I watched her smirk, the same cruel twist of the lips from twenty years ago. She still thought I was the girl she broke in high school. I leaned in, my voice a cold whisper that silenced the room: ‘The ‘loser’ you mocked just bought your husband’s company this morning. Look at the card, Sarah. Does the name ‘Owner’ ring a bell?’ Her face drained of color. This wasn’t just a reunion; it was an execution
The ballroom of the Grand Oak Hotel smelled of expensive perfume and stifled resentment. Twenty years had passed since I last saw these faces, yet the hierarchy of high school felt as rigid as ever. I stood near the buffet, adjusting my tailored blazer, watching Sarah Miller—the undisputed queen of our graduating class—command the center…