By the time I arrived at the penthouse that evening, Sebastian had already transformed our private dinner into a performance. His investors sat around the marble table, his mother Bianca beside him, and his sister Delphine watched me with the practiced smile she reserved for difficult people. Sebastian barely looked up as I entered. He was angry that I had questioned the wedding budget, and he made certain everyone heard him. “You always act as if everything belongs to you,” he said. “Maybe you should stop pretending the outcome is guaranteed.”

I said nothing then. I had spent two years paying for the life he presented as his achievement: the venue, suites, introductions, even emergency financing that kept his company alive last spring. But his words changed something. When dinner ended, I went upstairs and opened the folder my father had sent that morning. Inside was a letter bearing crest. I read it twice, then smiled, because for the first time, I understood exactly what I was going to do.