PART 1: The Scent of Old Money and Hidden Betrayals
The wedding invitation arrived on a chilly Tuesday morning.
It was printed on thick, cream-colored cardstock, carrying the faint fragrance of pressed lilies and the unmistakable pretension of inherited wealth. An elaborate wax seal decorated the envelope, displaying the crest of a family my older sister had not even officially married into yet.
Vanessa had already embraced that family emblem as though it were proof of her superiority.
I sat behind my desk, slowly running my fingers over the gold-leaf lettering announcing her upcoming marriage to Nathan, a wealthy venture capitalist who seemed blissfully unaware of the woman he was about to marry.
The invitation itself was extravagant, but it wasn’t what made my stomach tighten.
For illustration purposes only
Tucked inside was a handwritten message from my mother.
Her sharp, unmistakable handwriting covered a small piece of stationery.
Emma, please dress plainly. The attendees are highly accomplished. Let’s not have a repeat of the Oakhaven incident. And please, do not bore Nathan’s family with talk of your little bookkeeping business.
