Her voice filled the room.
“Claire’s my best friend. She told me to handle it.”
Clear. Loud. Undeniable.
A murmur rippled through the guests. Someone lowered their phone. The photographer slowly dropped his camera.
Vanessa didn’t move.
Her face drained of color as every pair of eyes turned to her—not admiring anymore… judging.
One of the mothers stepped back. Another whispered, “She forged it…”
Vanessa finally set her glass down. It clinked too hard against the table.
“Claire, I was going to tell you,” she said quickly. “I just needed this to be perfect for Lily—”
“You used my name,” I cut in. “My card. My home.”
Silence.
Marcus turned to me. “Would you like us to proceed with a formal report?”
I didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I walked over to the dessert table, picked up a napkin, and gently wiped frosting off the edge of the cake—something small, something normal in the middle of all this chaos.
Then I looked at Lily.
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