My sister Maren curled her perfectly manicured fingers around my wrist the instant I walked into the ballroom at the Blackstone Hotel in Chicago. Crystal chandeliers glittered above rows of donors, surgeons, politicians, and reporters, all assembled for the annual Voss Family Foundation gala. I hadn’t been invited. I’d been summoned by a message from my mother twenty minutes earlier: Come quietly. Do not embarrass us.
Maren beamed as though she were ushering me into a heartfelt reunion. “There you are,” she said, guiding me toward a tall man in a midnight suit near the stage. “Ronan, this is our family’s failure. My big sister, Elara.”
Behind us, my father let out a quiet laugh. “She had every opportunity and still managed to waste herself.”
My mother raised her champagne glass without glancing my way. “She’s a total embarrassment, but she never misses a chance to show up where successful people gather.”
A few guests nearby fell silent. I felt every gaze settle on my black department-store dress, my worn heels, and the inexpensive coat I hadn’t even checked. Maren thrived on an audience. She leaned closer to Ronan Pike, the venture philanthropist everyone in the city had been discussing, and added, “She used to think she was smarter than the rest of us.”
Ronan didn’t laugh. He looked at me, his face draining so quickly that even Maren noticed. “Ma’am,” he said, his voice catching, “I… didn’t realize you’d be here tonight.”
