“Sophie,” Darius hesitated. “Revenge won’t fix what happened.”

“No,” I said, my voice hardening, “but karma might. Maybe both.” I reached for my phone, fingers shaking as I typed. I was already hitting send on my RSVP when Freya’s text popped up again. Whatever you’re thinking, call me first.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I scrolled through the auction catalog again, letting the anger swirl inside me like a storm, pushing me forward, knowing exactly what I was going to do.

The night of the auction arrived faster than I expected, and it was a whirlwind of preparation. A few hours before the event, I stood in front of the mirror in my apartment, adjusting my black, sleek, designer dress. Expensive enough to make a statement, not so flashy as to call attention away from the event. I was ready. Ready to show the world who Sophie Hamilton truly was—and what she had become.

As I stepped into the venue, I handed my invitation to the doorman. He nodded without a word, announcing, “Sh Curator.”

Heads turned. People whispered. I could feel the eyes on me, but it was different this time. It wasn’t the whispered judgment of someone from a “disgraced” family. It was curiosity. It was the respect of people who knew I had earned my place here.

Darius was by my side, looking as confident as ever. He squeezed my arm, asking, “You okay?”

“Never better,” I said, my voice cool as I scanned the crowd. There, near the Monae, I saw my mother first. She was holding court, talking animatedly with a few influential donors, but when her eyes met mine, her voice faltered.

And then Dad, by the bar. He froze when he saw me, his expression shifting from surprise to something colder, more calculating. As always, he was trying to assess how much damage this could do to his reputation.

Celeste—oh, Celeste. She was the last to approach me. Her flawless makeup, her perfect designer dress, but I could see the cracks. I could see the fear in her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Supporting the arts?”

I smiled, noting how her perfect makeup couldn’t quite hide her anxiety. “Lovely piece you’ve contributed,” I said, my voice smooth but with an edge. “I’ve seen it.”

She flushed, her cheeks turning pink under the weight of my gaze. “You’ve seen it?”

“Hard to miss,” I replied, accepting a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “Bold choice of colors.”

“I’ve been studying techniques,” she said, twisting her diamond ring, still playing the perfect wife. “Taking classes. How inspiring.”

I sipped my champagne, staring at her. “Following your dreams?”

Her eyes caught the tone in my voice and she straightened, pushing her shoulders back. “Look about that night,” she said, her voice wavering. “Sophie, we didn’t know what to do. We were just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” I laughed, the sound sharp. “You didn’t protect me. You destroyed me.”

Mom appeared suddenly, gripping Dad’s arm, but I could see the panic in her eyes. “Sophie, please,” she whispered, taking a step forward. “Not in front of everyone. This isn’t the time.”

I could see the people in the room glancing our way, watching, intrigued. The perfect Hamilton family reunion, right here. The crowd, eager for drama, was getting exactly what they wanted. I turned back to face my parents. “Fine,” I said, gesturing around the crowded room. “Whatever you have to say, say it here.”

“Please,” Mom whispered, her voice breaking. “Let’s talk privately.”

“No,” I said firmly, my voice ringing through the room. “Not anymore. Everything ends here, tonight.”

I nodded toward a quiet corner, and we walked to it, my parents trailing behind me like hesitant animals.

Once we were out of earshot from the crowd, Dad spoke first, his voice low, filled with irritation. “Name your price, Sophie. We’ll pay whatever it takes to make this go away.”

“Excuse me?” I said, the words slipping from my lips like venom. “Name my price? You want me to bail you out? To save your perfect image? You think this is about money?”

Dad’s face reddened. “You want to embarrass us? Humiliate your sister like this?”

I chuckled, a humorless sound. “No, I just want to show the world what I’ve been living through all these years. What you did to me.”

Mom grabbed my hand, her face tear-streaked, pleading. “Sophie, please. This isn’t just about you. It’s about family. About keeping things together. You know how important this auction is.”

“Family?” I pulled my hand away from hers. “Family doesn’t destroy each other’s dreams. Family doesn’t force each other to be someone they’re not.”

Celeste stood quietly behind me, her eyes wide as she listened to the exchange. “Mom,” she started hesitantly, her voice cracking, “we didn’t know you would be like this. We didn’t know how bad it was.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I snapped. “Because you were too busy playing the perfect family. Hiding behind your perfect mask. This was never about me. It was about you.”

Mom took a shaky step forward. “I was just trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to end up like your aunt. Look at you now. You’ve done so well, Sophie, but it was never supposed to be this way.”

I turned to face her, every word coming from my chest like a fierce wind. “My aunt was an artist, too. Just like me. And you know what? You killed her dreams too. You killed mine. But I’m still here. I made it. And now I’m going to show the world who I really am. Not the person you tried to shape, but the person I fought to become.”

I grabbed Celeste’s painting from the catalog, holding it up. “Look at this,” I said, my voice cold and deliberate. “You know this isn’t art. Not like mine. Not like what I could have been. But now? Now, I’ll show you exactly what this world can do.”

The crowd had started gathering behind us, whispering amongst themselves. Some were filming. Some were snapping photos. The room buzzed with anticipation.

“And,” I added, lifting my chin defiantly, “this painting is going to be the price you pay for everything you did to me.”

I stepped forward, my heart pounding. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention, I have a few words to share about this piece of art by Celeste Hamilton. And about the Hamilton family, who stands behind it.”

The room quieted, all eyes on me now. My family stood in the corner, silent, their eyes locked on me. I took a deep breath.

“Celeste Hamilton’s work, this so-called ‘art,’ is a reminder of the lengths my family has gone to for years to suppress my talent. To make sure I never made it, to make sure I never had the chance to prove my worth.” I turned to face my family directly, making sure they understood every word. “This is the culmination of years of my pain, my struggle, my art, and my family’s attempts to destroy everything I worked for. And now, I am going to make sure that everyone here knows the truth. That your family name, your wealth, your power will no longer protect you. You will pay for everything you’ve done.”

I raised my paddle. “Ten thousand dollars.”

The room gasped. The auctioneer hesitated. “Ten thousand, going once?”

“Twenty thousand!” I called out, my voice strong.

The room fell silent, the tension thick in the air. Celeste’s eyes widened as the auctioneer continued, “Twenty thousand from Ms. Curator. Do I hear thirty thousand?”

I laughed to myself. “Thirty thousand,” I said. “Forty thousand.”

The bids were coming in fast now. The audience was hooked. My family’s faces turned pale, and I could see the panic in their eyes. But I wasn’t done yet.

“One hundred thousand,” I called out loudly. The auctioneer was stunned, the crowd murmuring.

“This is too much,” Darius whispered in my ear. “What are you doing?”

“I’m showing them,” I whispered back. “What they never wanted me to be.”

The auctioneer hesitated. “One hundred thousand. Final offer. Going once, going twice…”

“Sold!” the gavel came down, and the room erupted in applause.

The End!