he recorder crackled, the journalist’s voice cutting in again. “Damien, why do you think your mother is participating in the math competition?”
Damien’s voice came through, clear and unguarded: “She wants to be famous! She wants money, and she wants to fight Dad for me! She wants to take me away, to threaten Dad into giving her more money!”
The innocent tremble in his childish voice was like a thousand needles piercing Selene’s skin, leaving behind a thousand stings. For a moment, she was lost, disoriented.
He had once been her son–her greatest weakness and her only armor, the boy who had once shared her heartbeat.
He was her own flesh and blood. With nothing but a careless word, Damien could send her world crashing down, could destroy her completely.
All color drained from Selene’s face, her dark eyes turning into empty voids that refused any light.
The journalist’s voice returned in the recording. “Damien, is there anything you’d like to say to everyone watching?”
“Don’t let Selene fool you! She’s selfish and mean! I’m her own son–I know better than anyone what kind of mother she really is!”
The recording ended. The journalist, still gripping the recorder, looked at Selene with a satisfied smirk.
Countless cameras zeroed in on Selene’s face, each lens desperate to capture every flicker of emotion that crossed her features.
The journalists swarmed like sharks drawn by blood, shoving their microphones closer and closer, almost jabbing them into her cheeks.
“Miss Thompson, is what your son said true?”
“Miss Thompson, did you abandon your child on purpose?”
Selene felt the blood in her veins freeze. She lifted her hand, her knuckles scraping together like ice cubes in a glass.
She pressed her palm against one of the microphones–if she hadn’t, they would have poked her right in the face.
1/2
21:40
A reporter from Platinum 818 was practically vibrating with excitement, nostrila flaring as he declared, “A five–year–old doesn’t lie!”
Selene parted her dry lips, and a brittle, icy laugh escaped her throat.
“But children can make things up,” she replied.
A flat–faced reporter with yellowed teeth spat as he accused her, “Your son hates you this much because you’re an unfit mother!”
“Miss Thompson, if you’re abusing your child, we won’t stand for it. We’re reporting you to Child Services!”
“Miss Thompson, how could you feed the Vaughn family’s little prince garbage? Say something!”
“If you’re going to accuse me of child abuse,” Selene said, her voice cold, “then bring me evidence.”
Every breath she drew felt like razor–thin ice sliding into her lungs, slicing her from
the inside out.
She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails bit into her palms.
Damien’s wild accusations were nothing but fantasy–she refused to fall into the trap of defending herself against lies.
“Aren’t your son’s words evidence enough?” the Platinum 818 reporter shot back.
“If you interviewed Damien to accuse me of abuse, then show me the medical report. You want to convict me on nothing but a soundbite? What gives journalists the right to act as judge and jury?”
Selene’s face was steel as she issued her ultimatum. “Move aside. Or I’m calling the police.”
The reporters had her pinned on the stairwell outside the lecture hall; there was nowhere to go.
Her warning didn’t move them at all. They clung to her like leeches, desperate for another drop of blood.
Selene pulled out her phone, ready to dial 911.
Suddenly, the Platinum 818 reporter leapt forward and knocked the phone from her hand. It clattered down the stairs, coming to rest at the polished tip of a black leather shoe.
21:40
Chapter 113
A man stooped to pick up the phone. Behind him stood a dozen men in black suits, sunglasses gleaming, Bluetooth earpieces in place–bodyguards, unmistakable and imposing.
The reporters shrank back as if pushed by an invisible force, breaking apart to let the bodyguards through.
The lead bodyguard strode up to Selene and handed her the phone.
“Miss Thompson, we’re here to escort you out.”
Selene stared at them, bewildered. “Who are you?”
The lead bodyguard lowered his voice. “Mr. Vaughn requests your presence.” At the mention of “Mr. Vaughn,” Selene froze.
A4
