On the second day of the New Year holiday, the whole family gathered at Uncle Gerald's place. I pulled up to his door in the new Mercedes I'd bought with my year-end bonus.

I'd barely sat down when my cousin Philippa Matthews turned to me with a saccharine smile plastered across her face.

"So, Monica Mason, you must've made a killing working as a bar hostess last year. You're already driving a Mercedes?"

The lively chatter died instantly. Every pair of eyes in the room swiveled toward me like spotlights, sharp and probing.

I assumed she was joking. I smiled and let it slide. But she only pushed harder.

"I mean, a girl with your credentials must be a real hit at the clubs, right? What do they pay, a thousand a pop?"

The looks from my relatives shifted. Curiosity curdled into contempt.

"Monica always seemed so wholesome. How could she do something like that?"

"She's the only postgrad our whole village ever produced. Her parents sacrificed everything for her, and this is what she does with it? Disgraceful."

My parents' faces turned ashen. The way they looked at me could have frozen fire.

"Monica! Why on earth would you work as a bar hostess?"

I opened my mouth to explain, but Philippa let out a smug little laugh.

"Why do you think? For the money, obviously. Spread your legs and the cash rolls in. You must pull in at least two hundred grand a year, right, Monica?"

I stared at her. Then I laughed, cold and sharp.

"You're lowballing me. I make a million a year."

……

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Every gaze locked onto me, loaded with shock, pity, and a nauseating sense of confirmation.

"Oh my God, so she really is doing that. A million dollars? How many men would she have to sleep with?"

"How can she be so shameless? Lord have mercy, don't tell anyone I know her. I'd die of embarrassment."

"This is what happens when you educate a girl. You drag her out of a small town and she goes straight downhill without even realizing it. What a waste."

"Her poor parents. Scrimped and saved every penny just to put a tramp through school."

Their words sliced through me like needles, each one burying itself deeper. My fingers curled into fists beneath the table.

I had been top of my class for as long as I could remember. The only postgraduate our village had ever produced. The kid everyone praised, the example every parent held up to their children.

And now, one baseless accusation had torn all of that to shreds.

Aunt Dorothy Caldwell stepped in quickly, trying to shield me.

"That's enough, all of you. Monica works at a major firm in the city. A million dollars is obviously her salary."

Philippa curled her lip, her smile thin and mocking.

"Come on, Aunt Dorothy, stop covering for her. What kind of position pays a million-dollar salary? She's only been working a few years. Even at a hundred grand a year, she wouldn't need to moonlight as a hostess."

A hundred grand a year?

She really did see me as nothing. Like peering through a crack in the door and assuming the whole world was that narrow.

I worked in finance, at one of the most prestigious investment banks in the country. My expertise and my instinct for the market had led me to back several under-the-radar ventures over the past few years, generating billions in revenue for the firm. A million-dollar salary was a bargain for what I brought to the table, and that wasn't even counting bonuses and commissions.

All in, my annual earnings hovered somewhere between $1.7 and $2 million. The idea that I'd sell myself for a hundred thousand was laughable.

I brought my fingers down hard on the table, the sharp rap cutting through the noise. My eyes locked onto hers, ice-cold.

"Did you see me working as a hostess with your own eyes? Philippa, spreading slander is a crime."

Philippa didn't flinch. She pressed a hand over her mouth, giggling as though I'd said something genuinely amusing.

"Look at you, getting all worked up over a little teasing. If you can do it, why can't you own it?"

"What exactly did I do? Spell it out."

She shrugged, pursing her lips in a look that said you asked for it, so don't blame me for not sparing your dignity.

Dorothy clamped a hand over Philippa's mouth before she could spin another lie, her tone caught between scolding and warning.

"All right, that's enough. You two have been bickering like this since you were kids. Drop it. There's a whole table full of food here. Surely that's enough to keep your mouth busy."

Philippa shrugged off Dorothy's hand, pouting with displeasure.

"I'm not joking. That car of hers has to be worth at least fifty grand, right? And this Louis Vuitton bag—" She clicked her tongue. "Spring collection. That's five or six thousand easy."

"I heard she bought a condo in a top school district downtown. Eighty grand just for the down payment. So tell me—if she's not working as an escort, where's all this money coming from?"

After she finished, the relatives' gazes shifted toward me, layered now with something uglier than curiosity.

My mother's hands trembled so badly she couldn't hold her chopsticks.

"Monica, you always told us that money came from your company. I never thought—"

"Mom, you don't believe me either?"

"You ungrateful girl!" My father's voice cracked like a whip. "You went and did something so shameless—how are we supposed to believe you? When did you become this kind of person?"

Worse than Philippa's lies was the look in my parents' eyes. Their distrust cut deeper than any rumor—a blade aimed straight at the heart.

I let out a slow breath and looked directly at Philippa.

"Philippa, for the sake of family, I'm giving you one chance. Explain yourself to everyone. Otherwise, I'm calling the police."

The moment I mentioned the police, relatives swarmed in from every direction.

"It's New Year's! Calling the cops would be terrible luck. Philippa just wanted to get closer to you—she's just bad at expressing it."

"Exactly! A little teasing keeps things lively. Kids bickering doesn't warrant bringing the police into it."

I didn't agree. I didn't deny it either. Philippa rolled her eyes at me.

"Get closer to her? After what she's done, who knows what kind of diseases she's carrying."

"And I'm not making anything up. I have proof. Go ahead and call the police—I'm not scared."

The moment those words left her mouth, the air in the room seemed to solidify. A silence as heavy as death settled over the table.

Philippa wore an expression of absolute certainty—identical to every other time she'd spread lies about me.

