On the second day of the New Year holiday, the whole family gathered at Uncle Gerald's place. I pulled up to his door in the new Mercedes I'd bought with my year-end bonus.
I'd barely sat down when my cousin Philippa Matthews turned to me with a saccharine smile plastered across her face.
"So, Monica Mason, you must've made a killing working as a bar hostess last year. You're already driving a Mercedes?"
The lively chatter died instantly. Every pair of eyes in the room swiveled toward me like spotlights, sharp and probing.
I assumed she was joking. I smiled and let it slide. But she only pushed harder.
"I mean, a girl with your credentials must be a real hit at the clubs, right? What do they pay, a thousand a pop?"
The looks from my relatives shifted. Curiosity curdled into contempt.
"Monica always seemed so wholesome. How could she do something like that?"
"She's the only postgrad our whole village ever produced. Her parents sacrificed everything for her, and this is what she does with it? Disgraceful."
My parents' faces turned ashen. The way they looked at me could have frozen fire.
"Monica! Why on earth would you work as a bar hostess?"
I opened my mouth to explain, but Philippa let out a smug little laugh.
"Why do you think? For the money, obviously. Spread your legs and the cash rolls in. You must pull in at least two hundred grand a year, right, Monica?"
I stared at her. Then I laughed, cold and sharp.
"You're lowballing me. I make a million a year."
……
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Every gaze locked onto me, loaded with shock, pity, and a nauseating sense of confirmation.
"Oh my God, so she really is doing that. A million dollars? How many men would she have to sleep with?"
"How can she be so shameless? Lord have mercy, don't tell anyone I know her. I'd die of embarrassment."
"This is what happens when you educate a girl. You drag her out of a small town and she goes straight downhill without even realizing it. What a waste."
"Her poor parents. Scrimped and saved every penny just to put a tramp through school."
Their words sliced through me like needles, each one burying itself deeper. My fingers curled into fists beneath the table.
I had been top of my class for as long as I could remember. The only postgraduate our village had ever produced. The kid everyone praised, the example every parent held up to their children.
And now, one baseless accusation had torn all of that to shreds.
Aunt Dorothy Caldwell stepped in quickly, trying to shield me.
"That's enough, all of you. Monica works at a major firm in the city. A million dollars is obviously her salary."
Philippa curled her lip, her smile thin and mocking.
"Come on, Aunt Dorothy, stop covering for her. What kind of position pays a million-dollar salary? She's only been working a few years. Even at a hundred grand a year, she wouldn't need to moonlight as a hostess."
A hundred grand a year?
She really did see me as nothing. Like peering through a crack in the door and assuming the whole world was that narrow.
I worked in finance, at one of the most prestigious investment banks in the country. My expertise and my instinct for the market had led me to back several under-the-radar ventures over the past few years, generating billions in revenue for the firm. A million-dollar salary was a bargain for what I brought to the table, and that wasn't even counting bonuses and commissions.
All in, my annual earnings hovered somewhere between $1.7 and $2 million. The idea that I'd sell myself for a hundred thousand was laughable.
I brought my fingers down hard on the table, the sharp rap cutting through the noise. My eyes locked onto hers, ice-cold.
"Did you see me working as a hostess with your own eyes? Philippa, spreading slander is a crime."
Philippa didn't flinch. She pressed a hand over her mouth, giggling as though I'd said something genuinely amusing.
"Look at you, getting all worked up over a little teasing. If you can do it, why can't you own it?"
"What exactly did I do? Spell it out."
She shrugged, pursing her lips in a look that said you asked for it, so don't blame me for not sparing your dignity.
Dorothy clamped a hand over Philippa's mouth before she could spin another lie, her tone caught between scolding and warning.
"All right, that's enough. You two have been bickering like this since you were kids. Drop it. There's a whole table full of food here. Surely that's enough to keep your mouth busy."
