yours. Jealous that I—"

He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he grabbed his wine glass—filled with a rich Bordeaux I had selected to pair with the main course—and flung its contents directly at my face.

The red wine hit me like a slap, soaking my face, my pearls, my cream dress. Gasps erupted around the table as the liquid dripped down my chin, staining everything it touched a violent crimson.

For a moment, no one moved. I stood there, dripping, the metallic taste of the wine mixing with salt as tears welled in my eyes. Then Amanda was beside me, napkin in hand, dabbing at my face with feigned concern.

"Oh, Victoria," she murmured, loud enough for nearby guests to hear. "Let me help you clean up. I know this must be so difficult for you."

She leaned closer, her lips nearly touching my ear. "You've always been so hostile toward me," she whispered. "No wonder they prefer my company to yours."

As she pulled back, her eyes met mine, cold and triumphant. Behind her, I could see the guests' expressions shifting from shock to pity—not for me, but for poor Amanda, forced to deal with the difficult, jealous wife who couldn't handle her son's success.