Leaning against the emergency exit doors, the blood drained from my face. A chill settled in my marrow, deeper than the winter wind.
All my suffering—every scandal, every invasion of privacy—was orchestrated.
I was just content fodder for Naomi Henson.
And now, so was my son's life.
A nurse burst through the double doors, grabbing my arm. Her eyes were wild with panic.
"Mrs. Mason, you have to get rid of them! They've broken into the emergency room. We can't operate with them in the way!"
I called security. I called the police. But the paparazzi surged forward like a tide, unstoppable.
Trembling, I ran to the dean's office where Joel was taking a meeting. I didn't bother knocking.
"Call them off." My voice cracked down the middle. "The doctor says Benjamin is critical. Make them leave!"
Joel slowly removed his earphones. His expression didn't flicker.
"It's just a few cameras, Anna. They aren't holding the doctor's scalpel. Benjamin is the heir to the Mason family; if he can't handle a little exposure, how will he survive in this world?"
A dismissive wave. "It's a minor bump. Stop being dramatic."
His assistant stepped forward, softly urging me to leave.