Scarlett’s POV
The chandelier’s light had never felt so blinding. What was once a dazzling ballroom had transformed into a storm, questions barked like bullets, cameras flashed in bursts that made the room flicker like a battlefield.
“Scarlett, who is your real father?”
“Are you accusing David White of murder?”
“Do you have proof? Where is the evidence?”
“Jasper, is this true?”
The reporters surged forward, their mics extended like spears. Guests who moments before had been sipping champagne now pressed back in horror, the glitter of their gowns and tuxedos swallowed by the chaos. The music had stopped completely; even the orchestra members looked frozen in their seats, violins dangling from hands that didn’t dare move.
I tried to speak again, but my voice was drowned in the cacopho
