“Go get more ice.”
Caroline didn’t even look at me when she said it. She just flicked her wrist in my direction, dismissing me the way you’d send away catering staff.
A few guests nearby exchanged polite glances. Some smirked. Others pretended to be deeply fascinated by their champagne glasses.
The ballroom shimmered beneath layers of crystal chandeliers. Every table was draped in silk. Every centerpiece was curated to whisper wealth. My father stood at the head table, laughing loudly with investors and longtime associates.
This wasn’t just a wedding.
It was a spectacle.
A strategic alliance disguised as romance.
A public display of status and control.
And I was nothing more than part of the décor.
“Table nine’s glasses are empty,” Caroline added, her tone sugar-coated but sharp underneath. “Let’s not embarrass ourselves.”
I nodded and lifted the silver ice bucket.
Compliance had always been my assigned role.
The daughter who never quite measured up.
The one who didn’t marry into influence.
The one who left the country instead of orbiting around the family name.
They called my ventures “experiments.” Temporary distractions. Corporate hobbies.
My phone vibrated against my hip.
I stepped into the catering hallway, away from the music and applause, and pulled it out.
The screen glowed.
Transfer Confirmed. Majority Stake Acquired.
Aurelius Global Holdings – 51% Ownership Registered to Evelyn Hart.
For a split second, the world felt weightless.
Four point two billion dollars.
Signed.
Approved.
Legally secured.
The final regulatory clearance had just gone through.
Aurelius Global—the very conglomerate that quietly absorbed my father’s failing company three years ago—now answered to me.
I stood still, staring at the notification.
Fifty-one percent.
Control.
Through the glass doors, I could see Caroline laughing elegantly, greeting guests like royalty in her kingdom. My father beamed beside her, basking in applause for a future he thought he still commanded.
They admired the flowers.
The champagne towers.
The illusion of permanence.
I let a slow smile spread across my face.
Not sharp.
Not triumphant.
Just certain.
Then I placed the ice bucket on a nearby counter.
And instead of heading toward table nine—
I walked back into the ballroom.
