And he'd completely blanked on it because in his memory, in the original timeline, it hadn't mattered at all. It had been nothing compared to what came after.
The ice sculpture. The expensive, swan-shaped ice sculpture that Danton had made him carry alone across the venue.
That Danton had tripped him while carrying.
"The ice sculpture," Phei said quietly, the memory finally crashing through the haze—vivid, humiliating, and sharp as broken glass.
The weight of it in his arms, heavier than it looked because ice was dense and swan sculptures were stupid, impractical, and apparently worth twelve grand. Danton walking beside him, chatting like they were mates, then that foot snaking out—
"Ah, so you do remember." Harold's voice was cold enough to frost the crystal glasses. "You remember destroying a twelve-thousand-dollar commissioned piece in front of forty guests."
"I was tripped—"
"By whom?"
"Danton. He stuck his foot out while I was carrying it."
Danton's face slid into perfect innocence, smooth as a politician on TV. "What? No, I didn't. Everyone saw you trip over your own feet. You're just clumsy, mate. Always have been."
"That's not what happened!"
"Phei." Harold's tone cut like a scalpel. "Are you seriously accusing Danton of sabotage? With dozens of witnesses present?"
"He tripped me on purpose! He does it all the time! You all know he does!"
"Did anyone else see this alleged tripping?" Harold glanced around the table, performing for his captive audience. "Melissa? Girls?"
Sienna was scrolling on her phone, her face did not leave the screen's glow as if this whole thing existed outside her dimension.
Delilah inspected her nails like they held the secrets of the universe. "I didn't see anything. Phei just fell."
Melissa's jaw tightened, but she stayed silent. Gave Phei the tiniest headshake: Don't push. Not now.
"So," Harold said, savoring the word, "you're claiming Danton deliberately sabotaged you in front of multiple witnesses, none of whom saw it. Or—the simpler explanation—you were careless."
"I wasn't careless, I was—"
"Twelve thousand dollars," Harold interrupted. "Commissioned specifically for the event. Custom work. The Ashfords were gracious, but that doesn't change the fact that you destroyed it."
"Because I was tripped!"
"Prove it."
Phei's mouth opened. Closed. How could he? Nobody would back him. Nobody ever did. That was the whole point—they could do whatever they wanted, and he had no recourse, no evidence, no witnesses willing to speak.
"I'll be deducting the cost from your college fund," Harold continued, casual as discussing the weather. "Since you're responsible."
"My college fund? But I don't have twelve thousand—"
"Then you'll have less for college. Consider it a lesson in responsibility."
"That's not fair!"
"Life isn't fair, Phei. The sooner you learn that, the better equipped you'll be."
Phei's hands clenched under the table, nails digging into palms. His Dominance Aura pulsed outward automatically, an invisible pressure wave rolling through the room.
Danton shifted, smirk faltering for a split second before snapping back. Delilah rubbed her arms like she'd caught a chill. Harold's eyes narrowed slightly—something flickering across his face that might have been unease.
But none of them knew what they were feeling. To them, it was just a weird itch, a sudden discomfort.
"Besides the sculpture," Delilah said cheerfully, clearly loving this, "there was also the punch bowl incident."
Oh, for fuck's sake. There was more?
The memories flooded back now, released from wherever his brain had buried them. In the original timeline, these smaller humiliations had been overshadowed by the bigger disaster.
"What incident?" Harold asked.
"Phei knocked over the punch bowl. Splashed it all over Mrs. Harris's dress. A Valentino, apparently. She was absolutely furious."
The memory hit full force—someone shoving him from behind as he reached for a cup, stumbling into the table, the bowl wobbling, then tipping. Red punch cascading down Mrs. Harris's white dress while she shrieked like he'd stabbed her.
"That wasn't my fault either," Phei said. "Someone pushed me."
"Who?"
"I don't know! I didn't see—"
"So another mysterious accident where you're the victim and nobody saw." Harold's sarcasm dripped. "How convenient."
"I'm not making this up!"
"Then who pushed you, Phei? Name them."
He couldn't. He'd been focused on not spilling punch on himself. Could have been Danton, one of his mates, anyone in that crowd of entitled pricks.
"I thought so," Harold said. "So, in one afternoon, you managed to destroy a twelve-thousand-dollar sculpture and ruin a designer dress. All through mysterious accidents nobody witnessed."
"Yes! Because they were setting me up! They always set me up!"
"Or you're clumsy and careless."
"I'm not—"
"Then explain," Harold said, voice dangerously calm, "why our other children never have these problems. Why it's always you, Phei. Always some incident, some embarrassment, some reason we have to apologize to other families."
Because your other children are the ones causing it, Phei wanted to scream. They're the bullies, the instigators, the ones who set me up and play innocent while you swallow every lie!
"I'll try to be more careful, sir."
"Trying isn't enough. Succeeding is what matters."
Sienna spoke up unexpectedly and accidentally mentioning her thoughts. "Maybe you shouldn't bring him to events anymore. If he can't handle them."
"That's probably wise," Harold agreed. "At least until he demonstrates better judgment."
Banned from family events. Another isolation tactic. Another reminder he didn't belong.
"I think that's harsh," Sienna added after a pause, to back her earlier solution. "But also practical. He does kind of… fuck up a lot."
The casual cruelty stung worse than the words themselves. Like stating obvious fact. Water is wet. The sky is blue. Phei ruins everything.
"Regardless," Harold continued, "the damage is done. Phei, you'll write formal apologies. To the Ashfords. To Mrs. Harris. I'll review them before they're sent."
"Yes, sir," Phei said quietly.
"And the twelve thousand will be deducted from your college fund. We'll work out payment arrangements."
My nonexistent future, Phei thought bitterly. Taking from a pot that was probably empty anyway.
Danton leaned back, satisfied as a cat who'd just eaten the bird and the cage. "Glad we got that sorted. Phei understands now."
"Do you?" Harold asked. "Do you understand that your actions reflect on all of us?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Then perhaps you'll think twice next time before—"
"This is ridiculous."
Everyone froze.
Melissa's fork clattered against her plate. Her hands clenched on the table, knuckles white.
"Melissa—" Harold started.
"No. I'm not going to sit here and watch you all tear him apart for things that weren't his fault."
Oh no. Oh no no no.
Phei's heart hammered. This was bad. Very bad.