MAYA

Six months ago, if someone had told me I'd be spending my evening on Matthew Sterling's yacht surrounded by billionaires, I would've laughed in their face.

Yet here I was.

The cool breeze carried the scent of saltwater across the deck while soft jazz drifted from hidden speakers. Crystal glasses clinked together as elegantly dressed guests mingled beneath warm string lights. Servers weaved through the crowd with silver trays balanced on one hand, offering champagne and delicate appetizers to anyone who reached for them.

Sometimes I still couldn't believe this was my life. Not long ago, I was lying awake every night worrying about my father's company. Now I...