Camera shutters exploded like fireworks in a confined space. The sharp sting on my left cheek burned, a physical brand captured in high-definition by a dozen live feeds.
"Get a close-up of her face!" a cameraman yelled, shoving past a waiter.
"Blake, is this true? Did your assistant try to trap you?" a reporter jammed a microphone toward the table.
I kept my eyes pinned on Blake. My chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow bursts.
"Tell them, Blake," I demanded. "Tell them right now."
He didn't step between me and the flashing lights. He didn't shield me. Instead, he raised his hands, palms outward, playing the perfect, besieged celebrity.
"Everyone, calm down," Blake announced, his voice projecting his practiced PR tone.
Mia let out a loud, theatrical sob. "She's trying to ruin our lives, Blake! She's obsessed with you!"
I stepped forward. "We have lived together for five years."
Blake’s arm shot out. His hand planted firmly against my collarbone, shoving me backward. The force sent me stumbling until my hip hit the edge of the mahogany table.
"Back off, Scarlett," he ordered.
I stared at the hand that had just pushed me. The same hand that held mine every night.
"You're pushing me away?" I asked.
Blake turned his back to me and faced the wall of lenses. "I need to make a statement. There is a massive misunderstanding here. I am not, and have never been, in a relationship with this woman."
The private dining room erupted into chaos.
"Then who is she?" a journalist shouted from the back.
"She is a subordinate," Blake declared smoothly. "Scarlett is a junior assistant on my payroll. She handles my travel logistics and fetches my gear. That is the entirety of our connection."
My fingers curled into fists. "You're lying to them to save your endorsements."
He didn't even glance over his shoulder. "Tonight was a routine work meeting. We were discussing my charity schedule for next month. I have zero private involvement with her."
"What about the baby?" Mia shrieked, pointing at the ultrasound photo on the floor. "She brought a scan!"
Blake shook his head, offering the cameras a pitying smile. "I can't explain her delusions. Sometimes, people who work near the spotlight lose their grip on reality. They mistake professional proximity for personal affection."
"A delusion?" I repeated. "I bought you the watch on your wrist for our third anniversary."
"You bought it with the company credit card I gave you," he shot back, his voice rising. "I am done entertaining this desperate behavior."
He moved away from me entirely. He crossed the ruined space and stopped right beside Mia.
"Are you hurt?" he asked her softly.
Mia buried her face in his chest. "I was terrified, Blake. She attacked me."
"I know, babe. I've got you," he murmured, stroking her hair. He looked up at the press. "Mia Thorne is my only girlfriend. I apologize that my staff caused her, and all of you, such distress tonight."
Staff. Distress.
The man I loved had just erased half a decade in three sentences. He nailed me to a cross of public humiliation just to keep his fan-favorite title intact.
"Blake," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "If you walk out that door with her, there is no coming back."
He finally met my gaze. His eyes were flat, devoid of the charm I had funded for so long.
"You're fired, Scarlett," he said coldly. "Don't ever contact me again."
He wrapped his arm securely around Mia's waist. "Let's go. You need to rest."
Mia paused just before the exit. She looked back at me, a victorious smirk cutting through her fake tears.
"You heard him," Mia sneered. "Get help, you psycho."
"Make way!" a security guard yelled, finally breaching the room.
The sea of reporters parted for the golden couple. Blake guided Mia through the corridor, their heads close together, ignoring the wreckage they left in their wake.
I stood entirely alone in the center of the room.
The second Blake disappeared, the media swarm turned their full, predatory attention back on me.
"Scarlett! How long have you been stalking him?"
"Did you fake the pregnancy, or is it another man's?"
"Do you feel any shame trying to ruin a superstar's relationship?"
Microphones jabbed toward my face. Flashes blinded my vision. They mocked me, their questions laced with venom and ridicule. I was the joke of the internet, the delusional maid who tried to climb into the king's bed.
I looked down. The ultrasound photo lay crumpled under a reporter's heavy shoe.
My jaw unclenched. A strange, absolute calm washed over my mind. I didn't cry. I didn't scream.
I bent down, ignoring the shouting journalists, and pulled the dirty photo from under the man's boot. I dusted it off and placed it carefully in my pocket.
"Are you crying, Scarlett?" a woman taunted, shoving her phone in my face.
I looked directly into her camera lens.
"No," I answered.
I pushed past her, shoving my way through the suffocating crowd. I ignored the insults hurled at my back. I stepped out into the cool night air, leaving the circus behind.
My phone vibrated in my hand. It was my Chief Operating Officer.
"Ms. Scarlett," he said, his voice crisp. "The PR disaster is trending globally. Do you want us to scrub the internet?"
I watched Blake's sports car peel out of the valet lane in the distance.
"No," I replied. "Let it trend."
"But ma'am, he just destroyed your reputation."
"He destroyed the assistant's reputation," I corrected. "Tomorrow morning, call a press conference at Apex Capital headquarters. It's time the world meets the owner of the franchise."
"Understood. Should I prepare the legal filings?"
"Draw up the breach of contract papers," I instructed. "I want his assets frozen by noon."
I ended the call and stepped off the curb. Headlights swept across the pavement as a sleek black SUV pulled up, blocking my path.
The rear window glided down.
"Need a ride, fiancée?" a deep voice asked.
I stared at the man in the backseat. The man I had left at the altar three years ago.
