My father gave my sister my house at her wedding. I said “No.” He sla;mm;ed my head into a wall in front of everyone. He didn’t know a guest was livestreaming. That night, 5 million people watched me ble;e;d. It was the end of his life and the start of mine.

I only said two words. “It’s mine.”

And the crack echoed under the chandelier. 280 guests held their breath. One phone flashed a red light, and my entire life changed course.

The next morning, I woke with bandages on my head, and the clip had hit 5 million views. After that, they could no longer write my story for me.

My name is Quinn Reyes. I stood near the service entrance of the Grand Ballroom at the Summit Crown, a position I always favored. It was close to the exit, and you could observe the entire ecosystem of the room without being swept into its current.

The air in the ballroom was suffocating in luxury, a cavern of shimmering crystal and heavy draperies, thick with the scent of thousands of wild mountain flowers and vintage champagne.

As an interior designer, I knew this room was technically flawless. It was also a beautiful, expensive lie.