---
The late afternoon light poured into the Quest estate like golden syrup, pooling over silk fabrics, hair tools, and a sea of perfume bottles. Upstairs, Cassie's room was a curated explosion of controlled chaos—her red Elie Saab gown lay over the chaise, and the faint scent of tuberose clung to the air.
Cassie twisted in the mirror, snapping a photo of her reflection. Her hair was sleek in a high ponytail, lined edges razor-sharp. Her lips—plum gloss. Her earrings—sapphire-dropped. Her bag—YSL black patent clutch. She slipped on her stilettos like it was instinct.
Blair, in contrast, was all stillness. Her Aje gown clung to her like starlight, off-shoulder velvet in midnight blue, cinched at the waist and flowing effortlessly into a soft fishtail. Her pearl-embellished Judith Leiber Couture clutch rested beside her, untouched. Her bun was low and classic, tendrils curling around her cheeks.
Downstairs, Victor adjusted his cufflinks and glanced once more at his phone, brows drawn. Lily smoothed her hands over the bodice of her lilac Zuhair Murad gown, her expression composed but wary.
"They've been quiet," Lily said, her voice low. "Too quiet."
Victor gave a tight nod. "Whatever they're planning... Miranda hasn't said a word."
"She wouldn't," Lily whispered.
Before either could say more, the sound of an engine purred outside.
Caleb stepped out of the car, exuding charm in a forest green velvet suit jacket and open-collar black shirt. He caught Victor's gaze and gave a chin-lift.
The five of them filed into the SUV, paparazzi flashes starting before they'd even pulled up to the venue. One by one, they stepped out: Cassie in crimson, Blair in midnight, Lily glowing, Victor regal, and Caleb like a modern prince.
The cameras clicked furiously as Killer arrived from a different car and joined them at the carpet. The photographers went wild as the six stood together—posed, powerful, unreadable. Family. At least on camera.
Inside the venue, the room was buzzing. Andrew and James lingered by the drinks table, the Covey crew standing close by. Mary, dressed in a forest green suit, slipped past the security barrier and handed a small flash drive to one of the tech staff near the stage—barely noticeable.
Jasmine, in a backless black gown, stood quietly near the side wall, apart from the others. She wasn't looking for Maddie. She wasn't even talking to Cassie.
She was scanning.
That's when she caught sight of someone.
A girl in a silver dress by the far pillar. High heels. Long hair. Painted nails. Cold eyes.
She blinked. No way.
Quickly, she called Blair:
"Is that jemima,tell Cass jemima is here I'm not talking to her yet she knows jemima is bad news"
Instead, she glanced at Cassie.
"Blair whispered. "Jasmine said she saw jemima."
Cassie arched a brow. "Who?"
Blair nodded discreetly toward the silver dress. "Six o'clock."
Cassie's eyes widened slightly, lips parting. "Holy... is that her?"
"She looks different," Blair said.
Cassie scoffed under her breath. "That's what medication and therapy will do. Clean up the outside, keep the chaos in."
Blair blinked. "Wait, she was really that...?"
"She was obsessed," Cassie said. "With Caleb. With having babies. She said she was going to marry him when she was sixteen."
"She said that?"
"Repeatedly. Parents put her in therapy. She came back quieter. They said the meds helped. But I never bought it."
Blair stared across the room again. Jemima was smiling now, but there was something hollow behind it.
Then across the room, Maddie entered in a dusty pink cocktail dress, hair slicked back in a braided bun.
As if drawn by fate—or spite—she brushed past Jemima, their shoulders touching.
Jemima turned.
"Watch it," she muttered.
Maddie barely gave her a glance. "I would—but I don't notice plastic."
And with that, she walked off without another word. Cassie and Blair both blinked, then looked at each other, stifling surprised grins.
"Did she just—" Cassie started.
"Yup," Blair muttered. "Iconic."
Then, the lights dimmed just a touch, and the room quieted as Victor stepped toward the center, holding his glass high.
"If I can have your attention," he said, voice steady.
Beside him, Lily watched the crowd.
