First message
High school reunions were strange. Ten years ago these people would’ve done anything to sit at my lunch table. Now they were adults behaving as if popularity had never mattered.
I smiled anyway.
It was the smile I’d perfected through years of charity galas, business dinners, and magazine photos beside my husband. Conversations always drifted to vacations, jewelry, houses, and, inevitably, Damien.
I never got tired of talking about Damien Pierce. Billionaire CEO. Founder of Pierce, Inc. Handsome. Successful. Powerful.
My husband.
Across the ballroom, Damien sat alone near the back, looking bored. He hated events like this. I tried not to let his distance bother me. He wasn’t affectionate and never had been. Damien was reserved, serious, impossible to read. Eventually he’d come around. He had to. I was his wife.
A familiar laugh sounded near the entrance. My mood darkened. Her. Of course she came.
For years I’d watched her life unfold online. Every promotion, achievement, and praise-filled photo reminded me she wasn’t supposed to become this. She was supposed to stay the awkward nobody from high school.
Instead she entered the ballroom looking elegant, confident, and beautiful. The worst part? She wasn’t even trying. People noticed her immediately.
I noticed Damien looking her way.
My stomach tightened.
I forced a smile and returned to my conversation, pretending not to care, not to watch her across the room, not to compare myself to her.