And then I had finished the sentence.

“I’m sorry you think this ends here.” The room had gone silent, and Preston had gripped my chin and asked whether I was still pretending to be important, and his mother, Colette, had laughed from beside the champagne tower and said, for everyone to hear, “She came from nothing.

She should be grateful we allowed her into this family at all.”

That was the convenient story the Calloway family told everyone about me.