Kevin Lane’s eyes snapped up, his aged, cloudy gaze pinning Emily Blair with a force that felt almost suffocating.
He let out a cold, derisive snort. “Emily Blair. Take a look at the mess you’ve made!”
Emily’s fists tightened at her sides, but her expression remained composed as she turned to face Amelia Lane.
“Amelia, are you really going to keep making up lies about me?”
Amelia was still visibly shaken from earlier. At the sound of Emily’s voice, she flinched, her body tensing with instinctive fear.
But after a moment, she lifted her head, meeting Emily’s eyes.
Right in front of her, Emily reached into her pocket and slowly pulled out a voice recorder.
Amelia’s face went pale. “No—”
“You’re too late,” Emily said calmly.
With those words, she pressed the button. The voices of Emily and Amelia, clear as day, spilled from the speaker and filled the room.
Amelia lunged toward her, panic etched across her face. “Stop! Don’t!”
But it was too late. The recording captured Amelia admitting that she’d asked another girl to fake a stomachache and blame Emily’s food stall for it.
The crowd wasn’t stupid. In just a few seconds, everyone understood why Emily had come tonight.
Emily and her friends had set up a barbecue stand. Amelia, out of spite, had someone pretend to get sick and spread rumors about food poisoning, hoping to sabotage their business. That’s why Emily had come here—to turn the tables, scare the truth out of Amelia, and clear her own name.
Emily raised her voice so the whole room could hear. “Amelia Lane tried to frame me and ruin my reputation. Was I wrong to come here and demand the truth?”
Amelia was trembling with anger, her breathing sharp and shallow, but she couldn’t get a word out.
Emily tucked away the recorder and looked straight at Kevin Lane and Andrew Lane, a faint, almost mocking smile on her lips.
“Well, that settles it. My name is cleared.”
She paused, her gaze steady. “I just hope, Grandpa Kevin, and you too, Mr. Lane, that you’ll teach Amelia not to go around biting people anymore.”
The room fell silent. The accusation hung heavy.
But Emily wasn’t finished. She looked directly into Andrew Lane’s dark, deep-set eyes, her composure unshaken.
“There’s nothing between Mr. Lane and me—not what you’re all imagining, at least.”
She let the words linger, then continued, “I can’t speak for Mr. Lane, but as for myself, I don’t have the slightest bit of inappropriate feeling for him.”
Her gaze swept across the gathered crowd. “You’ve all got me wrong.”
Finally, she turned to Isabella Austin.
“And you—relax. I’m not interested in your Mr. Lane.”


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