Aubree Foster stood stiff amid the glitter of her birthday party, her face a tight mask of worry. Ever since Maggie Thompson’s tragic death, Braxton Thompson had kept his distance. Her risky plan was supposed to pull him in, but what if it backfired? If Braxton didn’t show, she’d be the laughingstock of London’s elite.

When the door finally opened and he walked in, the knot in Aubree’s chest loosened. She hurried over to greet him.

“Braxton, you came. Everyone’s waiting for us to cut the cake,” she said, her smile sweet, though it hid a pride she had no intention of sharing.

The murmurs among the guests fizzled out.

“So Braxton actually showed. Guess the rumors are true,” someone whispered in the crowd.

“Yeah, Aubree really pulled it off. From a nobody to Braxton’s girlfriend—talk about a leap.”

The word mistress made Aubree’s shoulders go tight, but one look at Braxton and her confidence came rushing back. Why should she care about whispers when he was on her side?

Braxton noticed her step closer, and a faint frown flickered across his face. But it was her birthday, so he let it go. “Let’s cut the cake.”

Gustavo Cruz announced the cake, setting it between Aubree and Braxton at just the right distance.

“Thank you, Braxton. The cake looks stunning,” she said, even as irritation coiled in her gut. Gustavo had no business wedging himself into what should have been her moment alone with Braxton.

She moved back to Braxton’s side, basking in the envy burning in the other women’s eyes.

Suddenly, a child’s voice sliced through the air: “Mommy, why are you here with another man? Are you leaving Daddy and me?”

Aubree went rigid. The knife hovered just above the cake. Every head turned toward the voice.

A little girl stood clutching the hand of a frail, tired-looking man. Their clothes were plain but clean. And the resemblance between the girl and Aubree was impossible to miss.

The mood in the room shifted in an instant. Panic climbed up Aubree’s throat.

“Braxton, don’t believe them. I’ve never seen these people before,” she said quickly, though the familiar cast of the girl’s features made her stomach turn.

The man—gaunt, gravely ill—looked at her with pleading eyes. “I know you think I’m not good enough for you, especially with my terminal lung cancer. I won’t last much longer. It’s only reasonable that you’d want a better life,” he said, sadness pooling in his eyes. “But can you take care of our child? When I’m gone, she’ll need you.”

The mention of his illness softened the crowd. Against a dying man and a child who looked so much like her, Aubree suddenly seemed callous. Was she really involved with Braxton while she had a husband and child at home? Scandalous.

The reporters in the room were practically vibrating with excitement. They’d come expecting gossip about Braxton’s romantic exploits. Instead, they’d stumbled onto a scandal involving a top CEO and a woman with a family? That was prime copy.

“Stop taking photos!” Aubree’s voice spiked with panic as cameras flashed around her. She tried to explain herself to Braxton, one arm raised against the blinding lights.

But the reporters didn’t let up. They captured every humiliating second.

“Mommy, we know you don’t love us anymore,” the girl sobbed. “We just came to wish you a happy birthday. Daddy says you’re going to marry into money, and we won’t bother you again.” Her tears made her look even more like Aubree, drawing sympathy and keeping the cameras rolling.

“Is Mommy abandoning Daddy and me? Will she be rich after she marries Mr. Thompson? Could she give us some money? I don’t want Daddy to die…” The girl’s pleas hit their mark, painting the picture of a child forced to grow up too soon.

Aubree, every inch the polished socialite, now faced the open contempt of the press. Abandoning her own daughter? Could anything be colder?

“Ms. Foster, what’s going on here?”

“The child looks exactly like you. Did you really leave her for Mr. Thompson?”

“I don’t have a child! I don’t know these people!” Aubree’s voice climbed, frantic. Why were they coming at her with such baseless claims now? It had to be someone’s setup to ruin her.

That was the only explanation. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became.

“Why should I care if you’re dying? You’re getting nothing from me!” she spat.

Her harsh words made the reporters’ stares turn even colder. Aubree had carefully curated an image of warmth and grace. But trying to disown these strangers exposed something ugly and afraid underneath.

She didn’t seem to notice how drastically she’d changed—how far she’d fallen from her usual composed self.

If any reporter had still been skeptical, Aubree’s sudden shift wiped out the last doubt.

“Aubree, please, take it easy,” her assistant warned, alarmed by the outburst.

“My birthday is being ruined by a bunch of crazies making wild accusations, and you want me to stay calm? Get them out of here!” Aubree demanded, her voice sharp with fury.

Braxton’s frown deepened. Aubree’s behavior had changed—drastically. Years ago, when an injury had left him blind, he’d seen only her kindness and care. Could time really change a person this much?

“Braxton, you have to believe me. I’m not like this. They were obviously planted here to ruin my birthday!” Aubree pleaded, desperate to salvage her shattered image.

But Braxton’s silence gave the crowd all the room it needed to doubt her. She couldn’t let this scandal spiral out of control.