---- Chapter 6 Charlotte Gallegos POV: The gala was in full swing. The ballroom was a sea of tuxedos and designer gowns, shimmering under the light of a dozen crystal chandeliers. The air buzzed with the sound of clinking glasses, polite laughter, and the low hum of power brokering. It was the Gallegos family's natural habitat, and tonight, | felt like a predator that had finally learned the scent of its prey. | moved through the crowd, a ghost no longer. The black dress felt like armor, and for the first time, | met the curious and pitying stares of the guests with a cool, level gaze. | saw Emmitt near the back, by the audio-visual booth, looking thoroughly out of place in a rented tuxedo. He gave me a sharp, almost imperceptible nod. Everything was in place. Ashton and Carmella were holding court near the stage, the perfect power couple. Carmella was wearing a dazzling white gown, looking every bit the blushing bride-to-be. She was accepting congratulations on her engagement and her "tireless" work with the Foundation. She was at the absolute peak of her triumph. The speeches began. My father gave a rambling, self- congratulatory toast. Then the mayor. Finally, it was Ashton's turn. He stepped up to the podium, Carmella on his arm. ---- "Thank you all for being here," he began, his voice filled with practiced sincerity. "Tonight, we celebrate not just the success of Gallegos Construction, but the values that guide us: family, integrity, and resilience." He paused, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on Carmella. "No one embodies those values more than my fiancée, Carmella Nichols," he said, his voice softening. "She came into this family during a dark time, a time of betrayal and uncertainty." His eyes flickered to me, a brief, sharp jab. "And she has been a light ever since. A beacon of loyalty and strength. And that is why | am so proud to announce tonight that we are renaming the Foundation's primary scholarship. From this day forward, it will be known as the Carmella Nichols Integrity Scholarship." The room erupted in applause. Carmella pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes wide with feigned surprise and humility. She leaned into the microphone. I'm speechless," she whispered, her voice thick with fake emotion. "Integrity is everything to me. It's about doing the right thing, even when no one is watching. It's about being true to yourself and to the people who trust you." This was it. The moment Emmitt and | had planned. This was her pedestal, the highest point from which she would fall. | began to walk toward the stage. Not quickly, but with a ---- deliberate, unhurried pace. A low murmur rippled through the crowd as people noticed. Heads turned. Conversations faltered. Ashton saw me first. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. He gave a slight shake of his head, a clear order to return to my place in the shadows. | ignored him. Carmella's smile tightened at the edges. She saw the look in my eyes, and for the first time, a hint of panic breached her perfect composure. | reached the steps of the stage and ascended them. | walked directly to the podium, stopping beside a stunned Carmella. | took the secondary microphone from its stand. The entire ballroom was now dead silent. Every eye was on me. "That was a beautiful speech, Carmella," | said, my voice ringing out, clear and steady, through the massive speakers. "Integrity. It is an important word." | turned to face the crowd, my gaze sweeping over the hundreds of shocked faces. "For ten years, | have lived in the shadow of a crime | did not commit. | have been called a traitor. A liability. A disgrace to the family name." Ashton moved toward me, his face a mask of cold fury. "Charlotte, that's enough. Get off the stage. Now." ---- "No," | said, turning to look him directly in the eye. His confidence faltered for a second, faced with a defiance he had never seen from me before. "I'm not finished," | said. | turned back to the crowd. "The person who committed that crime, who sold our company's future for a quarter of a million dollars, has been standing here tonight, accepting your applause. The person who embodies betrayal, not integrity." | looked at Carmella. Her face was ashen. "Isn't that right, Carmella?" "This is insane," she stammered, grabbing Ashton's arm. "She's having some kind of breakdown. Ashton, do something!" "| have proof," | said calmly. On cue, the massive screen behind the stage, which had been displaying the Foundation's logo, flickered to life. An email appeared. An encrypted message from a dummy account. Then another. Then a bank statement from a ghost account in a maiden name. Then another. And then, a video started to play. It was Julian Croft, his face clear in the camera's frame, his voice raspy but undeniable. "..her name was Carmella Nichols," his voice echoed through the ballroom. "She fed us everything. We didn't beat Gallegos Construction; we stole the bid, thanks to her..." ---- A collective gasp, like the sucking of all air from the room, swept through the audience. Carmella stared at the screen, her mouth opening and closing silently, like a fish out of water. The color drained completely from her face. Ashton looked from the screen to Carmella, then to me. The arrogant certainty that had defined his entire life was shattering before my eyes. Disbelief, confusion, and a dawning, sickening horror warred on his face. He looked at Carmella, truly looked at her, and for the first time, he saw the lie. The final piece of evidence appeared on the screen. It was a high-resolution audio file. Emmitt had managed to get Carmella's confession recorded. Her voice, stripped of its sweetness and filled with venomous pride, filled the hall. "Of course | did it," the recording of her said. "Charlotte was in my way. She was weak. | took what | wanted. Ashton, the company... it was all there for the taking. And no one was ever smart enough to figure it out." The recording ended. The silence that followed was absolute. It was the silence of a bomb having gone off. | looked at Carmella. Her mask was gone. In its place was pure, unadulterated hatred, all of it directed at me. Then | looked at my parents. My mother was holding a hand to ---- her mouth, her face a crumpled mess of horror. My father looked like he had aged twenty years in twenty minutes. They were staring at me, not with vindication, but with the terrifying realization of the profound, decade-long injustice they had enabled. Finally, | looked at Ashton. He was still staring at Carmella, his expression utterly broken. He had not just been deceived; his entire world, his narrative of himself as the hero, had been a lie orchestrated by the woman beside him. He had sacrificed his sister for a monster. | placed the microphone back in its stand. My work here was done. "The Carmella Nichols Integrity Scholarship," | said, my voice quiet but carrying in the stillness. "| think you might want to reconsider the name." Then, | turned and walked off the stage, leaving the ruins of my family behind me.