The screen behind flickered again, then settled on sothing I had kept buried for years.
A dical report.
My na sat at the top. The date was clear. Three years ago. Long before tonight. Long before any of this chaos.
It wasn’t a single page. It was everything. Evaluations. Prescriptions. Therapy notes. Follow-ups. Line after line of proof that couldn’t be brushed away.
The air changed.
Lewis had already planned ahead. Clear copies were passed quietly to several people in the room. I felt it before anyone spoke. That heavy silence. The kind that presses on your chest.
Vivian grabbed one of the papers. Her fingers shook as she read. Her lips parted.
"No... this isn’t possible," she whispered. "Elena...?"
Her voice cracked.
Shock slid into guilt. Guilt into grief. Whatever image she had held onto for years shattered right there in her hands.
I wondered if she was finally seeing it. All the tis I was ignored. How praise always went to Camilla. How my pain was brushed off like weakness. Like inconvenience.
Every sharp word. Every cold glance. Every celebration I stood outside of.
They cut again and again, then turned their backs, never once checking if I was still standing.
The jokes. The smiles. The way they dismissed . All of it echoed through the nights I lay awake, staring into the dark.
The things I gave up for Camilla’s sake beca shadows that never left .
The sleepless nights. The hair left in the sink. The fog in my head. The loneliness that sat heavy on my chest, day after day.
Julian didn’t move. He stared at the papers like they might burn him. His face went pale, then dark. For the first ti, it looked like sothing had finally sunk in. Maybe he was seeing what he chose not to see back then.
The room began to stir.
"So this is real?"
"Camilla... are you really S or not? Say sothing!"
All eyes locked on the stage. Not just the Morrigans. The Ashbournes. The Hudsons. Even Julian.
The silence was suffocating.
Camilla was cornered. No path forward. No way back.
Still, she lifted her chin.
She laughed softly. "It’s just paper," she said. "Anyone can fake docunts these days. Photoshop exists, doesn’t it? She probably spent weeks making this to fra ."
Then she shifted, smooth as ever. Her voice softened, turned wounded.
"Ms. Ashbourne, what did I ever do to you? I treated you kindly. Yet you keep trying to destroy . First, you forced out of the Hale ho. Now this. All because I’m marrying your ex? This is cruel."
She was good at this.
Just a few words, and suddenly I was the jealous one. The bitter one.
Whispers spread.
"She ca prepared."
"Those papers could be fake."
"She already won first place. Why push this far?"
"Poor Camilla... losing a sister, now this?"
Their doubt scratched at old scars. I’d heard it all before.
But this ti, I didn’t waver.
If I hadn’t lived through her lies once already, maybe I wouldn’t have planned this so carefully. Maybe I would’ve stopped earlier.
I held her gaze and spoke evenly, keeping my tone calm.
"Ms. Morrigan, I knew you would deny everything. That’s why I didn’t co alone. I brought soone who knew Elena better than anyone else. Her doctor."
The room went dead quiet.
It felt like the air itself had stilled, like a pack sensing danger all at once.
"What did she just say?" soone whispered.
"She brought the doctor?"
"This is bad. This is really bad."
The Morrigans froze. For the first ti, their confidence cracked. I could almost feel the shift in the room, that uneasy pull when dominance starts to slip.
A man stepped forward. Light blue shirt. White coat. Calm steps. The kind of presence that didn’t need to raise its voice to be obeyed.
People started murmuring.
"Isn’t that Dr. Sergio Zimr?"
"That famous mind healer?"
"He wrote Facing the Shadows. I’ve read that book."
Dr. Zimr adjusted his glasses and stood at the mic. His voice was steady, controlled.
"Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Sergio Zimr. Ms. Ashbourne invited here to clarify a few truths."
Soone called out, "Doctor, are you here because of Elena? Were you treating her?"
He paused. Just for a breath. Then his voice dropped, colder.
"Yes. I was. I didn’t even learn of her death until I returned from overseas. Finding out this way was... painful. She carried wounds most people never saw. And now she’s gone without being heard. That’s why I’m standing here today."
Vivian stepped forward, her hands shaking, eyes red. She clung to hope like it might still save her.
"Doctor... please tell . Was my daughter truly suffering?"
He t her eyes without flinching.
"Yes. I first t Elena three years ago. Her pain was subtle then. We spoke briefly at a charity gathering. I offered advice. Weeks later, she ca to my clinic on her own. Sothing inside her had dimd. She asked to be evaluated."
He looked down for a mont, as if rembering her voice.
"From that day on, she was under my care. We tried many treatnts. Sessions. dicine. Guidance. But her condition worsened. Slowly. Quietly. She carried a weight that grew heavier every year. And no one close to her noticed."
He turned toward the Morrigans. His tone sharpened.
"Where was her family? Where was the pack she was born into? How did none of you sense her fading?"
No one answered. No one could.
His words didn’t co from anger. They ca from authority. The kind that makes instincts bow.
He continued, "I encouraged her to paint. It beca her outlet. Her refuge. But over ti, even that turned painful. Every canvas held her sorrow. Every stroke was a cry she couldn’t voice."
Soone asked, "Doctor... you’ve seen her work? You knew the artist called S?"
"Yes," he said. "I watched her create. She gifted several pieces. I kept them because they held her heart. And seeing those sa works claid by others, sold for pride and status... especially by her own sister... it’s disgraceful."
He turned his gaze to Camilla.
The room felt tight. Heavy.
"She isn’t just lying," he said coldly. "She lacks any bond. Any conscience."
Camilla stood there, stiff and pale, the strength she’d borrowed from the crowd finally gone.
And I knew then
the truth had found its teeth.
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