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I never told my boyfriend’s arrogant parents that I was the one who owned the bank holding all their debt. To them, I was just “some barista with no future.” At their luxury yacht party, his mother sneered and shoved a drink into my hands, spilling it down my dress. “Staff should stay below deck,” she said coldly. His father laughed. “Careful—don’t ruin the furniture.”

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Carter had not yet decided which kind of moment Sunday would become.

The yacht party began at three in the afternoon under a sky so blue it looked manufactured. The marina glittered with chrome, white hulls, and the peculiar stillness of money at rest. Carter arrived alone in a dark car with tinted windows, stepped out in a simple ivory dress, and continue reading …

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