I was juggling caterers and florists, trying to finalize the details for the engagement party scheduled for the holiday weekend. That evening, I scrolled past a trending gossip thread: “OMG, you guys, I’m dying. My friend—the one who’s always been so boring and always been less than me—is marrying up! His family? Major players, serious Capitol Hill connections. They’re flying in this weekend to meet her family, and the rehearsal dinner is at my family’s high-end hotel! She’s basically rubbing it in my face! I’m so angry, how do I crash this dinner and ruin her engagement?” The comments were mostly people condemning her for being a psychopath. But one comment, which she had pinned and ‘liked,’ jumped out: “Simple. Kitchens have huge blind spots. Swap out the expensive, fresh-prepped meals with cheap, expired, industrial-grade frozen meals. Use heavily seasoned stuff to mask the taste and expiry date. You might even pocket a little refund.” “That kind of family—the polished, political type—won’t make a scene, but they will absolutely blacklist her family internally for disrespect. A dinner like that is enough to send her straight to the curb. You’ll hear about their breakup in two days…” A message notification from my best friend, Tatum Sinclair, popped up at the top of my screen: “Babe! I looked over the menu. Don’t worry about a thing! I personally told the kitchen to use the absolute freshest, high-grade ingredients to make sure you have the perfect event. It’s your big day, after all (hug emoji).” 1 I stared at the rapidly escalating post, my mind completely numb. No way… could this be that much of a coincidence? I tapped the anonymous account. The profile was a decade's worth of fragmented, continuous posts, all centered on one person. It started with things like: “My deskmate lost thirty pounds over summer break. What should I do? She’s clearly prettier than me now. If I slipped her weight gain pills, would anyone notice?” It progressed to: “She scored 150 points higher than me on the SATs, sob. My dad already compares me to her, now she’ll outpace me forever, sob. But I have access to her college portal—if I change her university application to a community college, she won’t notice, right?” “It worked! She missed her deadlines and didn't get into her top school! Hehe!” My eyes narrowed into slits. I remembered that year—the inexplicable slip-up with my college applications, the crushing realization that without a full scholarship, I might have to go south and bus tables to support my parents. I was lucky a spot opened up in a deferred admission program at a decent state school, forcing me into the then-unpopular Computer Science program. I had suspected everyone but her. I couldn’t believe the person who had nearly derailed my life was Tatum. Shaking, I scrolled. “My friend got an acceptance into a top Ph.D. program, but she’s still in the final review stage. I have photos of her skipping classes to work her side hustle—can I use that as evidence to report her?” “Reporting didn't work! She ditched the Ph.D. to go abroad! She went to my dream school in LA! But her family is dirt poor… you guys, she must have been sleeping with an old professor to afford that, right?” I devoured the posts, one after another. Countless details perfectly overlapped with my reality. It felt like a rapid-fire succession of slaps across the face. No wonder my academic advisor gave me that loaded look when I turned down the Ph.D. offer, subtly asking if I had offended anyone lately… No wonder none of my former classmates invited me to reunions, their eyes holding a strange, guarded pity… No wonder. All the puzzle pieces slammed into place. My fingers trembled as I typed: [Tatum, when can we schedule a food tasting?] My phone vibrated immediately. [Babe, look at you, you’re so busy with the engagement! A tasting is totally unnecessary. Don't you trust me? We're sisters! If you keep asking, I’ll seriously break up with you! (pinch cheek emoji)] It was meant to sound playful, but for the first time, I heard the thinly veiled control and threat beneath the joke. The person I had considered my best friend for a decade had been secretly jealous of me, hated me, and fabricated lies about me. I had been blindfolded the whole time. Why? The comments on the hot thread were mostly turning against her: [Wait, Poster, are you serious? I looked at your old threads. Your friend lost weight, did well in school, got an academic award, went to LA… how do you have the nerve to say she’s 'always been beneath you'?] Tatum’s account replied, brazenly: “So what? No guy ever gave her a second look growing up, while I’ve dated a dozen! The fact that I get all the attention proves who the winner is, doesn't it? Besides, her parents are market vendors, scraping by to sell produce. How dare she try to marry into a prominent family? The universe is seriously unjust!” Other users were appalled: [I’ve never met a friend this poisonous… She’s marrying up, not winning the lottery. You own a high-end hotel chain; why would you do something this evil?] She replied: “It drives me crazy! This hotel was founded by my dad and his old, bitter ex-wife, so it’s not really mine. All the real money and accounts are run by my half-brother, Rhys, who hates my guts. And my mom is a total doormat who never fights for me! Eliza knows I’m already feuding with Rhys, and