“I am not joking, Maya,” Julian said, his tone biting. “For the past six months, your parents have gone out of their way to humiliate Clara, painting her as a ‘worthless failure’ while forcing me to play along with your family’s sick narrative. They told me she was broke, unstable, and cut off from society. But they forgot one tiny, crucial detail.”
Then Julian slowly turned his head toward the back of the room.
Toward table twelve.
Toward me.
The hardness in his expression softened into something completely different.
Respect.
Warmth.
He gave me a small, reassuring nod.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
What was he doing?
Julian raised his voice so the microphones carried every word.
“The only reason this venue was booked, the only reason this catering company is here, and the only reason any of you are sitting in this room tonight is because Clara Vance paid for every single cent of it.”
