Kingston
The woman being presented in the press was not one I knew. And that was the problem. Even with my formal message telling people to back off of Cora during the warehouse photo drama, they couldn’t resist pinning my poisoning on her, sensing blood in the water.
The result was an endless supply of lies and gossip being published. Supposed firsthand accounts and doctored images.
Evidence, they called it.
A mountain of so-called “proof” against Cora.
My jaw clenched as I continued scrolling, gripping the tablet hard enough to make my hands ache. Whoever had put this together knew what they were doing. The pieces were stitched together almost seamlessly—almost. They wanted it to look inevitable, obvious, even to me.
But they made one critical mistake: They underestimated the
