The Moment They Realized the ‘Dishwasher’ Was the Billionaire’s Wife… (2 of 3)

It started as a curiosity. Call it a social experiment, or maybe a test of my own resilience. I wanted to know who these people really were when they weren’t trying to impress a billionaire’s wife. I borrowed a server’s uniform, slipped past the makeup artists and stylists, and dove straight into the machinery of the event—just another background blur to the elite.

It didn’t take long to see their true colors.

One woman waved her empty flute in my face and snapped, “You’re late. I’ve been standing here forever.”
A man in a tailored tux clicked his fingers—actually clicked them—and demanded, “More oysters. Not these. The other ones.”
And the event planner? She shoved a tray into my hands without even meeting my eyes. “You’re too slow. Go. Go!”

By the time I was relegated to the kitchen—ordered to “get out of sight and wash up”—my throat burned with swallowed words. My own home. My own sink. My own dishes.

I kept scrubbing.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t break. I just listened.

I listened to the gossip—the woman mocking Daniel’s “naïve taste in partners,” the man bragging that he “would’ve taken the company public by now if he had the reins.” I heard them say I was “sweet but dim,” “a plain Jane,” “forgettable.”

Funny how forgettable people hear everything.

And then… it happened.

A hush rolled down the hallway. The clinking and laughing paused.

I heard it before I saw him:
“Excuse me,” Daniel’s voice rang clear, calm, and just slightly amused. “Has anyone seen my wife?”