<b>Chapter </b><b>7 </b>
The press conference was packed. Camden and Vera were already there when I arrived.
She strutted over in some hideous pink power suit, waving a script in my face.
“Here’s your lines, sister. Camden wrote this specially for you, so practice hard.”
She emphasized “practice” like it was a threat, eyes full of smugness.
Obviously she’d already read what was in there.
I nced at her without a word and took the script.
A staffer came over to tell Camden all the reporters and VIP guests had arrived.
Camden nodded, then extended his hand to escort me in.
I quickly stepped aside to avoid his touch and walked ahead alone.
His hand fell empty and his face went dark.
Seeing this, Vera immediately tried to take his arm, but he gently pushed her away: “Watch yourself. Know your ce.”
She pouted but could only trail behind him.
The second I stepped inside, reporters swarmed:
“Mrs. Ashworth, Mr. Ashworth says you have severe hysteria–that you keep imagining women around him are his
mistresses. Is this true?”
“Mrs. Ashworth, is Miss Season really your father’s long–lost daughter–your and Mr. Sterling’s sister?”
“Mrs. Ashworth, are the rumors true that you and your sister are sharing one husband?”
“Does Mr. Sterling know about this? What’s his take?<b>” </b>
I had hysteria?
Nice creative writing, Camden.
I smiled and held up a small sh drive. “Don’t rush–I’ll answer everything in just a moment.”
Dead silence. Everyone waiting with bated breath.
“Sister, you came so prepared?”
<b>13:26 </b>
Hell Yeah Forget the Other Woman My <b>Smart </b>House Was Cheating On Me!
<b>30.9</b><b>% </b>
Vera smirked, leaning close to whisper in my car: “Perform well, and maybe if I’m in a good mood, I’ll let Camden spend tonight at your ce<b>.</b>”
Next to <b>her</b>, Camden was staring at me with calcting eyes, thinking God knows what.
I raised an eyebrow and gave her a look that could kill.
I walked to theputer and opened up my overnight project.
“Everyone’s questions,” I turned to face the crowd, “are all answered right here.”
The screen lit up.
The video started ying automatically.
But there was nothing about any “rification.”
Just yesterday’s full recording of Camden demanding I “consider the big picture,” plus years and years of Vera’s calcted, disgusting voice messages and intimate videos she’d sent to torment me.
Censored, of course.
One second of dead silence.
Then pure chaos–cameras shing like strobe lights, reporters going absolutely feral trying to capture the story of the
century.
Vera let out an ear–splitting shriek, face draining white: “You fucking bitch, Sage!”
She swung at me. I dodged and backhanded her so hard she went flying.
“The bitch is right there on screen, sweetie.”
She was shaking with rage<b>, </b>couldn’t catch her breath, and literally passed out cold.
“Security! Are you all braindead? Turn it off! NOW!” Camden finally snapped out of his shock, face purple with rage, veins bulging on his forehead.
He got Vera taken care of, then whipped around looking for me.
“SAGE!”
Pure venom in his voice, eyes like ck ice.
But I’d already yanked out the USB drive and bolted.
I strolled casually to the exit, about to push through when I collided with a wall <b>of </b>suited executives.
I stepped aside automatically, then heard the venue manager start groveling: “Mr. Sterling! What brings you here, sir?
<b>13:26 </b>
Hell Yeah, Forget the Other Woman. My Smart House Was Cheating On Me<b>! </b>
— <b>31.1</b><b>% </b>
The conference room is that way.”
I looked up in shock.
Right there in the center of that power parade was my brother Marcus, looking like he owned the world–which he basically did.
I dropped my head and tried to slip past unnoticed.
But his voice cut through the air: “Not gonna say hello when you see your brother, sis?<b>” </b>
At the exact same moment, Camden’s voice exploded behind me: “Sage, get your ass over here!”