As Victoria collapsed into the grass, sobbing “My daughter,” the crowd gasped in collective horror. Adrian staggered backward, nauseated by the realization that he had nearly married his own sister. But as the two women locked in a frantic embrace on the lawn, Emma’s violent weeping abruptly vanished.
Hidden from the two hundred breathless guests, Emma rested her chin on Victoria’s shoulder. Her trembling lips curled into a dead, calculating smirk.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist making a scene,” Emma whispered, her voice icy, slicing straight into Victoria’s ear.
Victoria’s breath hitched. The matriarch tried to pull away, but Emma’s fingers dug into her spine like steel claws.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” Emma hissed softly. She waved a tragic, tear-soaked hand to the crowd before dropping her voice to a lethal murmur. “Did you think I didn’t know *why* you paid a nanny to stage my kidnapping twenty-two years ago? The old Ashford Trust only paid out to a male sole heir. You didn’t lose your baby, Victoria. You threw me away so you and Adrian could take the empire.”
Victoria’s face drained of color, her eyes wide with a new, paralyzing terror. “You…”
“The nanny kept the wire transfers,” Emma murmured.
She stood up, finally releasing Victoria, who remained slumped and shivering in the dirt. Emma looked at the stunned priest and the dozens of smartphones recording every second of the drama. She reached into the lining of her ripped wedding gown, pulling out a folded stack of yellowed bank receipts.
“Cancel the vows,” Emma announced, her voice echoing across the silent lawn. “But lock the gates. I’d like to report a twenty-two-year-old abduction—and the mastermind is kneeling right in front of me.”