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.”
Final signatures Monday, but control is effectively secured. Crestline is ours.
Carter read it once, then again, and felt the afternoon tilt into a sharper kind of focus. She lifted her eyes slowly to the party around her—to Richard boasting beside the bar, to Victoria basking in borrowed status, to Ethan wearing his silence like good manners.
