Đã định dạng – Câu chuyện Beatrice & Fern
My Family Mocked My “Little Hobby” At Dinner. They Didn’t Know I’m The CEO They Worship.
My father leaned across the crisp white tablecloth of the French beastro, gesturing toward my brother’s new fiance with his ponoir. “Don’t mind, Chloe,” he said, his voice dripping with that sickening practice charm he used on clients.
“She’s our permanent work in progress. Still trying to find her footing in the real world.”
The woman, Sienna, didn’t smile. She just stared at me, her brow furrowing slightly as if she were trying to solve a complex equation.
My name is Khloe Vance and I’m 29 years old. For as long as I can remember, I have been the silence in a family that only valued noise. My parents built a boutique investment firm in Chicago, and my older brother, Julian, was the golden child who followed perfectly in their footsteps.
Their world was loud, polished, and obsessed with perception. They measured human worth in stock options, country club memberships, and the size of the engagement ring on a finger. And then there was me.
I didn’t want to manage portfolios. I wanted to disrupt industries. I started my own logistics software company from the corner of my drafty studio apartment in the city.
My life was the quiet hum of a server rack, fueled by stale coffee and sleepless nights. To my family, this wasn’t ambition. It was a failure to launch.
They saw my thrift store sweaters and my refusal to attend their endless gallas not as sacrifices for a startup, but as proof that I couldn’t cut it. I think they loved me in a way, but they were deeply, profoundly ashamed of me. What they didn’t know was that my quiet little life was about to scream.
Has your family ever treated you like a problem to be solved instead of a human being? Tell me in the comments where you’re watching from. I read every single one.
The entire reason we were at Lujardan that night was for Julian’s engagement dinner. He was marrying Sienna, a woman my family was practically worshiping. She was a senior partner at a major venture capital firm in Silicon Valley, the kind of woman my parents had prayed Julian would bring home.
To impress her, they had booked the private wine seller room. The air smelled of aged oak and arrogance. The dinner felt less like a celebration and more like a merger acquisition meeting.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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