Chapter 1

Margaret, my mother-in-law, insisted on celebrating her birthday at an upscale restaurant, and I bent over backward to secure a prime-time reservation.

But then, without warning, she sneered at me and snapped, "You're so fake. Just putting on a show for the neighbors."

I froze, completely blindsided.

She curled her lip and kept digging, "You've got a little change in your pocket and you just can't wait to flaunt it.

"Booking five-star tables like they're diners, dropping grand sums on premium spa memberships, buying designer labels without a second thought—you're nothing like Kayla, who actually knows how to clip coupons and run a home properly."

My face hardened.

She was the one who demanded the bistro, the spa treatments, and the wardrobe in the first place.

So now, because I picked up the tab, I'm the one trying to buy my way into high society?

*****

Leading up to her birthday, Margaret flooded my inbox with clips of the Four Seasons.

She dropped hint after hint, some subtle and some like a sledgehammer, about how she wanted a massive milestone bash for all the relatives and her social circle.

I broke my back pulling strings to lock down the venue and even drove her down to scout it out.

Margaret scanned the gold-leaf ceiling, her eyes glimmering with pure greed.

I felt a surge of pride, thinking I'd finally hit the mark for her.

But then she pivoted toward me and spat, "You're so fake."

I forced a stiff smile.

"Margaret, what's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my voice tight.

Margaret crossed her arms and threw me a dismissive, sideways look.

She muttered, "Nothing special.

"You've got a little change in your pocket and you just can't wait to flaunt it.

"Booking five-star tables like they're diners, dropping grand sums on premium spa memberships, buying designer labels without a second thought—you're nothing like Kayla, who actually knows how to clip coupons and run a home properly."

"I'm just giving you the benefit of my experience, honey. That flashy lifestyle isn't how a respectable woman carries herself."

Kayla was my sister-in-law.

Hearing Margaret twist my generosity into a character flaw, I felt my blood start to simmer.

"Margaret, then enlighten me—how exactly am I supposed to live?" I snapped back.

Margaret didn't skip a beat, blurted out, "Like Kayla, obviously. She doesn't set fire to her cash like you do, and she's actually grounded and knows the value of a dollar.

"Last week when I mentioned my migraine, you were frantically calling specialists and shoving random pills at me, making me feel like an invalid.

"Kayla just called and told me to get some rest and have a bowl of chicken soup, and you know what? It worked.

"I posted on Facebook that I was craving something sweet. Kayla messaged me instantly, saying sugar would just make my inflammation worse, but you went and bought a mountain of those overpriced organic strawberries. Naturally, I felt sick the second I finished them.

"And about this birthday—do you really think you did me a favor with that reservation? Kayla had it settled weeks ago—she's staying home to slow-cook me a pot roast from scratch."

As she spoke, she leveled a pointed, judgmental stare at me.

"It's pretty obvious who's actually putting in the heart and who's just trying to buy their way out of a real relationship," she said.

I went dead silent.

Seeing she'd shut me down, Margaret stepped closer and patted my hand with fake sympathy.

She said, "Don't get defensive. I'm just trying to show you how a real woman handles her business.

"Kayla's family isn't as well-off as yours, and whether you're flaunting it in her face or not is one thing—but using my birthday to make her feel small? Honestly, don't you think that's a bit much?"

The guests shifted, their eyes burning into me.

I felt the heat crawl up my neck, but I stood my ground, refusing to be the villain.

"But Margaret, you were the one who specifically asked for—" I started.

Margaret just waved a dismissive hand, cutting the air between us.

"Whatever, it's already booked, no sense letting the deposit go to waste. Just try to have some class next time," she said.

With that, she turned her back and marched away, loud enough for the room to hear.

"All the money in the world can't buy a shred of sincerity," she grumbled.

I watched her retreat, my heart turning to ice.