5
I quickened my steps, nearly sprinting. I hailed a cab and departed without looking back. In the mirror, I glimpsed Michael Anderson at the entrance, watching me leave for what seemed like forever. His phone calls persisted, but I couldn’t summon the courage to answer. I simply let them go unanswered.
Subsequently, he messaged me about the upcoming media event. He acknowledged the injustice I’d faced and vowed to rectify it once everything concluded.
See? He even concedes I was mistreated. But his statements are
now meaningless.
Since encountering Sophia Rice, it became evident that I was the one to be cast aside.
Without hesitation, I cut off all communication with him.
Upon returning to my lodgings, I fell onto the mattress, shielding my eyes with my forearm, attempting to shut out the world.
Yet my parents continued their relentless calling.
My mother inquired if I was trying to hasten her demise. She bemoaned her persistent migraines, claiming she’d perish from the agony if I didn’t reconcile with Michael Anderson.
Then came the emotional manipulation–how they’d nurtured me with boundless affection, only for me to show such ingratitude.
5 05
Their demeanor shifted dramatically once they learned of Michael Anderson’s familial background.
I remain perplexed as to why children are born with innate love for their parents, while some parents fail to reciprocate that love.
I responded to my mother: “Your wellbeing is your responsibility. If you’re intent on self–harm, I won’t intervene.”
Thereafter, I ceased responding to her messages.
Subsequently, I contacted my employer and expressed my readiness for overseas work.
The media conference was scheduled for Wednesday–coinciding with Anderson’s new product unveiling.
Commerce continues, and even in such times, corporations never fail to capitalize on publicity.
I arrived at the location, donning a dark overcoat.
Journalists from all the major news outlets Anderson had invited were already swarming the entrance.
Michael Anderson and Sophia Rice were positioned nearby.
As I struggled through the throng, Michael Anderson rushed over and embraced me. I attempted to resist, but he held me more firmly.
“The crowd is dense, be mindful of the baby,” he cautioned.
Dazzled by camera flashes, I ceased struggling.
- The reporters appeared more restrained inside the venue.
Sophia Rice beamed at me with an air of victory.
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I returned a sardonic, disinterested smile.
Let’s see if you can maintain your composure later.
“Miss Moore, once Miss Rice departed the nation, you eagerly sedated Mr. Anderson and slipped into his bed. What was going. through your mind at that time?”
“I’ve also been informed that the child you’re expecting was conceived by pilfering Mr. Anderson’s genetic naterial via a Maboratory vial. Where did you acquire such knowledge?”
A pair of journalists rose, their statements piercing the atmosphere.
Michael’s expression darkened with each utterance. He lashed out, “Who instructed you to pose these inquiries?!”
I cast a glance at him. The only thought in my head was how disingenuous he appeared.
As the leader of a prominent organization, had he truly not anticipated what I would encounter at this media event?
I disregarded his bewildered, remorseful expression and averted
my gaze.
He addressed the reporters once more, “Given your friendship with Sophia, I comprehend your behavior.”
For a brief moment, a flicker of shame crossed their faces.
One of them murmured, “Don’t distort the facts.”
Michael had orchestrated this, and now, he was playing the role of savior. Typical.
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I smirked again, aware that more was yet to come.
Faced with my unwavering stare, they bit their lips and fell quiet.
After all, if I chose to expose them, their identities would be revealed–especially with the abundance of cameras present today.
Observing Michael beside me, Sophia swayed slightly.
Michael promptly rushed to her side, enveloping her in his arms. “Are you alright? Is your heart troubling you again?”
Once he departed, I stood alone on the platform.
Noticing my gaze, he hesitated but attempted to disengage from Sophia.
She clung to his arm, saying, “Brother Michael, my chest feels constricted.”
Michael appeared torn but remained with her.
I calmly turned away.
The subsequent questions were equally unpleasant–terms like “mistress,” “homewrecker,” and “gold digger” were frequently employed.
After everyone had finished, I rose, grasped the microphone, and smiled as I opened my purse.
With a swift movement, I extracted hundreds of photographs and
waved them in the air.
I spoke deliberately and distinctly, “Who’s the genuine mistress here? I believe you can all discern for yourselves.”
Some photos landed near Sophia, and the instant she glimpsed
5.05
them, her fragile, innocent facade crumbled entirely.
