Most smiled back with the kind of courtesy that fills gaps in small talk but means nothing.
A few kept their eyes fixed elsewhere, already engrossed in their conversations.
The ballroom was a labyrinth of round tables draped in white linen, each adorned with candles and delicate arrangements.
I glanced at the place cards as I passed, names written in looping gold script.
The closer I moved toward the back, the more I felt the truth of something an old mentor once told me.
Seating charts are quiet declarations of rank.
Finally, I spotted my name.
My table was tucked directly beside the double doors, swinging into the kitchen.
Every time a server pushed through, a wave of heat and the clang of metal trays followed.
The smell of seared fish and garlic butter drifted over me.
Not unpleasant, but it was hard to imagine anyone else here enjoying their meal to the sound of shouted orders and clattering pans.
From my vantage point, I had a clear line of sight to the center of the room where Sirene sat beside our parents at the largest table, a place of honor.
She was laughing at something our father had just said, head tilted back, her hair catching the light in a way that would have looked perfect on a magazine cover.
She thrived in settings like this.
A server squeezed past me, nearly bumping my chair.
“Sorry, miss,” he murmured before disappearing into the kitchen.
I shiftтed closer to the table, resisting the urge to scoot entirely out of the way.
If they wanted me hidden here, I wasn’t going to make myself smaller.
I rested my hand on the cool linen and took a slow breath.
This wasn’t new.
They’d done it before in smaller ways.
Subtle positioning, quiet omissions.
But tonight, everything was heightened.
I told myself there would be better moments to make an impression, and I would take them when they came.
The first course was being served when Sirene appeared at my side, wine glass in hand.
She leaned in with that effortless charm she wore like perfume, her smile warm enough for anyone watching.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she murmured, voice low and sweet.
“This is your last time at the center of anything,”
I met her gaze, letting the weight of her words settle.
“Out loud,” I answered lightly.
“I’ve always preferred the view from the edge.
It’s where you see the whole game.”
I saw her smile tighten for half a beat before she tossed her hair and drifted back to her table, clearly satisfied she’d landed her blow.
I let my eyes wander across the room.
A cousin two tables over was smirking.
An older aunt looked down at her plate as if she hadn’t heard a thing.
And then there was Hollis leaning against a column near the far wall, watching the exchange with a look that said, “I saw that.”
They gave me the smallest of nods, a silent reminder that not everyone in the room was against me.
I took another sip of water, letting the coolness steady me.
The night was still young, and if the first act was any indication they had more lined up, I just wondered how many little cuts they intended to deliver before the night was over.
Dinner had been served, though I’d barely touched the food.
From my seat tucked near the kitchen doors, I pushed the roasted vegetables around with my fork, half listening to the hum of cutlery and conversation.
The jazz trio in the corner played something smooth and low, almost swallowed by the constant swing of the doors beside me and the bursts of heat that came with them.
Across the room, my parents leaned in toward a man I recognized immediately, a local magazine editor I’d met just a month ago.
He’d been polite and genuinely curious about my capstone project in environmental engineering.
Two weeks earlier, he’d told me they were running a feature on it.
Curiosity got the better of me.
When a server passed, I rose and made my way toward the table, keeping to the edge so I didn’t intrude.
That’s when I saw it.
The glossy new issue of the magazine lying open between them.
There was my project, the diagrams, the photo of the river cleanup site I’d worked on for months. only the name in bold wasn’t mine.
It was Sirene’s.