I married a man 30 years older for his fortune — after his funeral, his lawyer gave me a box and said, "He made sure you got exactly what you deserved."

Chaos erupted in the ballroom. Flashbulbs went off as society reporters scrambled to capture the downfall of the Vance empire.

“This is a setup!” Pierce screamed as an agent roughly pinned his arms behind his back, slapping heavy steel cuffs onto his wrists. “She’s a gold digger! She faked the audio! She’s lying!”

Julian fought back, swinging a wild punch at an agent, which resulted in him being tackled face-first onto the marble floor. His nose cracked loudly, blood pooling on the pristine white stone.

“You’re dead, Clara!” Julian shrieked, spitting blood as they dragged him to his feet. “You hear me?! You get nothing! The company belongs to us!”

I walked up to him, my heels clicking sharply against the floor. I didn't feel small anymore. I didn't feel poor, or indebted, or ashamed.

I leaned in close, so only he could hear me over the screaming crowd.

“The company doesn't exist anymore, Julian,” I whispered. “Arthur liquidated it. He put it all into a blind trust. And I am the sole owner. You didn't just lose your freedom tonight. You lost your entire legacy to the girl who used to serve you champagne.”

Julian’s eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. He opened his mouth to scream again, but the agents hauled him away, dragging him out of the ballroom in front of all his wealthy peers.

I stood in the center of the room, smoothing down the front of my dress. Mr. Sterling walked up beside me, handing me a glass of champagne.