The moment Alexander Blackwood stepped into view, the crowd surged forward like a tidal wave, their questions bursting forth uncontrollably.

"Mr. Blackwood, this woman—Ms. Sinclair—just claimed to be your wife. Is that true? Do you even know her?" A reporter shoved a microphone toward him, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Alexander barely glanced at Amy, his expression as cool and unreadable as polished marble. His lips parted, delivering only two cutting words:

"Hardly at all."

For a heartbeat, silence gripped the crowd. Then, laughter erupted—sharp, mocking, and relentless.

Every pair of eyes that turned to Amy now dripped with derision, as if she were nothing more than a pitiful spectacle.

"She sounded so convincing! I almost believed her!"

"Imagine lying right outside a police station. Does she have no shame?"

"Another desperate social climber, trying to latch onto Mr. Blackwood’s fame. Pathetic."

Their words were daggers, each one sinking deep. Amy felt the weight of their scorn pressing down on her.

One reporter, smirking, leaned in. "Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Blackwood says he barely knows you. Care to explain?"

Amy met his gaze, unshaken. "We aren’t close anymore."

"But you just announced to the world that you were his wife! That’s quite the contradiction, isn’t it?"

Her voice remained steady. "I said I was—past tense. After the divorce, we became strangers. There’s no reason for us to be close now."

The crowd erupted in laughter again.

Not a single soul believed her.

To them, Amy was either delusional or shameless—or both.

Nathan Prescott, livestreaming the entire scene, kept his camera fixed on her. Over the past few days, thanks to his carefully orchestrated smear campaign, rumors about Amy had spread like wildfire. Any voices defending her were swiftly silenced by the trolls he’d hired. Any mention of her past with Alexander? Wiped clean before it could gain traction.

Now, Nathan’s livestream chat was a flood of venom, all aimed at Amy. Some even dredged up old scandals, twisting facts to fit their narrative.

Standing at the center of the storm, Amy realized no amount of explanation would change their minds. Arguing would only fuel the fire.

She exhaled sharply. There was no point in staying.

But as she turned to leave, the reporters blocked her path, their grins predatory.

"Running away so soon, Ms. Sinclair?"

"Not going to defend yourself?"

Amy’s voice was ice. "Are you planning to unlawfully detain me in front of a police station?"

They only laughed. "Oh, come now! You’re the one who made outrageous claims here. If the police get involved, we’re all in trouble, aren’t we?"

They closed in, forming an impenetrable wall.

Then, from the edge of the crowd, Amy caught Alexander’s gaze. His eyes glinted with dark amusement, his lips curling in the faintest smirk. He mouthed two silent words:

"Beg me."