“What on earth is that?” she demanded, gesturing with her clutch.

I folded my hands in front of me. “A surprise. A centerpiece for the evening.”

Vanessa’s lips curled. “You really should avoid grand surprises, Claire. In my experience, they rarely flatter desperate women. You don’t want to come across as try-hard.”

Before I could respond, the door opened again. Richard swept in, a booming, red-faced patriarch in a bespoke suit, carrying a bottle of vintage Bordeaux he fully expected me to praise for ten minutes.

Behind him trailed Daniel’s sisters, Chloe and Beatrice, clutching designer bags and whispering fiercely.

They brushed past me without a word, laughing at a private joke. They’d spent five years calling me “The Temp” behind my back. Tonight they immediately swarmed Vanessa, kissing her cheeks, complimenting her diamonds, completely ignoring the woman whose house they’d just walked into.