A ripple of hushed laughter echoed from a cluster of her wealthy friends nearby.

Daniel’s jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter. For seven long years, he’d meticulously curated a specific image of me for his social circle: Claire, the soft, forgettable accessory.

Claire, the meek, domesticated spouse who silently signed the philanthropic checks, organized the galas, and evaporated into the background when the real adults were talking business.

I didn’t let the mockery break my rhythm.

I stepped forward, closing the distance, and gently placed the silver box directly into Elena’s manicured hands.

“A gift. For you,” I murmured.

She offered a condescending sigh and untied the silk ribbon.

She lifted the lid.