Through the ballroom doors, I could see my father still on stage, posing for photographs with Josephine.

My mother worked the room, accepting congratulations as if she’d earned them herself.

If I did this—if I invoked the will—I’d destroy every relationship I had left. My parents would never forgive me. Josephine would see it as a betrayal.

But if I stayed silent, I’d accept their verdict forever. I’d become exactly what they’d always said I was.

The failure. The slow one. The daughter who didn’t matter.

“Miss Ashford,” Woods’s voice cut through my thoughts.