Chapter five The gala

I smiled this time, a real one. Because I have a whole army behind me and Tiffany was too small for this game.

She thinks she's playing house. She has no idea she's playing war.

That night, Ethan slipped a crumpled invitation under my door.

I opened it.

*WESTON CHARITY GALA - 20th Anniversary*

_Special Announcement: The Future of the Weston Family_

I knew exactly what they wanted to use the gala for.

My mother Margaret had told me on the phone before I even came back: "Veronica, you had an arranged engagement since you were a baby. With the Moore family. Their son Ace. He's the wealthiest man in the city now. He's 26. Handsome. He waited."

But downstairs, I heard Tiffany on the phone giggling to her friend, "Ace said he'll dance with me first at the gala. Mommy said if Veronica doesn't fit in, the engagement will be mine. After all, I've been his friend since we were kids."

So that's it.

They wanted to use the gala to announce Tiffany's engagement to Ace — the wealthiest man in the city, the son who was supposed to be MY fiancé.

The fiancé my biological parents promised to me when I was still in diapers. The one Tiffany has been grooming for 18 years while I was gone.

Clever.

If she gets Ace Moore, she becomes untouchable. Even if I am the real blood, the Moores are bigger than the Westons. If Ace chooses Tiffany, my parents will have to keep her. They will have to choose her.

I called my Mom Sophia back.

"Mom, change of plans. Don't buy that ugly necklace. Buy the entire brand."

My Mom: "Which brand?"

"The one that dresses Ace Moore. I want him to see me first. Before he sees her."

Next morning, Tiffany came to my door with a fake sweet smile, holding two dresses.

"Sister, Mommy asked me to help you pick a dress for the gala! This blue one would look so good on you — it covers your shoulders, very... modest. For your background, you know?"

The dress was hideous. A shapeless blue sack that would make a supermodel look like a housekeeper.

And she held a red tight designer gown for herself — the one that screamed "engaged to Ace."

I took the blue dress from her hands. Looked at it.

Then I dropped it in the trash right in front of her.

"Tiffany," I said sweetly, "Do you know why my adopted parents are wealthier than yours?"

She frowned.

"Because they never let a fake wear real couture. Now get out of my room. You have an engagement to steal. You should go practice crying when Ace says no."

Her face twisted. No more fake smile. Just pure hate.

"You think you can get him? Ace hates girls like you. Orphans who pretend to be princesses."

I leaned close to her ear.

"And you think Ace wants a girl who has never suffered a single grievance in her life? A girl who has to fake cry to keep her parents? Ace Moore is not stupid, Tiffany. He is the wealthiest man in this city because he can smell fake from a mile away."

"And darling, you stink."

I slammed my door shut to her face.

I laughed. This time, I laughed out loud.

In 24 hours, at that gala, Tiffany will walk down expecting to be announced as Mrs. Moore.

Instead, she will see me walk in wearing Laurent Haute Couture — the dress made for me in Paris last night and flown in by private jet — and Ace Moore will finally meet his REAL fiancée.

And my army? My Mom Sophia and Dad Julian will be in the front row, holding champagne, watching.

Tiffany was too small for this game.

But Ace? Ace might just be big enough for me.