I joined the line and watched.

Each person gave their name, was checked off a list, and received a white wristband that read VIP guest in gold letters.

They were directed into the party with warm smiles.

When I reached the front of the line, Derek looked up from his phone.

“Name?”

“Derek, it’s me.”

“Name?” he repeated, not looking up.

“Elena Marsh.”

The young woman with the tablet scrolled through her list.

“I don’t see an Elena Marsh on the VIP list.”

Derek finally looked at me.

“Oh, right. Elena. Yeah, you’re on the alternate list.”

He reached into the box and pulled out a red wristband.

It was noticeably different from the white ones, cheaper material, and instead of VIP guest, it read general attendance in black letters.

“What’s this?” I asked calmly.

“It’s your wristband. Everyone gets one. Security needs to know who’s who.”

“Security needs to know who’s who,” I repeated.

“Yeah. White wristbands are for VIPs, business contacts, important guests, family. Red wristbands are for everyone else.”

“And I’m everyone else.”

Derek shrugged.

“I mean, you’re my sister, but you’re not really part of the professional networking aspect of tonight. This is about my business future. The red wristband just means you’re here to support me, not to, you know, network or whatever.”

People were gathering behind me in line, listening to every word.

I could feel their eyes on me.

“Put it on,” Derek said, holding out the wristband. “You’re holding up the line.”

I took the red wristband.

The material felt cheap compared to the white ones.

I fastened it around my wrist while at least 15 people watched.

Derek had already moved on to the next person in line.

“Jonathan Ashford.”

“Ah, Mr. Ashford. Great to see you.”

Derek’s entire demeanor changed. Warm, enthusiastic.

He personally handed Jonathan a white VIP wristband.

“Thanks so much for coming. Please head right in. Bar’s open.”

I walked into the party wearing my red wristband like a scarlet letter.

By 6:30 p.m., the rooftop was packed with 114 guests.

I counted them.

Exactly 114 people.

And as far as I could tell, I was the only one wearing a red wristband.

Everyone else had white VIP bands.

I stood near the windows, sipping champagne and watching the sunset, trying to stay inconspicuous just like my family wanted.

“Elena.”

I turned to find my aunt Rachel, my mother’s sister, approaching with a confused look on her face.

“What’s with the red wristband, honey?”

Before I could answer, my mother materialized beside us.