". Katrina pov
What?!"
The word tore out of my chest as a raw, ragged shriek. The grand dining room, with its pristine porcelain and elegant drapery, suddenly felt like an execution chamber. My hands began to shake so violently that I had to grip the edge of the table just to keep my knees from buckling. I stared at the woman standing across from me—the woman who had carried me, nurtured me, and whispered promises of protection my entire life.
"What are you saying, Mom?!" I shouted, my voice cracking under the sheer, agonizing weight of the betrayal. "Are you insane?! I am your daughter! I am Stacy Roberts! She is the fraud! She is the thief!"
My mom didn’t flinch. Her face was a chilling mask of absolute, calculated certainty. She looked at me not with a mother’s love, but with the
