«You’re not allowed at our vacation home,» Mom texted. A week later, they got a notice: the resort had a new owner. Their access cards stopped working…

Princess, you know, I’d love to have you there. But your mother has planned everything very specifically. The reservations are made.

Maybe it’s better to let this one go and we’ll plan something special later. Just you and me. It was the same line he’d used throughout my childhood whenever he chose not to stand up to my mother, a promise of future connection that never materialized.

Dad, I bought you something really special for your birthday. I wanted to give it to you in person. You can mail it, he suggested, then added, or keep it until we see you at Christmas.

Christmas for months away. After hanging up, I tried Jason, hoping my brother might intervene. His response came by text.

Just give it a year, sis. You know how mom is when she gets an idea in her head. Dad’s birthday isn’t worth the drama.

We’ll miss you, though. My last hope was Amanda. Surely my sister would understand how hurtful this exclusion felt.

Look, Harper, she said when I called, her voice lowered as if someone might overhear. Maybe if you tried fitting in for once, these things wouldn’t happen. You’ve always had to do things your own way, and sometimes that has consequences.

Greg is still sensitive about that investment, and mom’s dealing with all her friends suddenly asking about you instead of her charity work. Can’t you just let us have this one week without making it about you? Making it about me, as if being excluded from a 20-year family tradition was my choice. After hanging up, I walked to my living room window overlooking the city.

Tears streamed down my face as I scrolled through my phone gallery to a folder labeled Blue Water. Photos from last year’s trip, and the year before, and every year since I was nine. My family on the beach, around the dinner table, on the villa’s porch for the annual photo.

Always together. Until now. My laptop pinged with an email notification.

My flight confirmation had been cancelled. My mother had already taken care of that detail, efficiently erasing my presence from their perfect family vacation. That night, I opened an expensive bottle of wine I’d been saving to share with my father.

I drank it alone in my apartment, surrounded by new vacation clothes I wouldn’t wear, staring at the watch box containing a gift that suddenly seemed pathetic. A desperate bid for approval from a man who couldn’t even stand up for me. I’d spent seven years building a company, proving my worth to the world, becoming financially independent beyond what even my father had achieved.

And still, it wasn’t enough to earn me a place at the family table. The rejection stung worse than any business setback I’d ever faced. You can develop thick skin for professional criticism, but family rejection cuts through every defense.

As I poured the last of the wine, a thought occurred to me. Twenty million dollars couldn’t buy my family’s acceptance, but it could buy something else. They did what? Zoe nearly spilled her mimosa across the brunch table three days after my mother’s text.

We were sitting at our favorite spot in the West Village, the weekend crowd buzzing around us. I pushed my untouched avocado toast aside. Banned me.

From the family vacation. Via text message. That’s beyond cold.

That’s Antarctic. Zoe shook her head. So what are you going to do now? Solo trip to Bali? You deserve it after everything you’ve built.

I don’t know. I’ve barely left my apartment since it happened. Zoe studied me for a moment, then laughed suddenly.

You know what would be epic? You should buy the damn resort. I stared at her, then let out a short laugh. Right.

Just buy Bluewater Cove. Why not? You have fuck you money now, Harper. Might as well use it for an actual fuck you.

I laughed again, but the idea lodged in my mind. Was Bluewater Cove even for sale? How much would a coastal Maine luxury resort cost? When I got home, I found myself Googling Bluewater Cove resort ownership. To my surprise, our recent local business article appeared.

Bluewater Cove resort owner considering retirement property may hit market. Frank Williams, the owner for the past 30 years, was looking to sell. No formal listing yet, but the article mentioned he was entertaining serious offers.

My heart raced. This couldn’t be coincidence. It felt like the universe was offering me a chance at what? Revenge? Redemption? Maybe both.

I called my financial advisor, Garrett, immediately. Harper, it’s Sunday afternoon, he answered. Surprise in his voice…