Sloane stood in front of the mirror in the holding room backstage. The woman staring back was a stranger. She wore a simple, sleeveless white dress with sharp, clean lines. It was a warrior's dress. Caleb came up behind her and draped a cashmere shawl over her shoulders.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "Once you step out there, there's no going back."
She met his gaze in the reflection. The timid, people—pleasing girl from her past life was gone, burned away in a hospital bed. In her place was someone forged in betrayal and rage. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
She turned and walked out of the room. The moment she stepped through the curtain, the world exploded in a silent cascade of light. A hundred camera flashes went off at once, a relentless, blinding strobe that would have made the old Sloane flinch. The new Sloane walked right through it, her chin held high.
The ballroom at the Kensington Tower Hotel was packed. Every major news outlet in New York was here, expecting a fluffy piece about the society wedding of the year. They were about to get the story of a lifetime.
Sloane walked to the podium, her steps measured and confident. A hush fell over the room. The reporters smelled blood in the water. She ignored the prepared statement her PR team had drafted and leaned into the microphone, her eyes scanning the crowd before finding a camera lens and locking on.
"Good morning," she said, her voice clear and steady, carrying to every corner of the room. "I've invited you all here today to make an announcement." She paused, letting the anticipation build. "Effective immediately, I, Sloane Kensington, am unilaterally terminating my engagement to Mr. Braxton Duke."
The room erupted. A chaotic symphony of gasps, frantic typing, and reporters shouting over one another.
"Ms. Kensington! Ms. Kensington, can you give us a reason?" a reporter from the Post yelled out.
Sloane's lips curved into a small, sharp smile. She let her gaze sweep over the frenzied crowd, enjoying the chaos she had unleashed.
"The reason is quite simple," she said, her voice cutting through the noise. She waited until every eye was on her again. "I have no desire for my future children to have to compete with illegitimate half—siblings for their inheritance."
Another shockwave ripped through the room. The statement was so audacious, so brutally direct, that it left them momentarily speechless. Illegitimate. The word hung in the air, dripping with scandal.
"Illegitimate?" another reporter shouted. "Are you saying Mr. Duke was unfaithful?"
"I'm not saying anything," Sloane replied smoothly. "But I would suggest you direct your questions to my former best friend, Ms. Belinda Melton. And while you're at it, please pass on my congratulations. I hear she's expecting."
That was it. The final, devastating blow. She had named the other woman and confirmed the pregnancy. She had handed the media a perfectly wrapped scandal on a silver platter.
The room descended into utter pandemonium.
"The Kensington family does not tolerate deceit or betrayal. Thank you."
With that, she turned her back on the chaos and walked off the stage. Caleb and two security guards materialized at her side, forming a protective wedge that parted the sea of clamoring reporters.
The moment she was in the back of the waiting town car, her phone began to vibrate violently. Braxton's name flashed on the screen. She declined the call and blocked his number without a second thought.
The car's television was already tuned to a news channel. A breaking news banner flashed across the bottom of the screen. Her face was on the screen, next to a photo of a smiling Braxton and a demure—looking Belinda. The headline was brutal: KENSINGTON HEIRESS CALLS OFF ENGAGEMENT, ACCUSES DUKE OF FATHERING LOVE CHILD WITH BEST FRIEND.
A slow, deep satisfaction spread through her chest. It wasn't joy. It was the cold, clean feeling of a debt being paid. This was for her family. This was for the girl who died alone in a hospital room.
Caleb watched her, his expression a mixture of awe and concern. He handed her a new, unopened phone. "You'll need this. Your old number is about to become a public commodity."
She took it, her fingers closing around the cool metal. She powered it on and made her first call.
Chloe Foster answered on the second ring with a shriek. "SLOANE! YOU ABSOLUTE LUNATIC! YOU'RE ON EVERY CHANNEL! THAT WAS... that was brilliant!"
For the first time since she'd woken up in this new life, a genuine smile touched Sloane's lips. It felt foreign, but good.
"Drinks," Sloane said. "My treat. We're celebrating my newfound freedom."
