"Call me Auntie," Daphne said, smiling at the main table as if she owned the room. "Then you're not my family," Gwen snapped. A hush landed. Forks clinked. The banquet's chandeliers hummed. Daphne's smile cracked for the first time. "How rude," Daphne said with that slow, measured charm everyone in Mariner Heights recognized. "Gwen, I'm only trying to be kind." "Kind by telling my fiance to call you Auntie in public?" Gwen's voice stayed calm. The coolness made people lean in. "Daphne, please," Earl muttered, eyes on his hands. "Gwen, let's not—" "You will call me—" Daphne started. Gwen stood. "Call me Auntie, and you erase everything that mattered between us. You're not my family." "Do you want to make a scene?" Earl's whisper carried the plea of someone who'd practiced keeping peace. "I already have," Gwen said. She reached for her glass. "Don't." Margot Gardner touched her daughter's arm. Gwen let the glass hit the table so hard it rocked. A smear of red wine painted the white cloth. "That's it," Daphne said, voice sharp. "You throw a glass on my table and you expect—" "Table?" Gwen laughed. "This was my family's engagement dinner. My parents paid for this night. My dowry box sat under their table. You had it opened just minutes ago." "Stop," Earl tried again. "Gwen, stop." "Where's the cake?" a guest asked, half amused, half confused. The banquet manager, a stiff