The convoy of black vehicles slowed to a crawl as they approached the Manhattan City Clerk's office.
Outside the window, a sea of bodies surged against the barricades. Dozens of camera lenses flashed aggressively, reflecting off the tinted glass of the cars.
Arthur's voice crackled through the intercom. "Mr. King, there are at least fifty media outlets out here. It's a mob."
In the lead car, Karson pinched the bridge of his nose. He despised this. He hated the cheap, vulgar spectacle of his private life being consumed by the masses.
In the back of the Lincoln, Hazel took a deep breath. She smoothed the fabric of her skirt, ensuring not a single crease was out of place.
She reached her hand down under her skirt and pinched the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She pinched hard, twisting the flesh until a sharp, burning pain shot through her nervous system.
Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, pooling perfectly along her lower lashes.
The bodyguards stepped out first, using their massive frames to physically shove a narrow path through the screaming crowd toward the marble steps.
The Maybach door opened. Karson stepped out.
The noise was deafening. Flashes erupted like a strobe light, blinding and relentless.
Reporters shoved microphones attached to long poles over the bodyguards' shoulders. "Mr. King! Is it true she trapped you with a baby?" "How much did the surrogacy cost?"
A second later, the door to the Lincoln opened. The roar of the crowd hit Hazel like a physical wave. Serena screamed, burying her face in Hazel's chest.
Hazel didn't hesitate. She ripped off her beige trench coat and threw it over Serena, completely covering the child's head and face. She hunched over, wrapping her arms protectively around the bundle, and stepped out into the chaos.
A particularly aggressive paparazzi broke through the line. He shoved a camera inches from Hazel's face. "Hey gold digger! Enjoying the billionaire's money?"
Karson stopped on the steps. His eyes darkened. He raised a hand, ready to signal his security to throw the man onto the pavement.
But Hazel moved first.
She didn't flinch away from the lens. She slowly raised her head. A single, perfect tear slipped down her cheek, catching the light of the flashes.
She leaned toward the nearest cluster of microphones. Her voice trembled, thick with raw emotion. "I don't want his money. I don't want any of this. I just... I just wanted my daughter to have her father."
The screaming crowd went dead silent for a fraction of a second. The camera shutters went into overdrive.
Hazel turned her tear-streaked face toward Karson, who was standing a few feet away. "Falling in love with someone you can't have is a punishment," she choked out, her voice breaking perfectly. "But I would do it all again for her."
It was a masterclass in manipulation. In ten seconds, she had rewritten the narrative from a sleazy corporate scandal to a heartbreaking, modern-day Cinderella tragedy.
A female reporter in the front row lowered her microphone, her eyes softening with genuine pity.
Karson stood frozen on the steps. His dark eyes locked onto Hazel. He saw the tears. He heard the tremor in her voice.
And he knew it was entirely, one hundred percent fake.
He remembered the feral, violent look in her eyes back at the estate. This woman was a chameleon.
But his analytical brain immediately recognized the genius of the move. She was handing him the perfect PR victory on a silver platter.
Karson didn't expose her. Instead, he turned around. He walked back down the steps, moving against the flow of his security detail, straight toward Hazel.
The crowd parted for him, gasping as the icy Wall Street titan approached the crying mother.
Karson stopped right in front of her. His broad chest blocked the worst of the blinding flashes. He looked down at her teary face.
He leaned in close, his lips brushing near her ear. "Good acting," he whispered, his voice dripping with absolute ice.
Hazel smiled under the cover of her coat. She leaned forward, pressing her body against his chest, playing the part of the exhausted, relieved lover.
Karson's muscles instantly locked. His entire body went rigid at the contact, but with fifty cameras firing, he forced his arm to lift. He loosely wrapped his hand around her shoulder.
The image of the billionaire shielding his fragile, crying fiancé was immortalized in a thousand photographs.
The bodyguards pushed forward, rushing the couple up the remaining stairs.
They stepped inside the City Clerk's office. The heavy brass doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off the flashes and the screams instantly.
