Framed by My Husband, Reborn as an Heiress

In my seventh year married to Laurence Gilbert, the woman he'd never gotten over killed a man with her car.

He knelt in front of me and begged me to confess in her place.

Everyone assumed I'd cry, that I'd make a scene. After all, I was just a poor woman who grew up around a farmers' market. Away from the Gilberts, I was nothing.

I signed the confession and they sent me to prison.

The day I was released, eighteen black Bentleys lined the whole street outside the county jail.