Bryce handed me warm milk. "Word from back home."Rumors swirled in high society. The Pedersens claimed it was an accident, but speculation ran rampant. The prevailing story: the fake heiress, Joanne, shamed by her broken engagement and a clash with Anna, jumped to her death, landing on a truck of flammable materials that triggered an explosion.The Pedersen and Thomas families suppressed damaging reports, but whispers of Anna driving me to my death lingered like a stain.The funeral was subdued.Anna, in black, sobbed until she nearly collapsed, murmuring, "Joanne, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."Calvin stood beside her, expressionless, staring at my photo. My smile was gentle, as it was when we first met. His heart felt hollow, cold regret seeping in.He recalled my final look—calm, resolute, and utterly disappointed. The bloody gash he'd left on my hand burned in his memory."Calvin..." Anna reached for his sleeve, but he shoved her away."Don't touch me!" he growled, his eyes
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