The morning of the gala arrived far too quickly.
By eight o’clock, my phone was already filled with messages from Victoria, legal and members of the board.
Arthur had spent the previous three days working behind the scenes.
So had I.
The difference was that Arthur had no idea what I was planning.
I sat at the kitchen table while Isabella stood by the window.
“Are you sure about tonight?” I asked.
“No,” she admitted. “But I am doing it anyway.”
I studied my mother.
For years, she had hidden because she believed remaining dead was the only way to survive. Tonight, she was going to walk into a ballroom filled with people who believed they had attended her funeral.
“You don't have to do this publicly.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because Arthur has controlled the story for years. He told
