"Stand up straight." Julian shoved a crystal flute into my hand.
"I don't drink." I pushed the glass back toward his chest.
"Hold it," Julian ordered, his jaw tight. "It makes you look less like a vagrant."
I wrapped my fingers around the stem. The ballroom buzzed with the low, wealthy chatter of a hundred elite guests. Crystal chandeliers cast a harsh, blinding glare over the crowd. I tugged at the collar of the stiff, suffocating gown Eleanor had forced over my head an hour ago.
"Stop fidgeting," Eleanor hissed as she glided past me. "You are embarrassing us."
"I'm just standing here," I replied.
"Exactly. You stand like a thug."
A sudden burst of applause drowned out my response.
At the center of the room, Clara rose from the grand piano. She bowed, the skirt of her custom silk dress sweeping the polished floor.
"Magnificent!" an older woman in diamonds cheered from the front row.
"Such grace," a man in a tuxedo agreed, nodding approvingly at Julian. "The Veyra family raised a true prodigy."
Julian beamed, clapping loudly. "She works very hard."
The tuxedo man turned his gaze toward me. His smile vanished. "And this is the biological match?"
"Elara," Julian said, his tone instantly flattening.
The man looked me up and down. "She lacks... refinement. Look at those shoulders. Slouched like a street urchin."
"Where did they find her?" another guest muttered nearby. "She looks completely out of place."
"I can hear you," I announced.
The group of elites simply turned their backs on me, sipping their champagne as if I didn't exist.
Clara weaved through the crowd, accepting compliments and air-kisses. She aimed straight for me, her face glowing with manufactured warmth.
"Elara!" Clara called out, loud enough to draw every eye in our vicinity.
She threw her arms around my neck, staging a perfect sisterly embrace for the onlookers.
I stood completely rigid.
Clara leaned her head against my shoulder. "You look so lost," she whispered into my ear, her tone venomous.
"Get off me," I muttered.
"Smile for the cameras, sister," Clara murmured, squeezing tighter. "You reek of cheap diner grease. That dress costs more than your miserable life, and you still make it look like absolute trash."
I let out a loud, genuine laugh.
Clara flinched, pulling back slightly. Confusion flickered across her perfect features.
"You try so hard, Clara," I said, keeping my voice bright. "It must be exhausting."
I raised the champagne flute I had previously refused and took a long, mocking sip.
Clara’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. Before she could fire back, the crowd suddenly parted.
The chatter died down. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
A young man stepped through the gap in the guests. He wore a sharp, midnight-blue suit. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his expression held a bored, arrogant superiority.
"Silas," Clara gasped, instantly dropping her hostile glare. She smoothed her skirt and offered a radiant smile.
Silas Thorne ignored her. He walked right past Clara and stopped directly in front of me.
He towered over me, his dark eyes scanning my face, my poorly pinned hair, and the awkward way the expensive gown hung on my frame.
"Silas," Julian greeted, stepping forward quickly. "Thank you for attending."
"Julian," Silas replied, never taking his eyes off me. "You downgraded your guest list."
"This is Elara," Julian said, his voice straining to remain polite. "My daughter."
"I know what she is supposed to be," Silas stated.
"I am standing right here," I told him. "Speak to me, not about me."
Silas finally met my gaze. "I don't converse with charity cases."
"Good. You look incredibly boring anyway," I shot back.
A collective gasp echoed through the surrounding guests. Eleanor dropped her clutch. It hit the floor with a dull thud.
Silas did not blink. His expression remained entirely unreadable.
"Apologize to him," Eleanor demanded, grabbing my elbow. "Right now."
"For what?" I yanked my arm away. "He insulted me first."
Silas turned his attention to the crowd. He pitched his voice to carry across the entire ballroom.
"The real daughter is a fraud," Silas declared.
Silence swallowed the room.
Julian’s face drained of color. "Silas, please. She is still adjusting to our world."
"There is nothing to adjust to," Silas continued, his voice cold and commanding. "She possesses no grace. No manners. No value."
He gestured vaguely toward Clara, who was watching the scene with poorly concealed delight.
"She is a complete disappointment," Silas finished, looking me dead in the eye. "The true bloodline is far inferior to the fake one."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the elite crowd.
"He is right."
"A total embarrassment."
"The Veyras must be humiliated."
I stared at Silas. My chest tightened, but I refused to let the panic from yesterday resurface. I locked my knees and held my ground.
"Are you done?" I asked him.
"I haven't even started," Silas replied softly.
He turned on his heel and walked away, the crowd parting for him once again.
Clara stepped up beside me. She didn't bother whispering this time.
"Silas Thorne runs Crestview Academy," Clara said, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. "He just gave the entire school permission to destroy you."
A flash of light caught my eye.
I turned my head. Several teenagers in designer suits and cocktail dresses were huddled in the corner. They held their phones up, cameras pointed squarely at me.
A girl with bright red lipstick tapped her screen rapidly, laughing with her friends.
"Check the school forum," Clara suggested.
I didn't have a phone, but I didn't need one to know what was happening.
The whispers in the ballroom shifted. The word spread from screen to screen, passing through the local networks faster than a virus.
"Look at this post," a guest nearby muttered to his wife, holding up a glowing screen.
I caught a glimpse of the bold black text over a candid photo of me slouching by the buffet.
*The Trash of the Narrows. Elara does not deserve the Veyra name.*
"Tomorrow is going to be so much fun," Clara chimed.
I stared at the glowing screens multiplying across the dark room, realizing the nightmare hadn't just begun—it was already going viral.
