###Chapter 5
Kristen's POV
A streak of fresh blood stained the corner of my lips. Michael's eyes flickered, his chest rising and falling in a tense, shallow rhythm.
"Cut the act," he snapped. "Losing your memory doesn't excuse you for bullying Courtney!"
William's face was icy, his tone cutting like a blade. "Mom and Dad aren't even here. Who are you trying to impress with this pathetic performance?"
Before I could say a word, the doctor arrived. Without looking back, Michael pushed past me, clutching Courtney protectively in his arms.
William turned back before leaving, warning me, "Courtney's birthday is coming up. I'm warning you, Kristen. Don't try any stunts. One more slip-up, and you'll regret it."
This was supposed to be my home, my sanctuary. Instead, it felt like a cage, cold and suffocating. I couldn't stay another second.
That night, the housekeeper came and relocated me to a room fit for a prison: moldy, cold, not even a window—just a broken bed and four walls that smelled like rot.
...
At dawn, I walked straight out without looking back.
But fate wasn't done with me yet.
When I stepped outside, a mob of reporters ambushed me like vultures around a carcass.
Cameras. Microphones. Lights. Dozens of them, closing in like a pack of wolves.
I froze, heart pounding in terror.
"Miss Lawson," one sneered, "rumor has it you've been sleeping around and abusing drugs. Got yourself amnesia from partying too hard—care to comment?"
Someone eyed my shabby uniform and sneered. "So the prim-and-proper heiress act was just that? Seems like your family finally saw through you."
Another voice chimed in, sharper, nastier. "We heard you've had multiple abortions. Can't even get pregnant anymore. Is it true you're just a barren, broken little bird now?"
Shame crashed down on me like a tidal wave. My throat closed. I couldn't breathe.
Their words stabbed me, one after another—sharp, merciless, leaving invisible wounds that bled inside my chest.
I couldn't hold back my tears any longer, and they kept falling gently to the ground.
Suddenly, William stormed out, fury radiating from every step.
"You've brought shame to Lawson's name!" he spat.
Then he turned to bark at the staff, "Where are the damn security guards?! Get these paparazzi out of here!"
But the cameras pushed on, relentless.
Just so, a car pulled up at the gate. Michael stepped out, frowning, walking quickly toward us.
He saw me first—pale, trembling, eyes wide with panic—and stepped forward to shield me slightly with his body.
"She doesn't remember anything," he said coldly. "What are you trying to do, harass a trauma patient?"
A woman's voice cut through the noise, smug and bright. "Is she refusing to answer because the rumors are true? Just some drugged-out party slut who slept her way through half the city?"
Cameras surged forward again.
A few reporters even went live, shoving phones and mics directly in my face.
"The once-revered Miss Lawson turns out to be just a cautionary tale. Ladies, don't be like her. You play with fire, and your womb ends up burnt."
I stumbled backward, crushed by shame, retreating behind Michael even as the cameras kept rolling—capturing my humiliation in HD.
Then she appeared.
Courtney, dressed like a fairytale in white chiffon, walked gracefully out into the courtyard.
Like magic, the energy shifted.
Cameras immediately swiveled toward her. The jeers turned to awe.
Michael moved instantly, instinctively, like she was made of glass, wrapping his arm around her and shielding her like she was some precious national treasure.
Gone was the coldness.
He looked almost… protective.
The reporters, now syrupy sweet, cooed at her like she was royalty:
"Now that's a real lady, pure, poised, just the kind of girl who deserves the Lawson name."
"She and Michael look like the perfect couple. You should move up the wedding and make it official!"
Courtney gave them a shy, graceful smile, basking in praise.
The light faded from my eyes. My knees buckled.
A thud came, and I collapsed heavily to the ground.