"My family has always been the core of everything I've worked for. And tonight, I raise a toast to them—not just for who they are, but for what they stand for. Grace, strength... and resilience."
The guests raised their glasses. The applause came.
But Blair felt it—the ticking in her blood. Like something was about to happen.
And in the tech booth, the flash drive was slotted in.
---
Crystal clear now—and you're absolutely right. That twist has to be a clincher, not a reveal. We can't let the readers know it's Cassie in that video, not yet. We just need them to feel the shock, the collapse, the collapse, and the crumbling inside Cassie. We keep it tense, blurry, emotionally overwhelming. Hints. Faces. Emotions. But no confirmation.
And now that I know Travis is fully with Miranda, I'll make him smug. Proud, even. Like he came to steal the entire night.
Here's the refined version of Chapter 13 – Part 6, with your corrections baked in and the final scene ending on the perfect cliffhanger:
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Victor was still on stage, his champagne glass raised, smiling like he was trying to hold the night together with his teeth.
Then—
Miranda.
She appeared like a serpent sliding into paradise.
The room split in half the moment she walked in.
Cassie blinked twice, as if her brain was trying to reject the image.
Blair, by her side, leaned forward slightly, puzzled. She didn't recognize Miranda. She didn't recognize Jemima, who trailed quietly behind her in a silk navy dress, eyes hard like stone.
Victor's face stiffened.
The music lowered.
Miranda climbed the stage, heels sharp against marble.
"Oh Victor," she crooned into the mic, bold and dripping with venom, "I know how much you adore surprises."
Cassie's chest tightened. She glanced at Blair, saw the confusion still clouding her eyes.
She doesn't know.
Cassie slipped her phone from her clutch and texted with trembling fingers.
TEXT CREW: Play the damn video. Now. All of it.
The lights cut. The projector came on.
Miranda turned, eyes wide. "What is this?!"
Onscreen: grainy footage. Whispered evidence. Documents. Falsified hospital records. Miranda pretending to be mentally unwell. Psychiatry footage. Voiceovers. Plans. Rehearsals.
Jaws dropped.
Someone gasped, "She faked all of it—"
Then came the second video.
Not part of the plan.
Travis stepped forward, mic in hand.
He smiled.
Not kindly.
Not nervously.
Like a man who had waited for this moment.
"Let's not forget," he said, cool and cruel, "why Victor played along all this time."
He lifted a small remote and pressed play.
The screen flickered.
Then—
Silence.
A still image.
Then motion.
The room changed.
The atmosphere collapsed into dead quiet.
Gasps were swallowed.
Someone whispered, "Oh my God," but it was barely audible.
Faces froze. Glasses trembled in people's hands. The murmurs started low, but didn't rise. They stayed heavy. Disbelieving.
"No… That's not… that can't be real."
"It's fake."
"Photoshopped. AI. Deepfake."
"That never happened."
Cassie couldn't hear the words.
Her blood was roaring too loud.
She couldn't hear anything.
Only her own heart slamming against her ribs, over and over again, like a door being pounded on.
Victor stood still as a statue, refusing to look at her.
Cassie's knees threatened to buckle.
She didn't know when the world started tilting, but she was sure she was going to fall. Break. Disappear.
She couldn't even process what the screen was showing.
Her mind was rejecting it.
She couldn't run. Not in these heels. Not with this dress. Not with hundreds of eyes—and that screen.
The shame slithered over her skin like oil.
And then—
Blair.
Her hand.
A small, firm squeeze.
Steady.
Grounding.
Even though Blair had no idea what was going on. Even though she hadn't seen the truth yet.
She just knew something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong.
Miranda stepped forward, voice high, sharp, unraveling.
"That video is fake! Fabricated! AI-generated garbage! You people are falling for a lie! It's not real!"
But the guests weren't buying it.
They weren't saying names.
They weren't making accusations.
But their silence was louder than any scream.
The police appeared at the edge of the room. Not moving yet. Just present.
And then—
Black.
The screen cut.
Silence.
And for Cassie… the floor gave way.
---