Victoria, her perfect bridal smile long gone, pulled Arthur away from our table. She dragged him toward the bar area, her elaborate train swishing impatiently behind her.
Their voices were hushed, but the desperation in Victoria’s tone carried across the room. She kept glancing back at Marcus and me.
“This is going to ruin everything, Dad!” I heard her snap, barely muffled by the ambient music. “My reception! This cost two hundred ten thousand dollars!”
I watched them, a strange sense of detachment settling over me. Two hundred ten thousand dollars. The exact figure of my new annual salary.
Victoria stormed back, her eyes red-rimmed, and stopped abruptly beside me. She ignored Marcus completely.
“You just have to behave, Clara,” Victoria hissed, grabbing my arm. Her fingernails dug into my skin. “Just for tonight. Do you know how much Dad sacrificed for this wedding?”
Her voice was tight, trembling.
“He even had to hide your stupid fellowship mail for months just so you’d feel like you *had* to come! Just to make sure you were here tonight.”
I froze. My breath caught in my throat.
“My… fellowship mail?” I whispered, staring at her.
For months, I’d been plagued by inexplicable delays, missed stipends, and critical notices that never arrived from the university. I’d attributed it to administrative errors, the chaos of post-bankruptcy life, anything but deliberate malice.
Victoria caught herself, her eyes widening in horror at what she’d revealed. Her hand flew to her mouth, but it was too late.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. It wasn’t just my father’s empty threats tonight. It was a calculated, months-long effort to isolate me, to make me feel financially helpless and dependent. To ensure I would be forced into this performance, begging for my tuition.
“You knew,” I said, my voice flat, barely above a whisper. “Both of you.”
Victoria’s gaze flickered away, a guilty flush creeping up her neck. She mumbled something about “Dad just trying to protect us” before turning abruptly and stalking back towards Julian.
The knot in my stomach twisted tighter. The contrast was stark: my sister’s lavish, stolen dream wedding, and my months of quiet struggle, unknowingly orchestrated by my own family.
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