Mrs. Eleanor Beaumont's words hung in the air like a guillotine blade. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think.
"What did you just say?" Ivy finally sputtered, her face ashen.
"You heard me perfectly well," Mrs. Beaumont replied, her voice calm but firm. "Juliana isn't your biological daughter, is she? Imogen is."
Ivy's hands trembled. "That's—that's absurd! Why would you say such a thing?"
Mrs. Beaumont stepped closer. "I've been watching you for years, Ivy. The way you treat that girl never made sense—until now."
"I don't have to explain myself to you," Ivy hissed. "You don't know what it's like to raise an ungrateful child who brings nothing but shame to the family name."
"Is that really why you hate her? Or is it because every time you look at her, you're reminded of what you did?"
Ivy's eyes darted around wildly. People were staring. "I hated her because she wasn't a boy," she blurted out. "Cameron promised me we'd have a better life if I gave him a son."
