“Are you seriously inviting her?”

Camila Vargas crossed her arms, leaning against the mahogany desk with a smirk that Javier Soto knew all too well. It was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, sharp and predatory.

“Don’t tell me you’re turning charitable all of a sudden.”

Javier didn’t even look up from the stack of documents demanding his attention. The air conditioning in the high-rise office hummed, doing little to cool the tension in the room.

Isabella Luna, his assistant, was organizing files near the corner of his desk. She moved with practiced silence, pretending not to listen, though the slight stiffening of her shoulders gave her away.

“It’s the firm’s annual party,” Javier replied coldly, his pen scratching against the paper. “All employees are invited. It’s protocol.”

“All important employees,” Camila corrected, raising her voice just enough to ensure it carried over the quiet rustle of paper to where Isabella stood. “Or is your assistant going to understand what we adults talk about? Mergers? Acquisitions?”

The other partners, lounging on the leather sofas, chuckled softly. It was a cruel, exclusive sound.

Isabella gripped the manila folders in her hands tightly. Her knuckles turned white, but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on the filing cabinet.

“Camila’s right,” interjected Ramiro Mendoza, one of the senior partners, swirling the ice in his glass. “People of our class don’t mix with… well, you know. The help.”

Javier finally looked up, his patience thinning. For a split second, his gaze locked with Isabella’s. She looked at him without pleading, without hope, possessing only a silent, stoic dignity he had never quite understood. It unsettled him.

“Isabella,” he said, his voice coming out harsher than he intended, a defense mechanism against the room’s pressure. “You are cordially invited to the party this Saturday. I hope you know how to behave in such a setting.”

The silence in the office grew heavy, suffocating.

Isabella carefully placed the files on the desk as if they were made of fragile glass. She turned slowly.

“Thank you, Mr. Soto,” she replied, her face a mask of emotionless professional courtesy. “I will consider your invitation.”

Camila let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Consider? Do you actually have something better to do on a Saturday night? I doubt it.”

Isabella turned to her. For a fleeting instant, a spark ignited in her dark eyes—not of anger, but of something far more dangerous: intelligence.

“I always have options, Ms. Vargas. It’s just that some aren’t worth my time.”

Camila’s smile froze on her face. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The partners exchanged uncomfortable glances; the mouse had just roared.

“Well,” Javier murmured, clearing his throat to break the sudden tension. “That’s settled, then.”

Isabella gathered her personal items without haste. When she reached the frosted glass door, she paused, her hand hovering over the handle.

“One question, Mr. Soto.”

“Yes?”

“Does this invitation come with any particular intention?”

Javier felt his throat go dry. The others watched, waiting for his response, eager for the punchline.

“Just… we want everyone to have a good time,” he lied, the words tasting like ash.

Isabella nodded slowly, her gaze piercing. “I understand. Have a good afternoon.”

The door clicked softly shut behind her.

The moment she was gone, Camila burst into raucous laughter. “My God. Did you see her? Standing there like an offended queen.”

“It’s going to be fun,” Ramiro added, grinning. “Watching her try to fit in with us. Like watching a fish flop on dry land.”

Javier said nothing. He stared at the closed door where Isabella had exited, a strange, heavy feeling in his chest he couldn’t identify. It felt like a warning.

That night, Isabella arrived at her small apartment, her bones aching with exhaustion. She dropped her keys in the bowl by the door, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet space.

Her younger sister, Sofia, was studying at the dining table, surrounded by textbooks. “How was your day?” Sofia asked without looking up, twirling a pencil.

Isabella collapsed onto the worn fabric of the sofa, letting her head fall back. “I was invited to the company party.”

Sofia raised her eyebrows, finally looking up. “And is that good or bad?”

“Bad. Very bad.”

Isabella closed her eyes, massaging her temples. She could still hear the echo of Camila’s laughter, feel the weight of the partners’ mocking glances.

“Because they didn’t invite me to include me, Sofia. They invited me to humiliate me. They want entertainment.”

Her sister put down her pencil and walked over to the sofa, sitting on the edge of the cushion. “Isabella. Look at me.”

Isabella opened her eyes. Sofia wore that serious expression she used when she was about to deliver hard truths.

“What do you want to do? Stay home? Pretend you’re sick?”

“Is that what you really want?”

Isabella sighed, a long, ragged exhale. “No. I want to go. I want to prove them wrong about me. But I’m afraid of making a fool of myself.”

Sofia took her hand, squeezing it firmly.

“Sister, you’ve worked three years at that firm. You’ve seen how they behave, how they talk, how they move in their world. Do you think you can’t do the same? They were born into that world. You weren’t. But you’re smarter than all of them put together.”

“They have money, Sofia.”

“And you have something they’ll never have.”

“What?”

“Real class,” Sofia said intensely. “Not the kind you buy with a platinum card, but the kind you carry in your soul. The kind Mom taught us.”