My mother-in-law gifted me a “used maid’s uniform” at her 60th birthday gala to humiliate me in front of 200 guests. She didn’t know I had secretly acquired her family’s bankrupt company that morning.

“Open it, Maya. I think you’ll find it… surprisingly appropriate for your station.”

My mother-in-law, Victoria, spoke into the microphone, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. She stood on the raised dais of the ballroom, a glass of vintage champagne in one hand, gesturing to the box I held.

The room went silent. Two hundred of the city’s “elite”—business partners, socialites, and distant relatives—turned to look at me. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Beside me, my husband James shifted uncomfortably, staring at his shoes. My sister-in-law, Sarah, was already giggling behind her hand.

I opened the box.

Inside, nestled in crinkled tissue paper, was not a family heirloom. It wasn’t jewelry. It was a gray…