Not a quiet family dinner. A full banquet.
Thirty-two guests sat beneath crystal chandeliers inside Bellamy Hall, one of the city’s most expensive venues. At the center table sat Nolan in a navy suit, visibly uncomfortable, while his new girlfriend, Alina Cross, smiled beside him in a white satin gown.
Marjorie stood behind them, lifting a champagne glass proudly.
The caption beneath the photo made my stomach twist.
“To new beginnings. Welcome to the family, Alina.”
I stared at the image for nearly a minute before laughing once — not because it was funny, but because it was exactly the kind of thing Marjorie would do. She never simply replaced people. She turned it into a performance.
At 9:46 that night, my phone rang.
Marjorie.
I almost ignored it, but something made me answer.
Her voice came through sharp, breathless, and humiliated.
