Thomas stepped forward slightly, holding a sleek leather folder. “Miss Sutton, regarding the double-booking of the pavilion dining space for tonight… as the property owner, your decision is final. Should I clear the reservation for this table to accommodate the private buyout group, or would you prefer we relocate them to the garden side terrace?”

The garden side terrace was lovely, but it was situated right near the secondary parking entrance—the area reserved for walk-ins and overflow traffic. It was the exact opposite of exclusive.

My family sat motionless. For the first time in my life, Patricia Sutton had nothing to say. She looked at me not with the mild, condescending pity she had refined over thirty years, but with a sudden, sharp recognition of a reality she could no longer control.

I looked at my mother, then at Aunt Linda, and finally at Kevin, whose posture had collapsed entirely.

“The garden terrace will be fine, Thomas,” I said, rising smoothly from my chair and picking up my small leather clutch. “Ensure their meal is taken care of on my personal house account. After all… it’s family.”

I turned and walked toward the main lodge, the slate-green doors swinging open automatically as the staff spotted my approach. Behind me, the only sound was the mountain wind through the trees and the quiet, humiliated murmur of a table that had finally run out of things to say.