Camille's POV
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The night of the Blackwood Foundation Annual Gala, I woke up smiling.
I'd planned this moment for weeks. Every detail was in place—the seating arrangement, the press contacts, the carefully timed moment when I would take the microphone and reveal the truth about Aria Kincaid to the entire room. I'd even chosen my dress with the occasion in mind: white, floor-length, innocent as a virgin bride. The contrast between my appearance and the devastation I was about to unleash would make the moment even sweeter.
Gerald Cross had delivered the final documents that afternoon. The birth certificate. The hospital photographs. The nurse's sworn statement. Everything I needed to prove that Aria Kincaid was Arabella Thorn—the discarded wife who'd slunk back to London with a false