she still booked her event here? She’s deliberately giving my brother a massive payout right in front of me!” The hand I was raising to block the account froze mid-air. Devon’s parents—Senator Harrison and his wife—were due to fly in for the weekend meeting with my parents. I had originally wanted to keep the business "in the family," so to speak, and gave the contract to Tatum’s hotel. The Poseidon Grand had just opened, but the food was distinctive and exquisite. Even Devon, who was notoriously picky, had approved of the food after trying it once. His family was incredibly prominent, their social circle vast. The wedding reception would likely host hundreds of people. My original plan was this: if the initial meeting dinner impressed the Harrisons, I would lock in the hundred-plus plate wedding banquet with Tatum’s family. That real, quantifiable success could elevate Tatum’s status in her patriarchal, dismissive family, finally making her father look at her with respect. Instead, she was plotting to use expired, low-grade food to destroy my engagement and my family’s reputation. “What’s wrong? You look pale.” Devon’s voice cut through my thoughts. He walked up behind me and naturally draped his arm around my shoulder. I quickly locked my phone screen. I managed a weak smile. “Nothing. Maybe I’m just a little nervous about your parents arriving.” Devon smiled. “Don’t worry. My mom and dad will love you. But you’re freezing. Your hand is like ice.” He squeezed my hand, looking at me with genuine concern. “Seriously, is everything okay?” I shook my head and leaned against his solid chest. We’d been classmates in grad school in LA. He was quiet, steady, and never boasted about his background. I only learned his father was a powerful State Senator after we started dating. “Oh, right,” Devon suddenly said. “My dad has an old friend who’s the head of Municipal Health Compliance. When he heard we were using The Poseidon Grand, he asked if we could set up a surprise inspection to help his team hit some targets. He said it would be doing him a favor.” I stiffened. “And you agreed?” He laughed. “Your friend promised it was absolutely pristine. The surprise inspection is fully filmed. I figured it would be a huge PR boost for her family.” After a moment, I tightened my grip on his hand, the decision crystalizing. “Good. Tell him yes.” The next day, I was in a company meeting when I got an urgent call. My mother was sobbing on the other end, nearly hysterical. “Eliza, your father… your father was beaten! They took him to the emergency room!” My brain went numb. I grabbed my blazer and ran out. Rushing into the ER, I saw my father lying in bed, pale and frail, his forehead wrapped in gauze, his eye bruised. My mother sat beside him, crying, surrounded by familiar faces—the longtime vendors from the farmers' market. I felt a surge of panic and anger. “Mom, Dad, I told you I make enough now! You don’t need to be out there selling produce! Why won’t you listen?” My father mumbled weakly. “Your in-laws are so high-status, honey… we were afraid the difference in class would embarrass you. We wanted to sell a few more truckloads to give you a substantial dowry. We didn't want them to look down on you…” Tears instantly blurred my vision. “But the market can’t just let people beat you up!” My mother, furious now, recounted the event: “They claim they’re the ‘management,’ but they’re just outsourced thugs! They come by every few weeks demanding ‘fees.’ Today, they tried to take two boxes of the best bell peppers. Your dad refused. They saw his refusal, got angry, and the leader claimed he was severely allergic to nightshades—said your dad gave it to him on purpose. Then they shoved him…” She pulled over a man nearby. “Thank God for Mr. Lopez! He rushed over to intervene, drove your dad here, and even paid the initial hospital deposit.” I knew him. Mr. Lopez owned a very popular local gourmet comfort food restaurant. My parents had been supplying him with vegetables for years. He was a kind man, and years ago, knowing our financial struggles, he’d even offered to help pay for my college. I bowed deeply to him. “Mr. Lopez, thank you so much! I’ll pay you back the medical expenses right now…” “Nonsense, we’re neighbors. It’s the least I could do,” he said, waving it off. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “The guy who led the beating, the one who runs the outsourced security? His name is Vince. He’s the younger brother of the owner’s wife at The Poseidon Grand.” I froze. “The Poseidon?” “Yes. That guy is Mrs. Sinclair’s brother. He acts like a thug because of his brother-in-law’s money… Small folk like us, we can’t afford to mess with them.” I felt a bucket of ice water cascade over me. I was chilled to the bone. It wasn’t just online defamation anymore. Now, her family had physically attacked my father. I looked at the bruises on his face, the redness around my mother’s eyes, and slowly curled my hands into fists. The comments under Tatum’s post had become an angry mob, and she couldn’t delete them fast enough. She laid low for two days, then popped up with a smaller, anonymous account, doubling down on her malice: “Her mere existence is a provocation to me! She has everything she doesn’t deserve! Just wait, I’ll make her understand that stealing my life will eventually cost her!” “Did I lie? If I hadn't messed with her college app, would she have been forced to take that slot in Computer Science and end up as a mid-level executive at a huge tech firm? She stole my good fortune!” “Besides, do you really think her market vendor parents paid for her to study abroad? Professor Henderson was awfully fond of her… Any real man would be disgusted by that kind of shady past. I’m just giving her a relationship test! Maybe she’ll even thank me for it later…” She even posted a picture, almost like a threat, captioned: "Just wait!"