Chapter 2

[Rose's POV]

The reflection staring back at me from the bedroom mirror seemed like a stranger. I'd chosen a simple black dress from the original Rose's wardrobe – conservative by today's standards, but it reminded me of the cocktail dresses I'd worn to faculty gatherings at Los Alamos. Appropriate attire for a scientific woman of dignity, I told myself, adjusting the neckline to ensure proper modesty.

My fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar closure mechanism on a small beaded purse. Some sort of magnetic fastening, I realized, though the engineering behind it escaped me.

"Your ride is here, Miss Evans," the housekeeper called from downstairs.

Ride. I descended the staircase carefully, still adjusting to the peculiarities of modern footwear. Through the front window, I could see a sleek automobile waiting – not the family's vehicle, but something summoned through that remarkable pocket device they'd called a phone.

The driver, a young man with an incredibly casual demeanor, smiled as I approached. "You're going to the Four Seasons, right? Boston Children's Hospital charity gala?"

"Yes, thank you." I settled into the back seat, marveling again at the vehicle's silent operation.

"Pretty fancy event," he continued, glancing at me through what appeared to be a mirror but displayed additional information, "My girlfriend's obsessed with that Sullivan family. They basically own half of Boston, you know?"

Sullivan. The name hit me like a physical blow. Could it possibly be...?

"Sullivan?" I managed to keep my voice steady. "Which Sullivan family?"

"You know, the tech empire guys. Sullivan Group. Their CEO just got named to some Forbes list – Christopher. Dude's like, stupid rich and super young."

My heart began racing. Christopher Sullivan. Could he be...? The mathematics of it seemed impossible, yet the timeline would align if James had children, and they had children...

The Four Seasons Hotel appeared before us like something from a dream. The building's glass facade rose impossibly high, illuminated by lights that seemed to pulse and change color.

"That'll be eighteen-fifty," the driver said, though I saw no meter or calculation device.

I stared at him blankly.

"Uh, usually people just tap their phones or cards?" He gestured vaguely at a small square device mounted near his seat.

Electronic payment systems. I fumbled in the beaded purse, finding what appeared to be a plastic card with metallic strips.

After several confused attempts, the driver kindly demonstrated the proper technique. "You just tap it here, see?"

The hotel's lobby overwhelmed my senses. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls, their light reflecting off polished marble that seemed to glow from within. Men in perfectly tailored suits moved with confident purpose, while women glided past in gowns that cost more than most families' yearly income.

The wealth disparity has clearly intensified since my era, I observed, adjusting my simple black dress self-consciously.

"Rose! There you are!"

Rachel descended the grand staircase like she was performing for an audience. Her dress sparkled with what appeared to be actual gemstones, and she held that small glowing device everyone seemed to carry, positioning it to capture her own image.

"I'm doing a live stream for my followers," she announced, her voice artificially bright. "They absolutely love seeing behind-the-scenes content from exclusive events like this."

Live stream. Followers. The words meant nothing to me, but her tone suggested some sort of public performance.

"Everyone, meet my step-sister Rose," Rachel continued, pointing the device toward me. "She's... well, she's very academic. Very serious about her studies."

The condescension in her voice was unmistakable. I smiled politely, remembering how we'd handled dismissive colleagues at Los Alamos – with dignity and superior competence.

"How thoughtful of you to introduce me to your... followers," I said carefully. "Though I must admit, I'm not familiar with this broadcasting technology."

Rachel's expression shifted to barely concealed glee. "Oh, Rose, it's not broadcasting. It's social media. Instagram Live. You really don't know about social media?"

She turned back to her device. "Can you believe it, guys? My sister doesn't even know about Instagram. She's like a total digital dinosaur."

The small crowd that had gathered – young people holding identical glowing devices – began whispering and pointing their screens in my direction. I felt suddenly exposed, like a specimen under laboratory observation.

"Here, let me show you how a proper lady handles champagne at these events," Rachel said, plucking a crystal glass from a passing server's tray.

I accepted my own glass, noting the delicate craftsmanship.

"See, you hold it by the stem," Rachel demonstrated for her device, "not like you're grabbing a beer bottle. Some people just don't understand basic etiquette."

The implied criticism stung, particularly since I'd attended numerous faculty social events with perfect propriety. I examined the champagne's effervescence, noting the small bubbles' uniform size – controlled fermentation process, likely temperature-regulated throughout production.

"The molecular composition is quite fascinating," I said thoughtfully. "Carbon dioxide supersaturation creating those ascending spherical formations."

Rachel's smirk widened. "God, Rose, you're so weird. Who talks about champagne like that?"

She turned back to her audience. "This is exactly what I mean, guys. My sister treats everything like a science experiment. She probably doesn't even know how to take a normal selfie."

The mockery in her voice finally broke through my patience. At Los Alamos, we'd dealt with skepticism and dismissal, but we'd never tolerated deliberate humiliation.

"You're quite right," I said calmly. "I don't understand your... social media photography. But I do understand this."

With deliberate precision, I tilted my champagne glass and poured the entire contents directly onto Rachel's glowing device.

The electronic object sparked and went dark immediately. Rachel stared in shock as champagne dripped from the now-lifeless screen.

"My iPhone!" she shrieked. "Rose, you just destroyed my iPhone!"

"I believe your followers just witnessed a fascinating demonstration of electronic circuitry's vulnerability to conductive liquids," I said pleasantly. "Perhaps next time you'll think twice before using family members as entertainment for your... audience."

Rachel's face turned scarlet. "You have no idea how much this cost! How am I supposed to continue my livestream?"

"I suspect you'll manage," I replied, setting down my empty glass.