Lyra's breath caught in her throat as the white projection screen descended from the ceiling. The crowd's murmurs fell silent, all eyes fixed on the blank canvas hovering above them.
A sudden flash of light filled the banquet hall. Then the projector clicked on.
Her heart stopped.
There on the massive screen was an image that made her blood run cold—Lyra in Percival's arms, her head tilted back, his face inches from her neck. The photo was clearly taken without their knowledge, artfully angled to suggest an intimate moment.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The photo had been carefully selected to look damning.
Isabelle Sinclair's triumphant voice pierced the stunned silence. "Well, well. I believe the evidence speaks for itself."
Lyra's mind raced. That moment—she remembered it. Percival had been checking the diamond necklace clasp at the charity gala last week. Nothing more. But from this angle...
"What a disgrace!" someone shouted.
"In another man's home!"
