Sarah’s wedding invitation arrived in a cream envelope thick enough to announce wealth before it was opened.
For a moment, I simply stared at it.
No apology came with it. No handwritten note. No “we miss you.”
Just my name, printed like a formality.
They were not inviting me because they loved me.
They were inviting me because absence creates questions, and rich families hate questions.
Sarah was marrying into the Vale family, old money with new power. Her future father-in-law, Marcus Vale, was known for buying broken companies and turning them into empires.
What my family did not know was that Marcus had once sat across from me in a private boardroom and called me the sharpest strategist he had ever met.
So I accepted the invitation.
Not for revenge.
For truth.