They barely made it through the door before launching in: "Bella, did you have a falling out with Blair? Listen to us—go apologize. Bring her something nice."
I frowned. "How do you even know about this?"
Their eyes darted away from mine. Finally, my father spoke.
"Blair called us. She said you've gotten too full of yourself—that you caused a scene at the company over some bonus, and she had no choice but to let you go."
Rage surged through me, white-hot and barely contained.
But my father was already pressing a gift bag into my hands.
"Blair said you two have been friends for years. If you just go back and apologize, she's willing to take you back. You won't be a director anymore, of course. You'd have to start over from the bottom."
He'd already bought the apology gift.
My parents, who wore the same clothes for a decade and pinched every penny—they'd bought Blair a box of high-end skincare.
My mother nodded eagerly. "Starting from the bottom isn't so bad. Didn't you work your way up from there once before?"
My heart burned and froze at the same time. The question slipped out before I could stop it.
"Mom, Dad—who's your actual daughter here?"
My mother yanked at my sleeve immediately.