At the press conference, Natalie, as a supposed bystander, slipped and accidentally revealed my home address.
Surveillance footage showed yellow-and-white funeral wreaths and blood-red curses plastered across my walls.
The reporters Richard had arranged surrounded my house, blocking it completely.
Everyone was desperate to drag me down.
The crowd at my doorstep grew larger, livestream viewers had already surpassed a million.
When I pressed play, the giant LED screen lit up,
broadcasting videos of Richard and Natalie together—in the Dean’s Office, in the On-call Room, even in hospital beds.
“What the hell, what a scandal! Isn’t that Dean Carter? And the woman—why’s her face masked?”
Even the journalists Richard had sent to feed off my misery looked stunned,
but instinct and professionalism drove their fingers to snap photos.
Click after click. Soon, Richard’s name shot to the top of the trending list.
“Breaking! The shining beacon of medicine Richard Carter caught in explicit video scandal!”
“Masked Queen hooks wealthy dean—sources claim over a hundred women involved.”
“Medical world shaken—prestigious private hospital tainted by scandal.”
As the posts exploded, Richard moved quickly.