None of her wealthy friends met her eyes.

Her daughter, Chloe, stood near the back of the room, her face white and her hands trembling violently as she clutched her purse.

Chloe looked at me with a mixture of terror and guilt, then quietly slipped out through the side service door.

I wanted to call out to my cousin, but my eyes were locked on Beatrice.

The heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open with a dull thud.

Detective Maren Holt walked in, her dark trench coat dripping with rainwater, stark against the formal evening wear of the guests.

Two uniformed officers followed her directly to where Beatrice stood.

“Beatrice Langford,” Detective Holt said, pulling a pair of metal handcuffs from her belt.

“You are under arrest for grand larceny, corporate fraud, and embezzlement.”

The crowd gasped as the cold metal clicked around Beatrice’s wrists.

Beatrice did not struggle, but her eyes burned with a sudden, vicious intensity as she stared at me.

She leaned in close to me as the officers began to guide her toward the exit.

The smell of her heavy rose perfume mixed with the sharp scent of spilled champagne on the floor.

“You think you’ve won, Audrey?” she whispered, her voice a low, raspy hiss.

“You still don’t know the truth about that night.”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat as my scars seemed to burn beneath the lace.

“The fire in the old charity hall wasn’t an accident,” Beatrice whispered, a cruel, faint smile touching her lips.

“And you have no idea who actually lit the match.”

The officers pulled her out of the room before I could find the words to demand an answer.

The ballroom erupted into chaotic whispers, but the noise felt distant, like static.

Liam wrapped his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close to his chest to steady my shaking frame.