At the front of the room, the lights dimmed. The chatter died as Alden stepped up to the microphone, and every eye shifted to the patriarch. He launched into a polished, well-rehearsed speech about legacy, family honor, and corporate continuity.

I listened without moving. He spoke of the Rowe name not as a family but as an elite brand — a fortress of superiority inherited by blood. He framed Calder as the rightful next heir to the throne, and referred to Liora as a “most welcome addition,” a phrase that sounded like a compliment and landed like a claim of ownership.

Then his gaze drifted deliberately across the crowd and landed on the back of the room. On me.

“There are always those,” Alden projected, his voice echoing off the marble, “who mistake distance for dignity. But tonight we do not focus on them. Tonight we honor those who remain loyal to something greater than their own selfish desires.”

A few heads near me turned my way. Sloane leaned over. “Is he talking about you?”

“Yes.”