Ivan shielded me as we left the hospital, a wall of bodyguards flanking us on every side.
A few days later, word came back.
Murray had sent people to dig into the situation. Their conclusion: Ivan Stephens's late wife had only just died.
They decided I was nothing more than a stand-in. A plaything.
"She's a dirty little secret. There's no way Stephens would start a war over her!" Murray was utterly convinced.
The Hensons hatched a plan immediately.
Lavinia's birthday gala was the following week. They sent a gilded invitation specifically requesting that Mr. Stephens bring his female companion.
The scheme was simple: expose me in front of everyone, then force me onto the operating table.
"Going?" Ivan flicked the gold-embossed invitation onto the table.
"Going." I plucked a cherry from the bowl and popped it into my mouth. "They've built the stage. Might as well give them a show."
Ivan smiled and ruffled my hair.
"Good. I'll be right there when you tear it down."
The night of the gala.
The Hensons had booked the grandest ballroom in Crestmont's most exclusive hotel.
Lavinia wore a custom gown worth a fortune, a diamond tiara perched on her head.
Ivan and I walked in. The entire room went silent.