Chapter 3

The noise seemed to fall away. I could see only the three of them.

Dad was mid-toast. "Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate our darling—"

"Our darling?"

I said it quietly, cutting through.

Both their faces froze.

Mum moved instantly, stepping forward to take my hand. I stepped back.

"Sophie. How did you—what are you doing here—"

"This is Mia Prescott," I said, looking straight at her. "Your darling. That's right, isn't it?"

Mia's smile disappeared. She glanced between me and my parents, uncertain and uncomfortable.

A guest nearby: "Who's this?"

Dad's expression curdled. He dropped his voice to a hiss. "Sophie. Stop this. Go home. Now."

"Stop what, Dad?" I raised my voice. "You've forgotten what today is, haven't you?"

"Today is also your daughter's birthday. Mine."

The room went silent.

Every head turned. Guests looked from my parents to me and back, expressions flickering between discomfort and fascination.

She's the real daughter? Then who's—

God. He throws a party like this for a stranger's kid and forgets his own daughter's birthday?

What kind of family is this?

The whispers reached my parents. Mum's lip trembled. Dad's look changed — from alarm to fury.

"That's enough!" He slammed a palm on the table. "Are you trying to ruin this?"

"Ruin what?" I held up my phone and pressed play. The footage I'd taken ran on the speaker — Mum placing the crown on Mia's head, her voice warm and clear: Our Mia. The most beautiful girl in the room tonight.

The words rang out through the silence.

Mum's face went ash-white.

"And this—" I switched to the photo. "Your important client's daughter. Look at those comments. Look how you've been writing about her."

I turned the screen toward the room so everyone could see.

The guests' expressions shifted. Some leaned in. Some looked away.

Dad was shaking. He couldn't get a sentence out.

"Sophie. You—"

"What, Dad?" I looked at him steadily, eyes burning, voice steady. "I just want to ask you, in front of everyone: does having a new daughter feel better than having an old one?"

"I want to know what I did wrong. What I did to make you treat me like this."

My voice had risen without my intending it. Ten years of it, out in the open.

Mia's face had gone pale. She pulled gently at Mum's sleeve. "Mrs Sterling—"

Mum shook her off.

"Sophie, it's not — you don't understand—"

"Then explain it to me." I stepped forward. "Tell me what I'm misunderstanding."

The doors at the back of the room burst open.

Jamie came through at a run. He took in the scene — my parents, the guests, me — and all the colour left his face. He pushed through the crowd and grabbed my arm.

"Sis — please. Listen to me first—"

"I've heard enough from all of you."

I tried to pull free.

My plan had worked. I'd made them look at themselves. Now I wanted to finish it — project the group chat onto the screen, show everyone the group called "Happy Family" with the stranger in the family's name.

I lifted my phone and aimed it at the projector.

Jamie grabbed my hand.

"Sis. Five minutes. Just five minutes. Please."

His eyes were red. He was shaking.

I went still.

Jamie was never like this. He was the composed one, the steady one. Whatever he was feeling, it was real.

Something shifted in my chest.

On stage, Dad had turned back to the microphone. He wasn't looking at me. His face was grave.

"I'm sorry for the scene," he said, to the room at large.

The guests quieted.

I thought he was about to end the party, dismiss me, restore control.

Instead he said: "Today is my daughter's birthday. But it isn't Mia's birthday."

He paused.

"It's my real daughter's birthday. Sophie's."