The Rich Life She Deserved - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Jeanette set up a class reunion under the guise of apologizing to me.
She claimed she'd hurt Vivian's feelings at the last get-together, so she'd gone all out—booking the biggest private room in a high-end hotel under her husband's name, hoping everyone would show up.
I couldn't skip it.
Not that I planned to. But just as I was about to leave work, a last-minute meeting got called. By the time I made it to the venue, most of our classmates were already there, drinks in hand, laughing like old times.
The second I walked in, the vibe shifted.
"Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!" The class president stood, smirking as he swaggered toward me, a bottle of 1970 Romanée-Conti dangling from his fingers. "Vivian, you should be thanking Jeanette. She put this whole thing together just for you."
My stomach dropped. I shot a glance at Vivian, perched at the head of the table like a queen on her throne.
She was decked out in a hot pink mini dress, dripping in diamonds, with a ruby-studded tiara perched on her head. A platinum designer bag—probably some limited-edition flex—sat beside her. The heavy makeup, the flashy outfit—it all screamed Look at me, I won.
Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out: "Does your husband, Herbert Yates, know you cracked open that bottle?"
Instant regret.
Vivian's face twisted. "I'm his wife," she snapped, jabbing a manicured finger into the table. "Do I need his permission to open a damn bottle of wine?"
She lingered on my husband like it was a weapon.
The room turned on me in seconds.
"Who do you think you are, Vivian? Their marriage is none of your business."
"Jeanette's being nice calling you her best friend, but let's be real—you're just some nobody."
"The whole hotel's theirs. She could drain the wine cellar, and no one would bat an eye."
Their words left a bitter taste in my mouth. I stared at Vivian, my stomach churning.
She had no idea what Herbert was really like.
"Look, just… put the unopened bottles back. If Herbert finds out, it's not going to end well."
I meant it as a warning. She took it as a challenge.
Vivian slammed her hands on the table and shot up, eyes blazing. "Are you his wife, or am I? Since when do you get a say in what's mine?" Her voice turned venomous. "Don't tell me you're delusional enough to think you could ever take my place."
The room erupted.
"Mind your own business!"
"After Jeanette went out of her way to make things right with you!"
Not a single person defended me.
Not even the class president, who'd been guzzling that Romanée-Conti like water. He shoved me, lip curled in disgust. "Who the hell do you think you are, Vivian? Acting like you own the place?"
"Jeanette's being kind calling you her friend. You're just a pathetic loser."
"Keep bringing up Herbert like he's yours. Are you insane?"
It was the first time I'd heard an entire room gang up on someone. The class president—always so polite—had a mean streak after a few drinks. The same people who'd once smiled at me now hurled insults like knives.
At the head of the table, Vivian watched, smug, until suddenly—her face crumpled. She buried it in her hands, shoulders shaking with fake sobs.
"Vivian… I know you've always wanted my husband." Her voice cracked on cue. "But he would never want someone like you."
The room exploded.
Some screamed at me. Others rushed to comfort her. A few grabbed my arms, shoving me toward the door.
In the chaos, I caught it—the glint of triumph in Vivian's eyes as she peeked through her fingers.
I never should've come tonight.