Owen's POV
The ballroom was everything I imagined it would be: glittering chandeliers dripping with crystals, walls covered in gold trim, and tables set with so many forks it made me wonder if anyone actually knew how to use them all.
Grown-ups in fancy clothes laughed too loudly and carried glasses of champagne like they were accessories. To me, it all felt fake. Except for one thing—the opportunity.
I glanced down at my laptop, carefully hidden beneath the crisp white tablecloth. The cursor blinked, waiting for me to execute the command I’d spent the past week perfecting.
Sophia, or as I sarcastically called her in my head, "Mother of the Year," stood on stage, her red dress glinting under the spotlights. Her makeup was flawless, and her posture screamed confidence. It was like she
