Chapter 365: Public Confession

“Too bad she and that baby survived. If she lost the kid, she’d be worthless. Fraser wouldn’t have gone this far.” The voice played over and over, again and again, looping through the venue like a curse.

The entire charity gala froze. Everyone exchanged shocked glances. Had they heard that right? Was that an actual murder confession? And who could say something so disgustingly vile?

The crowd erupted into murmurs and gasps, some rising from their seats to track where the voice was coming from. All signs pointed to one thing. That voice—everyone knew who it belonged to. Morgan.

The woman standing on stage, cello in hand, now trembled in the spotlight. Flashbulbs exploded like fireworks. Reporters swarmed the stage like sharks scenting blood.

Morgan’s face drained of all color as the voices kept playing. She dropped her cello with a thud and stumbled back a step. Her hands trembled violently. “Turn it off! Turn that thing off!” she shrieked, her voice cracking.

Cameras kept flashing. Reporters shouted over each other, pushing closer.

“Ms. Morgan, was that really your voice in the recording?”

“Did you kill the maid to cover up what you did to Mrs. Graham?”

“Were you trying to murder Summer Graham? Was it premeditated?”

Morgan snapped. “Shut up! It’s fake! That’s a deepfake! I’m being framed!” Her shouts only made the frenzy worse. The scene descended into chaos.

“What the hell is happening?” she muttered to herself. “Who leaked that? Shut it off! Shut it off now!” But it was too late.

Summer stood slowly from her seat, calm and poised as always. Her voice cut through the noise like a blade. “Morgan,” she said coldly, “you locked me in that freezer at the Harper family estate. You killed your maid to pin the blame on her. You’re not getting away with it.”

All eyes turned to her. Morgan pointed a shaking finger. “Liar! You evil bitch! I’ll sue you for slander!”

Summer didn’t flinch. “Better call your lawyer fast. You’ll need him to get you out on bail.”

Right on cue, the entrance doors burst open. Uniformed police officers filed in. The room fell dead silent as they marched down the center aisle and climbed onto the stage. The reporters backed off just enough to let them through.

Morgan’s knees buckled. She turned to run, but the lead officer stepped in front of her. In one swift move, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Click. Cold metal locked around her wrists.

“Morgan Harper, you are under arrest for suspicion of murder. You’ll need to come with us.”

“No!” Morgan thrashed wildly. “You can’t arrest me! You don’t have any real evidence! This is just an edited recording! I demand a lawyer!”

“Save it,” the officer said, already guiding her toward the steps. Morgan screamed, “Do you even know who my grandfather is? The chief of police has dinner with him! You mess with me, and your career is over!”

But the police weren’t fazed. They dragged her, kicking and shouting, out the front doors.

With the stage empty, the journalists turned to the next obvious target.

“Madam Harper, did you know your daughter was involved in this murder?”

“Was there a conspiracy? Did she act alone?”

“How does the Harper family plan to handle this crisis?”

Emelia snapped. She slapped away the nearest microphone and snarled, “Which network are you with? Give me your names! All of you!”

The reporters flinched, then quickly recovered. “Madam Harper, we’re just doing our jobs. Your daughter was arrested by the police, not us.”

Emelia clenched her jaw, fists shaking at her sides. The perfect Harper image—shattered.

And Summer? Summer simply sat back down, watching it all unfold. Silently. Victoriously.