My cousin was three months younger than me. We were family, and we'd been in the same class all through school. By all rights, we should have been close.

But she'd competed with me over everything since we were children. And lost every time.

I was first in our grade. She hovered somewhere in the upper-middle.

I was admitted to an Ivy League school on a full scholarship. She scraped into the same university's worst program by the skin of her teeth.

Growing up, the number of rumors she'd started about me was beyond counting.

A missing eraser? I stole it. Top of the class? I cheated.

When I got into a graduate program, it was because I had something going on with my advisor. When I landed a job at an international firm, it was because of my looks.

Every single time, it ended the same way—Philippa dissolving into tears, sniffling that she'd been wrong, that it was all a misunderstanding—and the whole thing fizzling out into nothing.

The reason behind all of it could be summed up in one word.

Jealousy.

She was jealous that I outshone her at every turn.

But she never looked inward. She never once acknowledged my effort.

She simply believed that if she could drag me down far enough, she'd become the golden child of the family.

I was curious, though. What kind of damning evidence could she possibly have?

I watched her with unhurried calm, tilting my chin slightly—go ahead, show them.

Philippa seemed caught off guard that I hadn't flown into a rage the way I used to. She made a show of reaching for her phone.

But her father—my uncle, Gerald Matthews—caught her wrist.

"That's enough, Philippa. We have a house full of relatives. Do you really have to humiliate your cousin like this?"

"It's nothing to be proud of, and your cousin doesn't even have a boyfriend yet. If you put this out there, how is she supposed to find a husband?"

Gerald's words were dressed up as restraint, but every syllable dripped with encouragement. Between the lines, his eagerness to watch me squirm was barely concealed.

Philippa pushed out her lower lip in a grotesque pout, her face crumpling into wounded innocence.

"It's my big mouth, I know. But I was only looking out for her! Fine, I won't show it. As long as she turns over a new leaf and starts living like a decent person, that's all that matters."

Gerald turned to me, his expression heavy with theatrical anguish. "She's young. Young people make mistakes—what matters is owning up to them and moving on."

"Monica, dear, you could learn a thing or two from your cousin. She's hardworking, started from the bottom, and look how humble she is."

I nearly laughed from sheer disbelief.

The two of them hadn't said anything directly, and yet they'd said everything. A perfectly rehearsed duet, and just like that, the verdict was in: I was the loose woman of the family.

I looked at Philippa from head to toe—every stitch on her dripping with luxury—and gained an entirely new appreciation for the word humble.

I was about to say I wasn't afraid of embarrassment when my mother slammed her palm on the table.

"Philippa, if you have proof, then show it! If your cousin really did something shameful, I'll cut ties with her myself!"

I stared at her, stunned. "Mom, you actually believe this? You don't know your own daughter? How many times has Philippa spread lies about me since we were kids? When has a single one ever been true?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed my mother's eyes. But Philippa's lower lip trembled, her eyes reddened, and tears spilled down her cheeks in perfect, glistening streams.

"Auntie, forget it. Pretend I never said anything. I don't want to come between you and Monica..."

The relatives chimed in.

"She's right. It's the holidays—no need to ruin the mood. As long as she changes, that's what matters."

"Exactly. Don't worry, we're all family. Nobody's going to go spreading this around..."

I couldn't hold back a cold laugh. "What do you mean, 'as long as she changes'? What exactly have I done? Why are all of you dragging my name through the mud?"

Philippa sniffled and tugged at my sleeve. "Please don't be mad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

I yanked my arm free, my expression hardening.

"Don't leave things half-said. You claim you have proof? Then put it out there for everyone to see. If I did it, I'll own it. But if you're lying, Philippa—this time, I won't let it slide."

Philippa turned to my parents with a helpless look. My father's face was already dark as iron, his bloodshot eyes boring into me.

"Monica! That's enough! Philippa is trying to save your dignity—don't be so ungrateful!"

"I don't need her to save my dignity. Show the proof. Right now. And if you can't, I'm calling the police."

Philippa blinked those wide, innocent eyes of hers, her voice laced with provocation.

"You sure? No regrets?"

"I'm sure. No regrets. Quit stalling and show it."

The corner of her mouth curved into a smile that already tasted like victory. She tapped her phone and sent a set of photos to the family group chat.

I wasn't the least bit worried.

I wasn't someone who liked crowds. Bars and clubs were basically off my radar. And besides, I was too busy working myself to the bone to have the time.

Without a second of hesitation, I opened the photos.

And froze.

In the dim, neon-washed glow of a private karaoke lounge, a girl sat among a circle of men, wearing next to nothing.

The girl was me.

The air went solid. Not a sound in the room.

Only the gradually deepening breaths around me, signaling the storm about to break.

Crack.

The sound cut through every corner of the room.

A slap landed across my face without warning.

I looked up in shock at my father's hand, still trembling.

Half my face felt like it had been split open—pain and numbness tangling together.

My father stared at me, eyes red, face carved with disappointment.

"You disgrace! This is the dignity you wanted? You've dragged the entire Mason name through the gutter!"

I ran my tongue along the corner of my lip. Tasted salt and iron.

"Pathetic..."

The word fell from my mouth in a broken whisper.

This wasn't the first time my father had hit me.

When Philippa spread the rumor that I'd cheated on an exam, he didn't think twice before backhanding me.

When Philippa told him I'd been dating in high school, he didn't ask a single question before raising his hand.

When Philippa claimed I'd seduced a professor to secure my graduate admission, he slapped me across both cheeks without a word.

Every single time, he stood on someone else's side and attacked my innocence.

This time was no different. He chose to believe Philippa again.