My brother sent me to the kids' table at his wedding and whispered, “Don't ruin the image.” Everything changed when the billionaire executive he was desperate to impress sat down beside me and shattered his humiliation.

By the time the main course was served, the atmosphere in the ballroom had completely shifted.

Table One was in shambles. Victoria’s father, the prominent venture capitalist, kept glancing over his shoulder toward the back of the room, looking visibly annoyed that the guest of honor was sitting under a colorful cluster of helium balloons.

Nicholas had tried three separate times to approach Table Nineteen under the guise of "checking on his sister," only to be politely turned away by Emmett’s assistant, who had quietly posted himself near the kitchen doors like a human wall.

"He's sweating through his shirt," Emmett noted dryly, taking a small bite of the surprisingly decent salad the kitchen staff had rushed out specifically for him after realizing who was sitting at Table Nineteen.

"He spent three months boasting to his in-laws that he had you in his back pocket," I murmured, wiping a bit of crayon off my thumb. "He told them your presence here was proof that Vanguard was going to sign his firm."

Emmett set his fork down, his gaze softening as he looked at me. "Why didn't you tell him, Jenna? Why didn't you tell your family who you actually work for?"

I looked down at my dress. "When you're the youngest, and you don't fit into the box they made for you, they don't listen anyway. If I told Nicholas I wrote for you, he would have assumed I was a mid-level proofreader or an intern. It was easier to let him think I was nobody."

"You're not nobody," Emmett said, his voice dropping into a tone that was intensely private, despite the chaotic ambient noise of shouting children around us. "You're the sharpest mind I’ve hired in ten years. When I was drowning during the restructuring crisis last year, your words gave my board the confidence to hold the line. I don't care what your brother thinks he knows. He's blind."

Before I could answer, a shadow fell over our table.

It was Victoria, Nicholas’s new wife. She was wearing a stunning white silk gown, but her expression was tight with panic. Behind her stood Nicholas, looking pale, defeated, and utterly desperate.

"Jenna..." Victoria began, her voice strained into an artificial sweetness. "Um... happy wedding day to us! Nicholas mentioned that you two... had a little miscommunication about the seating chart!"

Nicholas stepped forward, his eyes pleading with me in a way I had never seen in my entire life. "Jenna... please. Dad and Mom are at Table Two. They want you to come sit with us. We made room. We moved the flowers. Please... come to the front."

I looked at my brother. I saw the terror in his eyes—not terror that he had hurt my feelings, but terror that Emmett Stewart would walk out of this room, cancel his firm's bid, and leave Nicholas exposed as a liar in front of his wealthy new in-laws.