Heiress' Design Revenge

The Crystal Pavilion glittered against the night sky, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city lights below. I smoothed down my dress—simple but elegant, the result of three weeks of skipped lunches and careful budgeting—and clutched the leather portfolio tighter against my chest. Inside lay my birthday gift for Dylan: a hundred-million-dollar contract with Meridian Development Group that would skyrocket his company to the next level.

"You look beautiful tonight," Dylan said as he greeted me at the entrance, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Though you're a bit late."

"Sorry," I murmured, ignoring the way my stomach twisted at his casual dismissal. "I was just... finalizing some things."

The venue buzzed with conversation and champagne-fueled laughter. Business partners, investors, and industry elites mingled beneath crystal chandeliers—all here to celebrate Dylan's thirtieth birthday and his company's rising status. A status I had helped build from the shadows.

As dinner concluded and the gift presentation began, I felt my palms grow damp. This would be the moment Dylan finally understood how much I truly supported him. I approached the head table, my heels clicking against the polished floor.

"I have something for you," I said, my voice trembling slightly as I placed the portfolio before him. "It's a partnership with Meridian Development Group for the Skyline Tower project. I've been working on it for months."

Dylan's expression shifted as he glanced at the corporate letterhead. Curiosity morphed into something colder, something that made my heart stutter.

"Sierra, this is exactly your problem," he said, loud enough for nearby tables to hear. "You think everything is about money and business deals." He set the portfolio aside without even opening it properly. "You don't understand that relationships aren't transactions. This is my birthday—I wanted something personal, something that shows you actually know me."

The room seemed to still, conversations dying as guests turned to stare. My face burned with humiliation as I stood there, gift rejected, heart exposed.

---

Minutes later, Olivia glided toward us, her timing as perfect as always. She carried a small package wrapped in simple drugstore paper, her smile sweet and sympathetic.

"I noticed you've been stressed lately," she said softly to Dylan, her voice carrying just far enough for others to hear. "Stress breakouts can be so frustrating. I found this Korean acne soap—it has tea tree oil and volcanic ash. I thought it might help."

Dylan's entire demeanor transformed. He accepted the gift with genuine warmth, carefully unwrapping it to reveal the bar of soap that likely cost less than ten dollars.

"Olivia, this is so thoughtful," he said, his voice tender in a way I hadn't heard in months. "You actually pay attention to what I need. This is exactly the kind of gift that matters."

He stood, retrieved a glass display case from the gift table, and ceremoniously placed the soap inside—positioning it prominently for all to see. Meanwhile, my hundred-million-dollar contract remained discarded on a side chair, the leather portfolio