Chapter 60 Chapter 60
Immediately, General Zachariah drew closer, his expression dark and imposing, the kind of look that made people straighten instinctively and choose their words more carefully.
He had already been in the public eye for years. His reputation had gone before him long before this day, and his very presence carried the weight of authority, discipline, and consequence. So when he stepped into the scene, the crowd seemed to part around him without needing to be told.
Everything became quieter.
Tighter, More expectant.
He looked first at Tasha, taking in the blood, the swelling, the distress she had so loudly put on display. Then his gaze moved past the others and landed on Megan.
His jaw hardened.
And with slow, deliberate steps, he began walking toward her.
“So,” he said, his voice low but edged with threat, “you’re the one who did this, right?”
Nobody interrupted him.
“You’re the one who touched her. You’re the one who did this.”
The accusation hung heavily in the air.
He looked ready to continue, ready to escalate, ready to make the entire confrontation far worse than it already was.
But before he could get another word out, before the moment could tip fully in that direction, something unexpected happened.
Mr. Oliver suddenly stepped forward.
Not cautiously, not hesitantly.
He moved quickly, almost urgently, crossing the distance between himself and Megan with the kind of familiarity that made everyone around them freeze in surprise.
Then he stopped beside her, his face changed completely.
The stern, formal expression he had worn earlier softened into open concern and startled respect.
“Mrs. Megan,” he said at once, clearly shocked to see her there. “What are you doing here?”
There was genuine surprise in his tone.
“I had no idea you were coming. Nobody told me you were going to be here.”
He looked almost troubled by the thought.
“If I had known, I would have booked out the entire auditorium for you.”
That statement alone stunned the air around them.
For a second, no one even reacted.
Because the meaning of it was too large to process at once.
Mr. Oliver who until now had been an important, difficult-to-access figure, one whose presence had already drawn respect from everyone around was standing beside Megan as though she were someone of special significance.
Not merely someone he knew, not merely someone he respected a little.
No.
Someone important enough that he would have cleared the entire venue on her behalf.
The Bushman family visibly stiffened.
Even General Zachariah’s expression shifted slightly.
Megan, still composed beneath Liam’s jacket, answered without drama.
“Well,” she said, gesturing lightly toward Liam, “he was the one who invited me.”
Then she added, “Something caught my attention, so I decided to come and see it for myself.”
Her tone remained calm, but the implication was enough.
She had not come by accident, she had come because she chose to.
And now she was here, at the center of a scene nobody seemed to understand properly anymore.
Mr. Oliver nodded slowly as her words settled.
Then he looked around.
And when he did, his eyes landed on Vincent.
On Deborah, On Jessica.
On the rest of them.
Recognition sparked almost immediately.
He understood, not all at once, but enough.
He saw Vincent Megan’s former husband.
He saw the family standing with him, he saw Tasha.
He saw the tension, the accusations, the torn clothing, the jacket covering Megan, the blood at her lip.
And then everything started arranging itself in his mind.
The people who had called General Zachariah.
The people who had stirred this whole mess.
The people responsible for turning what should have been an important occasion into a public disgrace.
It was them, Vincent and his people.
And the realization made Mr. Oliver’s expression darken.
His concern sharpened into anger.
He turned back toward Megan, his voice now firmer.
“So don’t tell me,” he said, “that these people are the ones who did this to you.”
His eyes scanned her torn clothing beneath the jacket.
“Did they touch you?”
Before Megan could answer, Liam spoke.
His voice was clipped and cold.
“Yes,” he said. “They did.”
He stepped slightly forward, making sure there was no confusion.
“They tore her clothes.”
Then he touched the edge of the jacket draped over Megan’s shoulders.
“I’m the one who had to cover her with my suit,” he said. “It was disgraceful. Completely embarrassing.”
The words fell with force.
Not shouted, not dramatized.
But undeniable.
And immediately, Mr. Oliver turned to General Zachariah.
His face had hardened fully now.
There was no courtesy left in it, no polite restraint.
Only outrage.
And looking directly at him, he said,
“So your nephew had the audacity to touch Mrs. Megan.”