The room erupted in applause. On stage, my sister Vanessa was beaming. She wore a white silk dress that probably cost more than a mid-size sedan, and a diamond necklace adorned her neck, reflecting every light in the room. She held a bouquet of red roses, “Heroine of the Hour.”
“It’s nothing,” Vanessa said into the microphone, her voice a practiced mix of humility and triumph. “Just months of sleepless nights, countless negotiations, and refusing to let my father’s dreams die. I knew Aurora Holdings would see our value if I just pushed hard enough.”
I sat at a small, round table at the back of the room, hidden behind a large flower arrangement, conveniently close to the kitchen door. I was a shadow at the table. I wore a simple black dress, elegant but not overdone, and my hair was tied in a practical bun. My five-year-old son, Leo, was sitting on my lap. He was a quiet child, observant and gentle, and at the moment he was playing with a small toy car.
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