They Mocked My Broke Husband, Not Knowing He Owns Everything

"I don't carry fakes. I never have."

The laughter around me only swelled.

"Did you all hear what Daniela just said? She said she never carries fakes. Ha!"

"Don't tell me you're about to claim that bag is a genuine Jarvis Boyd."

"That exact model runs into the millions. You think that trash-picking bum of a husband could ever buy it for you?"

"Or maybe you're going to tell us he fished it out of a dumpster while he was digging through the garbage—some rich lady's castoff."

"And that outfit of yours, too. Looks like it's supposed to be the newest line from the designer house. Five million a set."

"You really do love your knockoffs, don't you? Vain to death. If you can't afford it, don't buy it. Would it kill you to keep a low profile?"

Muriel stood with her arms crossed, her whole face twisted into that snide, sing-song contempt.

"That's right, Daniela. Everyone's got it dead-on."

"Even if life's hard for you, there's no need to be this vain. You really thought showing up to a class reunion with a fake bag would make people look at you differently? Nobody here is stupid."

I almost laughed from sheer anger, sweeping a cold look across them.

"Have any of you actually seen the world? What makes you so sure the bag I'm carrying is a fake?"

Even a professional authenticator wouldn't dare declare something fake on sight.

It takes specialized equipment before a verdict can be reached.

But the moment the words left my mouth, it hit me.

They didn't care in the slightest whether my bag was real or fake. They just wanted an excuse to sneer and take a jab at me.

I'd been naive, holding on to some old sense of classmate loyalty, coming to this reunion at all.

I never imagined that from the very start it had been a trap they'd set and dressed up as a friendly gathering.

"If it isn't fake, then what, it's real?"

Muriel waved the clip in her hand.

"Look at that dingy loungewear you've got on."

"You have to wear your pajamas just to leave the house. Can't even afford to live anymore, can you?"

I turned and glanced at the video.

I really hadn't done my makeup that day I went shopping—bare face, and I'd just thrown on that gray loungewear and walked out the door.

But not one person here knew the real thing when they saw it.

That gray loungewear may have looked low-key and unremarkable, but it was a top-tier custom piece, made by a professional overseas designer, with the base model worth a million.

That shopping trip was only the third time I'd worn it.

"If you're really short on clothes, I've got a whole sack of old ones I've thrown out. I could just give them to you—call it charity."

I let out a cold laugh.

"If any of you actually knew the real thing, you wouldn't say something so ignorant."

"Well, today I've certainly seen all of you for what you are."

"From here on, we go our separate ways. Don't come looking for me."

"Stop right there. Did I say you could leave?"

Muriel rose to her feet and looked down at me.

"We all agreed to come to this reunion, and that means we play until we're satisfied. Nobody leaves sober."

"And you're just going to make a face and walk out on us like this?"

"Wouldn't that be slapping the face of every classmate here?"

With Muriel leading the way, the others got up as well and closed in around me.

Very much with the air of not letting me leave.

I smiled. "What exactly do you want?"

Muriel picked up a bottle, set out nine glasses in front of me, and filled every one to the brim.

"Drink all of these."

"And we'll let you go."

I ran my eyes over the filled glasses, my expression giving nothing away.

Even that bottle Muriel had just taken from the liquor cabinet was specially mixed, extremely high-proof.

In the instant I lowered my head, Muriel mouthed something to Tony Fox at her side.