Saving Every Ounce of Guilt to Leave You

I was taken aback, and so were the reporters.

Charlotte yanked up her sleeve, revealing a large patch of purple bruises on her arm. "I know you love Jon, and you hate that I'm always around him. But I never once thought about stealing him from you. Why do you have to push me this far? Why do you want me dead?"

She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe.

Jonathan quickly strode forward to hold her up, his brows drawn tight.

I opened my mouth, but it felt like a hand had clamped around my throat. I couldn't make a sound. I barely had the strength to stand, let alone shove her. How could I have pushed her?

But the reporters now had their cameras pointed straight at me. The sympathy in their eyes turned into suspicion.

"Ms. Silva, is what Charlotte said true?"

"Did you frame her on purpose because you were jealous?"

"Are you dealing with some kind of serious psychological problem?"

The flashes went off in a rapid-fire crackle, every question stabbing into me like a knife. I looked at Jonathan.

He was staring down at Charlotte, who was crying in his arms. Then, he lifted his head and glanced at me, his eyes icy cold. "Mallory, you've gone too far."

I couldn't be bothered to explain anymore. I lowered my gaze and said quietly, "Think whatever you want."

But Charlotte refused to let the matter slide. She spoke up, her voice full of wounded grievance, "Mallory, if you're upset, you can take it out on me. Just don't lie with all the reporters here. What will Jon think of me after this? What will the whole country think of me?"

As she spoke, her knees suddenly buckled, and she collapsed.

Jonathan reacted quickly and caught her in his arms, his expression changing instantly. "Lottie? Lottie!"

He scooped her up and strode out of the room. He paused at the doorway and said, "When Lottie wakes up, I'll have someone send you back to the psychiatric hospital."

The reporters frantically pressed their shutters, trying to capture every second of this circus.

I didn't cry or kick up a fuss. I just lay there, staring quietly up at the ceiling.

It was fine. Nothing mattered as long as I could go home. Everything that happened here would stay here.