The moment they spotted me, they pounced.
Microphones shoved toward my face.
Blinding lights flashing relentlessly.
“Mrs. Adam, have you seen the footage of Mr. Adam and Miss Goodrem at yesterday’s press conference? What are your thoughts?”
“Mrs. Adam, is it true your marriage is on the rocks?”
“Mrs. Adam, Miss Goodrem claims she and Mr. Adam are just like siblings—do you believe her?”
“Mrs. Adam, we have photos of Miss Goodrem staying in this hotel last night. It appears she and Mr. Adam entered a room together. Yet, this morning, you and Mr. Adam are leaving together. Can you explain why?”
Mr. Adam. Mr. Adam. Mr. Adam.
They wielded the title like a dagger, slicing into me with every question.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Christopher watching me.
His expression was unreadable, but the sheer depth of hatred in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine.
What kind of resentment made a man drag himself through the mud just to see someone else drown?
I hadn’t slept all night. My head throbbed with an unbearable ache.
Summoning the last of my strength, I shoved past the reporters, stumbling forward.
I had to get away.
But as I reached the first intersection outside the hotel…