The moment Camila walked through the doors, she sensed something off. The entire ballroom seemed to freeze for a few seconds, an eerie hush settling over the crowd.
Then, the whispering began.
“There she is!”
“That’s Camila Davis, isn’t it? The one everyone’s been talking about lately?”
“She’s actually gorgeous. Not at all what I expected.”
“Ha, so what? She’s still damaged goods. How could she possibly be good enough for Mr. Williams?”
The snide remark barely landed before someone else shot back, irritated.
“So what if she’s divorced? It’s not uncommon these days. Why all the animosity?”
“Exactly! If Mr. Williams likes her, who are we to judge? Besides, she’s hardly inferior—she runs the med school, and even made it into the institute!”
“Yeah, she’s accomplished in her own right. Why do you always attack her over the same thing?”
“Seriously. Everyone knows what really happened in Harrisburg. She just got stuck with a jerk—it’s not like she had a choice.”
“Obsessing over that is so childish.”
A new voice cut through the chatter, dripping with disdain. “There are still people sticking up for her? Please. If you knew half of what Camila Davis has done, you wouldn’t be so quick to defend her.”
That sparked a ripple of curiosity.
“What did she do?”
As the rumors swirled, Camila did her best to tune them out. She kept close to Audrey Williams, weaving through the crowd toward where Sarah Brown and the others were gathered.
Sarah, Walter Wilson, and Larry Adams were all here tonight, along with Jarvis Peters.
But halfway across the room, a voice stopped her short. “You shouldn’t have come tonight.”
There was nothing in the tone—just quiet certainty—but Camila instantly recognized it. Jordan Smith.
She almost laughed. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Anyone who should be here, and plenty who shouldn’t, had shown up for tonight’s spectacle.



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