The sidewalk outside the A-Side studio was a riot. Cynthia’s leak had hit the internet like a bomb. The moment Victoria’s car pulled up, the press swarmed, screaming questions that were more like accusations.
“Luna! How much is Valerius paying you?”
“Did you cheat on William Croft to get a record deal?”
Victoria stepped out, looking pale and small in the face of the flashing lights. She stumbled back, overwhelmed.
William’s car screeched to a halt at the curb. He had seen the alert on his way over–the vile headline painting his wife as a prostitute. Seeing the fear in her eyes, something ancient and violent woke up inside him.
He slammed his car door and stormed into the fray. He didn’t look like a CEO; he looked like a brawler.
“Back off!” William roared, shoving a camera aside.
Cynthia, who had arrived just before him to ‘manage’ the situation, stepped forward. “William, wait! Let security handle it. You can’t be seen–“
William spun on her, his eyes blazing. “You did this. I know your style, Cynthia. You leaked it.”
“I did it for you!” Cynthia hissed, grabbing his arm. “She is dragging you down!”
“You’re fired,” William spat, ripping his arm away. “Get out of my sight.”
A paparazzi shoved a lens inches from Victoria’s face, shouting, “Hey, sweetheart, give us a smile for Dominic!”
William didn’t think. He swung. His fist connected with the photographer’s jaw with a sickening crack, sending the man sprawling to the pavement. The crowd gasped. For the first time in months, William wasn’t thinking about his image or his company. He stood over his wife, chest heaving, a barrier of pure rage between her and the world.