“I suspected.”
A pause.
“Tonight I proved it.”
From his tuxedo pocket, he pulled a folded document sealed with the Valmonte crest and set it on the steel counter. Beside it, he placed an old infant bracelet and a photograph: a newborn wrapped in monogrammed linen, wearing the same distinctive birthmark visible now at the maid’s collarbone.
A ripple moved through the guests.
The woman in gold stepped forward, desperate now.
“She’s just a servant.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Because the maid lifted her head fully for the first time.
No longer shrinking.
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