The Logistics King She Mistook For A Pauper
Me? I was the outsider. The guy who didnt grow up summering in Florence or brunching with investment bankers. The guy whose father left when he was ten, who worked two jobs in college and built his business from the ground up without connections, handouts, or family dinners in mansions with fireplaces taller than him.
And to be honest, I was fine with that. I liked my quiet wins. Daniella and I met at a conference in San Diego. She was working in non-profit consulting, had a sharp wit, and was surprisingly down-to-earthfor a while. The first six months were great. She said she liked that I was independent, a builder, someone who didnt need his hand held. I thought she admired me. I thought her family might too, eventually.
I was wrong. I think they tolerated me at best. Or maybe Daniella was just really good at pretending they did.
1
The first time I met her family was at her dads 60th birthday. It was a massive affairblack tie, rooftop venue overlooking the city, string quartet playing something I couldnt pronounce. Daniella told me not to wear a tie, that her family was "super chill" about that stuff. When I showed up in a navy jacket and open-collar shirt, her mother gave me a once-over and said, "Oh. Bold choice."
That should have been my first clue. The little jabs continued for months. Her older brother, Chase, once asked if Id parked my "Uber" out front or if Id taken the night off. Her sister, Brielle, corrected the way I pronounced charcuterie like Id insulted her ancestors. Daniella always laughed it off. "Thats just how they are," shed say. "Dont take it personally."
So I didnt. At least, not for a while. I tried to brush it off, smile politely, offer a bottle of wine Id spent way too long choosing, and act like I didnt see the way her dads eyes glazed over anytime I mentioned my company. They were the type of people who asked what school you went to not because they cared, but because they wanted to rank you. And since I didnt go Ivy, I didnt rank.
I started noticing Daniella slowly picking up some of those habits, too. Correcting me at dinners, telling me my shoes were "too brown" for that suit, or that my tone on the phone sounded "a little aggressive" when I was dealing with clients. Once, she asked if I could "maybe downplay the whole entrepreneur thing" around her cousins because they were really into "traditional careers."
I remember standing in her kitchen, frozen, staring at her like shed slapped me. I didnt say anything at the time. I just nodded and said, "Sure."
Looking back now, I wish I had spoken up sooner. But love does weird things to your sense of self-worth. I think it all really started to shift last Thanksgiving. Her family invited me to join them at their estate. Yes, estate. In Connecticut. It was a whole production. Horse stables, a winter wine tasting, a fireplace in every room, and a long list of passive-aggressive digs delivered over cranberry sauce.
I brought a limited-run wine from a vineyard my company had a contract withsomething truly rareand her mom looked at it and said, "Oh. Red. Thats bold for turkey." Chase offered me a "mans apron" for the turkey carving contest and laughed like he was hosting a roast. Her dad didnt even acknowledge me when I shared that wed just signed our biggest contract yet. He just asked if Id thought about getting an MBA to "fill in the gaps."
Still, I stayed. Because Daniella would squeeze my hand under the table or give me that look like, Just survive this weekend, and well be home soon.
I told myself I could endure the snide comments, the carefully veiled insults, the quiet condescension. I told myself it was just a test, that maybe someday Id be part of the circle. And a tiny, insecure part of meone I thought Id buried years agowanted that. Wanted to be accepted. Respected. Wanted to belong.
But something started brewing in me after that weekend. A slow, creeping sense of shame I couldnt place. Like I was slowly turning into a version of myself that would smile through disrespect just to keep the peace. That version made me sick.
Then came the birthday dinner. It was supposed to be a celebration. My birthday was technically the next day, but Daniella said her family wanted to treat us to an early dinner at this ultra-exclusive restaurant in the city, one I knew had a months-long waitlist. I was surprised, even flattered. I showed up in my best suit. Even brought a small gift for her mothera rare tea set I found from a little boutique in Tokyo Daniella had mentioned her mom collected.
We were seated at the head table, right in the center of the room. Waiters in white gloves. Candlelight glinting off gold-rimmed glasses. The works. The whole family was there. Her parents, siblings, their partners, even a couple of cousins I barely knew. I remember thinking, Maybe this is it. Maybe theyre finally trying.
The dinner started out fine. A little too formal, but manageable. Then the wine started flowing. And with it, the comments.
"So, Oscar," Chase leaned in with a smirk, "hows business? Still hauling boxes?"
"Chase," Daniella said, laughing nervously. "He doesnt haul anything. He runs the company."
"Right, right. Logistics. Very glamorous."
Then her mom chimed in, asking if Id ever considered going back to school to "polish up the resume." Her dad asked if I wanted him to connect me with someone in his firm, "just in case the startup thing didnt pan out."
Every laugh at the table felt sharper than the last. Daniella wasnt defending me this time. She was quiet. Distant. Staring at her wine like she was waiting for something. Then she cleared her throat, put down her glass, and said, "Actually... Ive been meaning to say something."
The whole table fell silent. Even the waiter paused mid-pour. My stomach tightened.
"I think its time we went our separate ways," she said. Just like that. "This... us... its not working anymore. I think we both know it."
I felt the air get sucked out of the room. My ears rang. For a moment, I thought Id misheard. Before I could speak, her brother laughed. "Man, youre really nothing without us, huh?"
Her mom added, "Be grateful we even let you sit at our table, dear."
And just like that, the dam broke. I felt everythingshock, betrayal, ragecrashing down all at once. But I didnt argue. I didnt yell. I didnt ask why, or beg, or plead, or try to save face. I just checked the time.
And seconds later, like clockwork, a fleet of black SUVs pulled up outside the restaurant. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the whole family watched in stunned silence as the drivers in suits stepped outcoordinated, calm, like something out of a movie.
A moment later, a waiter returned with a small bow and said, "Sir, your security detail has arrived."
First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "310426" to read the entire book.
MotoNovel
Novellia
Bookworm« Previous Post
The Family ATM Quits
Next Post »
This is the last post.！