— In the corner of the photo, a massive stack of cardboard boxes filled with commercial pre-packaged meal kits was visible. I was shaking with rage when Devon put his book down. “You’ve been distracted for days.” I took a deep breath. “It’s nothing major. My dad had a small scuffle at the market and is resting in the hospital. I was thinking… maybe we should ask your parents to postpone their trip? Airfare is crazy this weekend, and I feel terrible making them fly out when things are so hectic here. Could we arrange the meeting once my dad is fully recovered?” He furrowed his brow. “I don't think that’s right. If your father is hurt, we should visit and support him.” I quickly cut him off. “Truly, no! It’s just minor cuts and bruises, but he needs complete rest. Let’s wait until everything settles down so they can come and relax comfortably. Please, honey?” Seeing my absolute insistence, he finally conceded. “Okay. We’ll follow your lead. I’ll tell them not to book their flight yet. But you have to promise to tell me immediately if your dad needs anything.” Just then, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Tatum Sinclair standing there. I noticed she was wearing a perfect, full face of makeup, a low-cut, tight top, and a miniskirt. “Babe!” She threw her arms around me as she walked in, but her eyes, like searchlights, instantly locked onto Devon in the living room and practically sparked. “Oh, Devon, you’re here today too?” She practically shoved me aside, swaying her hips as she approached him, deliberately bending over to showcase her figure. “I came here to thank you both! Thanks to your booking, my dad finally put me in charge of the back-of-house operations for the hotel!” She shoved a large bag of gifts into my hands. I glanced down—only a few small things were for me; the majority were expensive men’s accessories. One cologne was clearly the male counterpart to the perfume she was wearing today. She naturally picked up the men’s scent and walked toward Devon. “This is the newest cologne. I thought it would be perfect for a CEO like you…” Devon coldly sidestepped her, his brows slightly knitted. “No, thank you. I’m good.” Tatum’s hand hung awkwardly in the air, but she quickly plastered on a smile and pulled out her phone. “Right, I just sent you the menu and the price quote for the engagement party! It’s the absolute top tier, I promise!” I tapped the screen, and my eyelid started twitching. Disguised as fresh-made, the menu listed dishes like Truffled Mushroom Risotto for eight hundred dollars and Seared Scallops with Saffron for over a thousand—astronomical prices. But the pre-packaged meals she had shown on the online post likely cost less than ten dollars per serving to heat up! Did she think the daughter of a farmers’ market vendor wouldn't know market prices? I forced the anger down and asked, “Tatum, aren’t these prices a little… inflated?” “Inflated? Are you serious? This is for Senator Harrison’s family’s first visit! This has to have status! I know your family is struggling, but that's exactly why you can't be cheap now!” She immediately raised her voice, her eyes flickering to Devon. “I remember Professor Henderson always complimented you on how well you dressed, how you always made him look good when you went out… You need to project that confidence now!” My face went cold. “What are you trying to say?” Tatum hurriedly pulled me aside, dropping her voice. “Ugh, I’m just trying to help you! You need to make your background seem a little more solid so they don’t disrespect you!” She feigned deep concern. “When you meet his parents, absolutely do not mention that your mom and dad sell produce… Think about the Harrisons. What will they think? It sounds so trashy!” She sighed dramatically. “I know a few actors from the local drama school. We could hire two of them to play your parents? They have class, excellent conversation skills, and they absolutely won't embarrass you.” I couldn’t believe my ears. This wasn't just advice; this was blatant manipulation, trying to shame me into withdrawing from the engagement. But she acted as if she hadn’t noticed my icy demeanor, continuing: “I’m doing this for you! Also, you need to be a little less rigid with Devon. Men, especially men from his background, are going to stray. Just let the small things go and focus on the big picture, okay?” I let out a harsh, cold laugh. “Tatum, if I were to follow your advice, that is when they would truly look down on me! My parents work hard, with honest hands. Why would that be embarrassing? I want to get married with my head held high, not by groveling and trying to sneak my way into a family.” My words choked her. Her face cycled through shades of green and white. She opened her mouth to argue, but not a single word came out.
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