OLIVIA’S POV

I raced down the stairs after Isa, who’d decided to torment me with tickles after I spotted “Isa and Marcelo” scribbled in her notebook in her handwriting. She giggled and dodged with her usual agility, weaving around rugs as I leaped over steps. That’s how we tumbled into the dining room.

Rose shot us a look of disapproval. I kissed my father on the cheek and slid into my seat at the table, facing Isabelle.

“How was your day, Dad?” I asked as my plate was set before me: fish with legumes.

My eyes drifted to the shrimp pasta—the main course for everyone else—and my mouth watered.

“Behave, and I might sneak you a shrimp later,” Isabelle teased, grabbing one with her fingers and waving it at me, laughing.

I made a face at her, licking my lips at the sight of the shrimp. “That’s not fair, you little pest. I’m stuck with this bland fish while you get a giant shrimp.”

“Not fair?” Rose let out a cruel laugh. “You should be grateful you even get a special plate. As far as I’m concerned, eat the pasta if you want. It’s your problem, not mine.”

I lowered my head, and Dad placed his hand over mine. “You know your diet is tailored to what the nutritionist recommends, sweetheart.”

“A nutritionist who’s charging us a fortune, by the way,” Rose said pointedly, twirling pasta around her fork and making my mouth water again.

Was she complaining about the cost of my food?

“Darling, please,” Dad said, his smile gentle, trying to ease the tension between my stepmother and me. “Let’s not make Olivia think we’re pinching pennies.”

“Oh, right,” Rose said, winking at him as she raised her glass of water. “We’re a wealthy family who can afford anything.” Her laugh was sharp, barely restrained.

“I have good news!” Dad’s voice rose, his breathing quickening enough for me to notice from my seat beside him. “We’ve been invited to a family dinner.”

Rose huffed, rolling her eyes dismissively.

“With who? Will there be boys my age at this dinner?” Isabelle perked up, her curiosity piqued.

Dad chuckled. “You’re not allowed to think about boys yet, my little coconut.”

“I’m thirteen,” she protested.

“You’re only thirteen,” Dad said, laughing warmly. “Don’t you want to know who we’re dining with?” He glanced at Rose, who seemed utterly uninterested.

“Whatever,” she muttered, not bothering to look at him.

“It’s a business dinner,” Dad continued, undeterred, “but he insisted I bring the whole family.”

“Uh-huh,” Rose said, her tone dripping with indifference, making it clear she couldn’t care less about Dad’s announcement.

“Maybe I should tell the CEO of Clifford that my wife has no interest in joining us at the country’s finest restaurant,” Dad said, a hint of triumph in his voice.

Rose’s head snapped up. “What kind of bad joke is this, Ernest Abertton?”

Dad grinned, savoring his moment. “That’s right. Clifford’s secretary called and said the CEO wants to meet me for a business dinner—with the family.”

“They must’ve dialed the wrong number,” Rose scoffed.

“She said my name: Ernest Abertton,” Dad replied, his smile widening as he winked.

Rose stood abruptly. “No way!”

“Yes way!” Dad laughed, his lips curling into a playful grin.

“We’re dining with the owner of the world’s biggest pharmaceutical company?” Rose pressed her hands to her chest, putting on a theatrical performance worthy of an Oscar, just to show how thrilled she was. “Does he want to partner with our highway concession business?” Her eyes narrowed, puzzled. “What could our company possibly have to do with his?”

“Maybe he wants to bring back my insulin,” I said, a flicker of hope in my voice.

Rose turned to me. “You think that man even knows insulin exists, Olivia? Gabe Clifford has enough money and power to wipe insulin off the planet.”

“And I’d die,” I said quietly.

Everyone’s eyes turned to me, and I locked my gaze on Rose, certain that deep down, she’d love nothing more than for the world’s insulin supply to vanish.

“Sweetheart, please, don’t make me cry,” Dad said, pouting as he squeezed my hand.

“When I grow up, I’ll invent a new kind of insulin,” Isabelle said, trying to comfort me. “No needles. Actually, I’ll find a cure for diabetes.” She winked, brimming with confidence.

The three of us laughed, but Rose’s expression turned serious. “How’s this going to work, Ernest? We need to call Rita.”

“She’s in the States,” Dad said, his eyes narrowing, no doubt thinking how absurd and out-of-touch Rose could be.

“It’s a family dinner,” Rose insisted, smiling smugly. “Gabe clearly invited us because he’s interested in our Rita. I always knew my girl would be someone important. I raised her for this! Rita Abertton Clifford… it has a perfect ring to it, darling.”

“Rose, Rita’s halfway across the world,” Dad pointed out.

“Send her money for a private jet,” I suggested. “Rita could get to North Noriah in no time and wouldn’t miss the business dinner… with family.” With family. That part felt odd. Why would the head of the world’s largest pharmaceutical company invite my father—a highway concession owner—for a business dinner and insist on bringing the whole family?

“Oh, sure, a private jet,” Dad said, chuckling as he patted my hand. “Just a few million norians.”

“I’ve never been on a jet,” Isabelle whined, her voice tinged with a pout.

“Be like your sister in the future, and you’ll ride in one,” Rose said, smiling at her. A second later, her face hardened. “Nothing we’ve done was for nothing, Ernest,” she said, turning to Dad. “The modeling classes, the cost of her stay in the States, the clothes, the food… Rita will be Gabe Clifford’s wife.”

“Darling, let’s not get carried away,” Dad said gently. “It’s just a dinner. We have no idea what Clifford wants.”

“Should I buy a new dress?” I asked, unsure if I’d need to rush out tomorrow morning to find something stunning. After all, this was my chance to see my idol, Jorel Clifford, up close.

“Darling,” Rose said, her eyes cutting to me, “Mr. Clifford said a family dinner. You… aren’t part of our family.”

Rose had said plenty of cruel things to me before, but this one stung deeply. I’d always tried to see her side—she was stuck raising the daughter of the woman her husband had an affair with while they were married. But to say I wasn’t family?

“But Olivia is family!” Isabelle said, shrugging as she popped a whole shrimp into her mouth. “She’s my sister and Dad’s daughter. That’s family.”

Dad looked at me, then fixed his gaze on Rose. “She’s my daughter.”

“Darling,” Rose said, her voice dripping with condescension, “Clifford is a traditional man—everyone knows that. What will he think when you show up with a daughter hardly anyone knows exists? Are you going to admit Olivia’s illegitimate, the child of some fling you had after a drunken night? I doubt a man like him would approve. You’d risk whatever deal he’s offering. And worse, he might think he can treat our Rita the way you treated me back then. He’ll assume we’re a dysfunctional, messy family. It doesn’t make sense for Olivia to be there. Explaining her presence would be awkward for everyone—including him.”